the same alley in that other world. Close by, a horse whinnied from what seemed to be stables.
Alice was already gone. And in the snow was scrawled a single word in huge letters: WRONG.
I stared at the letters. What was wrong? Did she mean she wasn’t Alice? Or that she wasn’t the killer? Did she mean my surmises about what had happened were wrong? How could she know what those surmises were? Devil take her – why did she have to be so enigmatic!
I looked about but there was no sign of her and I had no time to spare. I needed to get back to my own world. I concentrated on thinking of Hugh and Heron pottering in the ruins, took a step back, felt a wave of cold and darkness . . .
Heron was still poking at the frozen earth with what looked like a charred stick. Hugh glanced round, was obviously surprised to see I’d moved to the other side of the site. He got up and came across, held something up. I bent to peer at it. ‘What is it?’
‘Come on, Charles! It may be filthy and tarnished, but isn’t it obvious?’
I took the small object off his palm, rubbed the earth away. The object was flat, and almost, but not quite, circular. A gleam of brightness showed through the dirt. And the curve of a distinctive hairline . . . A coin .
‘Silver,’ Hugh said. ‘And there are a lot more like it in that earth bank. Someone must have buried his worldly wealth there centuries ago, to keep it safe, and never got back to retrieve it. Heron says they’re Roman.’
‘Roman?’ I echoed. The coin Alice had dropped in the snow had been just like this – that hairline was unmistakeable. How could Alice have been in possession of a Roman coin?
I felt a sudden longing to talk to Esther. She has a calm way of looking at things that encourages me to be logical and methodical. Hugh was looking up at me expectantly; I handed him back the coin. ‘Very nice,’ I said. He looked indignant. Damn the thief that had taken the other coin from my pocket! Without it, I couldn’t prove the two were the same. ‘I must go. I’ve a lesson to give.’
Heron, for some mysterious reason, heard that. He glanced up, rose and picked his way across to me. Balfour took over digging in the frozen earth.
‘Come up to the house tomorrow,’ Heron said. ‘We will have a look at these coins in more detail.’
I couldn’t conceive why he should think I’d be interested. But Balfour was calling out he’d found some pottery, and Heron turned on his heel and went back. Hugh gave me a grin. ‘Well, you’ve got to admit they’re interesting, Charles!’ He leant closer confidentially. ‘Even if not quite as interesting as Heron thinks. And the only other thing I have to do today is to polish the dancing room floor!’
‘Polishing the floor would at least have the virtue of being in the warm,’ I retorted.
I left them before Heron could decide to enlighten me further on his finds, cut back to St Nicholas’s church and thence along Westgate towards Caroline Square. All this exercise had made me hungry; I could snatch a bite to eat at home, talk to Esther, and still be in plenty of time for my afternoon lessons.
I passed St John’s church and came level with the vicarage garden. Idle flakes of snow fell on to the dark sleeves of my greatcoat. Tonight the Gregsons’ spirits ought to disembody; it was unlikely they’d have much to say about their deaths given they’d been asleep but they might be able to enlighten us as to Alice’s motives, or might have seen her with a man they didn’t know. At least one thing was now certain; Alice was hiding in that other world. Though why she should risk returning, I didn’t understand.
Someone seized hold of my arm.
Thirteen
Every English person you meet wants to tell you their life history; I have found it best just to doze during these recitals – any attempt to divert them is perfectly useless.
[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe
Froidevaux, 19 January 1737]
Not
Alice was already gone. And in the snow was scrawled a single word in huge letters: WRONG.
I stared at the letters. What was wrong? Did she mean she wasn’t Alice? Or that she wasn’t the killer? Did she mean my surmises about what had happened were wrong? How could she know what those surmises were? Devil take her – why did she have to be so enigmatic!
I looked about but there was no sign of her and I had no time to spare. I needed to get back to my own world. I concentrated on thinking of Hugh and Heron pottering in the ruins, took a step back, felt a wave of cold and darkness . . .
Heron was still poking at the frozen earth with what looked like a charred stick. Hugh glanced round, was obviously surprised to see I’d moved to the other side of the site. He got up and came across, held something up. I bent to peer at it. ‘What is it?’
‘Come on, Charles! It may be filthy and tarnished, but isn’t it obvious?’
I took the small object off his palm, rubbed the earth away. The object was flat, and almost, but not quite, circular. A gleam of brightness showed through the dirt. And the curve of a distinctive hairline . . . A coin .
‘Silver,’ Hugh said. ‘And there are a lot more like it in that earth bank. Someone must have buried his worldly wealth there centuries ago, to keep it safe, and never got back to retrieve it. Heron says they’re Roman.’
‘Roman?’ I echoed. The coin Alice had dropped in the snow had been just like this – that hairline was unmistakeable. How could Alice have been in possession of a Roman coin?
I felt a sudden longing to talk to Esther. She has a calm way of looking at things that encourages me to be logical and methodical. Hugh was looking up at me expectantly; I handed him back the coin. ‘Very nice,’ I said. He looked indignant. Damn the thief that had taken the other coin from my pocket! Without it, I couldn’t prove the two were the same. ‘I must go. I’ve a lesson to give.’
Heron, for some mysterious reason, heard that. He glanced up, rose and picked his way across to me. Balfour took over digging in the frozen earth.
‘Come up to the house tomorrow,’ Heron said. ‘We will have a look at these coins in more detail.’
I couldn’t conceive why he should think I’d be interested. But Balfour was calling out he’d found some pottery, and Heron turned on his heel and went back. Hugh gave me a grin. ‘Well, you’ve got to admit they’re interesting, Charles!’ He leant closer confidentially. ‘Even if not quite as interesting as Heron thinks. And the only other thing I have to do today is to polish the dancing room floor!’
‘Polishing the floor would at least have the virtue of being in the warm,’ I retorted.
I left them before Heron could decide to enlighten me further on his finds, cut back to St Nicholas’s church and thence along Westgate towards Caroline Square. All this exercise had made me hungry; I could snatch a bite to eat at home, talk to Esther, and still be in plenty of time for my afternoon lessons.
I passed St John’s church and came level with the vicarage garden. Idle flakes of snow fell on to the dark sleeves of my greatcoat. Tonight the Gregsons’ spirits ought to disembody; it was unlikely they’d have much to say about their deaths given they’d been asleep but they might be able to enlighten us as to Alice’s motives, or might have seen her with a man they didn’t know. At least one thing was now certain; Alice was hiding in that other world. Though why she should risk returning, I didn’t understand.
Someone seized hold of my arm.
Thirteen
Every English person you meet wants to tell you their life history; I have found it best just to doze during these recitals – any attempt to divert them is perfectly useless.
[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe
Froidevaux, 19 January 1737]
Not
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