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rocks.
    Staring out at the distant headlands, Faith could see waves plume white as they chafed against the rocks. Here and there she could make out black cracks and triangular fissures at the base of
the cliffs.
    ‘Look, How!’ she called against the wind, and pointed. ‘Sea caves!’
    Howard ran over and squinted in the direction of her pointing finger, then sighted at the caves down his gun.
    ‘Are there monsters inside?’ he asked thoughtfully.
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘Can we go there in the boat and look?’
    Faith glanced back at the little rowboat in the boathouse, then peered speculatively at the fraught sea. The dark openings tugged at her curiosity.
    ‘Perhaps another day,’ she said, half to herself, ‘but we will have to ask Father and Mother.’
    When Howard had tired himself out she led him back up the slope towards the house. Seeing the dun-coloured folly once again, she paused.
    The night before, her father had spent hours in the folly, tending to some mysterious plant. At the time she had thought he just wanted to be alone, but now she found herself remembering the
crate of ‘miscellaneous cuttings’ that had robbed her of a seat in the carriage. It was a strangely vague label, come to think of it. Her father was usually so precise.
    ‘Howard, shall we look for lions around the folly?’
    Faith had to circle around the building to the side nearest the trees before she found its heavy wooden door. She could not be seen from the house, and the temptation was too great. She lifted
the aged latch and opened the door.
    Inside lay darkness. A strange smell reached her nose, with a coldness like mint that stung her eyes.
    She looked upward and saw murky rafters, grey with spider-cities. The roof was intact, she realized with surprise, blocking out the daylight. Why would her father put a precious specimen
somewhere that the sun could not reach?
    Faith took a careful footstep into the folly, her boot sliding slightly against the slimy dankness of the stone floor. She peered into the shadows of the little, round room.
    There was something huddled against the far wall, a domed shape shrouded in an oilskin cloth, the rounded base of a plant pot just visible beneath the fabric. It was two foot high, small enough
to have fitted in the crate.
    Just as she was edging towards the strange shape, she realized that the cries of ‘Bang!’ behind her were becoming louder and more excitable. In guilty panic she fled back into
daylight, and quickly fastened the folly door behind her. She looked around, fearing to see her father returning from some walk.
    Instead she saw Howard aiming his gun into the thicket. A strange man was tramping through the bracken.
    He was not one of the servants; Faith could see that at a glance. His clothes were worn, his hair uncombed, his beard shaggy. A wooden pail hung from one of his hands. A trespasser, then. His
strangeness screamed threat in Faith’s head. She felt every hair rise, as if she were an animal smelling another species.
    Fourteen years of trained fears broke into full stampede. A strange man. She was a girl, nearly a woman, and of all things she must never be near a strange man without protectors and witnesses.
That way lay a chasm in which a thousand terrible things could happen.
    ‘Bang!’ shouted Howard. The man stopped and turned to look at them.
    Faith scooped up Howard and broke into a struggling run towards the house. She burst in through the front door and almost collided with her mother, who was just leaving the drawing room.
    ‘Heavens!’ Myrtle raised her eyebrows. ‘Faith – what is the matter?’
    Faith put Howard down, and panted an explanation. Myrtle hurried to fuss over Howard, who realized that he must be hurt and promptly broke into a wail.
    ‘Look after Howard, Faith – I will tell your father.’
    A few moments later, Faith’s father strode into the parlour, where Faith was distracting Howard.
    ‘Where was this man?’ he demanded.
    ‘Near