th intense patience。 at one point he raised a finger in the direction of the machine and mimed its jaw of jagged teeth biting into the ground。 at last he gave a shrug； frowned and drew his hand over his eyes as though to wipe them clean of the image he had just conjured。
a flap opened in the side of the white tent。 a fifth man stepped out of it and joined the group。 there was a brief； unsmiling conference and at the end of it； the boss went over to his group of men and had a few words with them。 they nodded； and as though what they had been told was entirely what they were expecting； began to gather together the hats and thermos flasks at their feet and make their way to their cars parked by the lodge gates。 the policeman in uniform positioned himself at the entrance to the tent； back to the flap； and the other ushered the builder and his boss toward the police car。
i lowered the camera slowly but continued to gaze at the white tent。 i knew the spot。 i had been there myself。 i remembered the desolation of that desecrated library。 the fallen bookshelves； the beams that had e crashing to the floor。 my thrill of fear as i had stumbled over burned and broken wood。
there had been a body in that room。 buried in scorched pages； with a bookcase for a coffin。 a grave hidden and protected for decades by the beams that fell。
i couldn’t help the thought。 i had been looking for someone； and now it appeared that someone had been found。 the symmetry was irresistible。 how not to make the connection？ yet hester had left the year before； hadn’t she？ why would she have e back？ and then it struck me； and it was the very simplicity of the idea that made me think it might be true。
what if hester had never left at all？
when i came to the edge of the woods； i saw the two blond children ing disconsolately down the drive。 they wobbled and stumbled as they walked； beneath their feet the ground was scarred with curving black channels where the builders’ heavy vehicles had gouged into the earth； and they weren’t looking where they were going。 instead； they looked back over their shoulders in the direction they had e from。
it was the girl who； losing her footing and almost falling； turned her head and saw me first。 she stopped。 when her brother saw me he grew self…important with knowledge and spoke。
‘you can’t go up there。 the policeman said。 you have to stay away。“
“i see。”
‘they’ve made a tent；“ the girl added shyly。
‘i saw it；“ i told her。
in the arch of the lodge gates； their mother appeared。 she was slightly breathless。 “are you two all right？ i saw a police car in the street。” and then to me； “what’s going on？”
it was the girl who answered her。 “the policemen have made a tent。 you’re not allowed to go near。 they said we have to go home。”
the blond woman raised her eyes to the site； frowning at the white tent。 “isn’t that what they do when… ？” she didn’t plete her question in front of the children； but i knew what she meant。
‘i believe that is what has happened；“ i said。 i saw her desire to draw her children close for reassurance； but she merely adjusted the boy’s scarf and brushed her daughter’s hair out of her eyes。
‘e on；“ she told the children。 ”it’s too cold to be outdoors； anyway。 let’s go home and have cocoa。“
the children darted through the lodge gates and raced into the street。 an invisible cord held them together； allowed them to swing around each other or dash in any direction； knowing the other would always be there； the length of the cord away。
i watched them and felt a horrible absence by my side。
their mother lingered next to me。 “you could do with some cocoa yourself； couldn’t you？ you’re as white as a ghost。”
we fell into step； following the children。 “my name’s margaret；” i told her。 “i’m a friend of aurelius love。”
she smiled。 “i’m karen。 i look after the deer here。”
‘i know。 aurelius told me。“
ahead of us； the girl lunged at her brother； he veered out of reach； running into the road to escape her。
‘thomas ambrose proctor！“ my panion shouted out。 ”get back on the pavement！“
the name sent a jolt through me。 “what did you say your son’s name was？”
the boy’s mother turned to me curiously。
‘it’s just— there was a man called proctor who worked here years ago。“
‘my father； ambrose proctor。“
i had to stop to think straight。 “ambrose proctor… the boy who worked with john…the…dig—he was your father？”
‘john…the…dig？ do you mean john digence？ yes。 that’s who got my father the job there。 it was a long time before i was born； though。 my father was in his fifties when i was born。“
slowly i began walking again。 “i’ll accept that offer of cocoa； if you don’t mind。 and i’ve got something to show you。”
i took my bookmark out of hester’s diary。 karen smiled the instant she set eyes on the photo。 her son’s serious face； full of pride； beneath the rim of the helmet； his shoulders stiff； his back straight。 “i remember the day he came home and said he’d put a yellow hat on。 he’ll be so leased to have the picture。”
‘your employer； miss march； has she ever seen tom？“
‘seen tom？ of course not！ there are two of them； you know； the miss marches。 one of them was always a bit retarded； i understand； so it’s the other one who runs the estate。 though she is a bit of a recluse。 she hasn’t been back to angelfield since the fire。 even i’ve never seen her。 the only contact we have is through her solicitors。“
karen stood at the stove； waiting for the milk to heat。 behind her； the view from the small window showed the garden； and beyond it； the woods where adeline and emmeline had once dragged merrily’s pram with the baby still in it。 there could be few landscapes that had changed little。
i needed to be careful not to say too much。 karen gave no sign of knowing that her miss march of angelfield was the same woman as the miss winter whose books i had spotted in the bookcase in the hall as i came in。
‘it’s just that i work for the angelfield family；“ i explained。 ”i’m writing about their childhood here。 and when i was showing your employer some photos of the house i got the impression she recognized him。“
“she can’t have。 unless…”
she reached for the photograph and looked at it again； then called to her son in the next room。 “tom？ tom； bring that picture from the mantelpiece； will you？ the one in the silver frame。”
tom came in； carrying a photograph； his sister behind him。
‘look；“ karen said to him； ”the lady has got a photograph of you。“
a smile of delighted surprise crept onto his face when he saw himself。 “can i keep it？”
‘yes；“ i said。
‘show margaret the one of your granddad。“
he came around to my side of the table and held the framed picture out to me； shyly。
it was an old photograph of a very young man。 barely more than a boy。 eighteen； perhaps； maybe younger。 he was standing by a bench with clipped yew trees in the background。 i recognized the setting instantly： the topiary garden。 the boy had taken off his cap； was holding it in his hand； and in my mind’s eye i saw the movement he had made； sweeping his cap off with one hand； and wiping his forehead against the forearm of the other。 he was tilting his head back slightly。 trying not to squint in the sun； and succeeding almost。 his shirtsleeves were rolled up above the elbow； and the top button of his shirt was open； but the creases in his trousers were neatly pressed； and he had cleaned his heavy garden boots for the photo。
‘was he working there when they had the fire？“
karen put the mugs of cocoa on the table and the children came and sat to drink it。 “i think he might have gone into the army by then。 he was away from angelfield for a long time。 nearly fifteen years。”
i looked closely through the grainy age of the picture to the boy’s face； struck by the similarity with his grandson。 he looked nice。
‘you know； he never spoke much about his early days。 he was a reticent man。 but there are things i wish i knew。 like why he married so late。 he was in his late forties when he married my mother。 i can’t help thinking there must have been something in his past—a heartbreak； perhaps？ but you don’t think to ask those questions when you’re a child； and by the time i’d grown up…“ she shrugged sadly。 ”he was a lovely man to have as a father。 patient。 kind。 he’d always help me with anything。 and yet now i’m an adult； i sometimes have the feeling i never really knew him。“
there was another detail in the photograph that caught my eye。
‘what’s this？“ i asked。
she leaned to look。 “it’s a bag。 for carrying game。 pheasants mainly。 you can open it flat on the ground to lay them in； and then you fasten it up around them。 i don’t know why it’s in the picture。 he was never a gamekeeper； i’m sure。”
‘he used to bring the twins a rabbit or a pheasant when they wanted one；“ i said and she looked pleased to have this fragment of her father’s early life restored to her。
i thought of aurelius and his inheritance。 the bag he’d been carried in was a game bag。 of course there was a feather in it—it was used for carrying pheasants。 and i thought of the