Robert made a face. But although he felt uneasy, he did not protest, and indeed the excitement of their quest, and his sense of its possible value to his father, made him hurry as he climbed with Emily up to the wood. He showed her the spot where the horseman had stopped. She studied it. 'Look,' she said, pointing. There was a trail of hoofprints, still clear in the snow. Emily took Robert's hand, then she glanced up at the sun again. 'Not too late,' she murmured. She began to run. 'Come on.'
They followed the trail as far as they could. They lost it shortly before the gateway to Wolverton Hall: the snow was very churned up there from the evening before, and it was impossible to distinguish all the various tracks.
'Well,' whispered Emily, ' I suppose we should go back.' She gripped Robert's hand, and squeezed it tightly. 'For remember what we saw yesterday, when we followed your father's trail.'
Robert nodded. He too wanted to turn. But as though frozen to the ground, both children remained where they stood. Then Emily walked forward and Robert followed her. Dread tasted sickly and sweet in his mouth and, as he drew nearer to the gateway, he began to feel it in his blood, lightening his stomach and the bones in his legs. 'Emily,' he called out. But she did not stop; and he knew she must be feeling as drawn as he was.
Stillness hung deathly over the gardens as the two children crossed to where Hannah's body had been found. There was nothing there now; brushing away the snow, Robert imagined that he could see brown stains upon the frozen soil, but he did not care to inspect too closely, and he and Emily both rose and hurried on. 'The stables,' said Emily, as they rounded the house. 'Surely, if he came here, that is where his horse is going to be.' At first they had hopes of discovering something, for a covered cart was standing in the yard, and although it was unhitched it must have been drawn there recently, for its paintwork was still fresh and its ropes unfrayed. Robert and Emily peered in through the back: but there was nothing there, save only a scattering of dirt. This disappointment was succeeded by an even greater one, however, for when they turned from the cart, they saw that the snow around the stables was undisturbed and the stalls themselves were rotten with disuse. The odour of damp wood hung thick in the air; and the mud across the floor was slimy with moss. Emily made a face. 'Eeugh!' she exclaimed. 'No one has been in here for many years.' She held her nose as she stared round at the dripping stalls again, then back at Robert. "What about the house?'
Robert frowned. 'What about it?' he said at last.
if he came here at all last night, then that is where he will be.' Again, she glanced round and up at the sun, which hung pale above the ridge of a western hill. 'Do you not think?' she asked.
I suppose so,' agreed Robert reluctantly.
Emily shivered. But the glint of excitement was unmistakable in her eyes. She should not have said it, Robert thought. They would not then have had to go inside - there would not have been any challenge to their pride. But it was too late now. He looked up at the house. Every window was black, it may still be light outside,' he murmured, 'but in there ...' And then he remembered the candles, how they had been placed by the windows the night before - and he realised that someone must have been inside to have lit them all.
They crossed the stable-yard to the rear of the house. When Emily pushed at a window frame, the wood snapped and crumbled at once. As quietly as they could, they clambered through. The room inside smelt worse than the stables, thick with mould, and dampness, and rot. They could feel weeds beneath their feet as they crept forward, and hear the crunch of frozen animal droppings; ahead of them loomed the skeletons of chairs, their fabric hanging like tatters of skin, and feathery to the touch with spiders' webs. Emily looked around. 'Eeugh!' she said, pulling an