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heart leapt with relief. But her place was here. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You should stay here, where you can—’
    â€˜Make soup?’ she said spiritedly. ‘Josse, Tilly and I have prepared an ocean of soup. Dominic is my son,’ she went on softly, ‘and he left Rosamund in my care.’ She raised her chin, and an expression spread over her face that he knew of old. ‘I will not have it that this frightful news is broken to him by anyone but me.’
    She, too, had stood up. She stood before him, straight and tall, and he knew there was no more to say. He held out his hand, and she took it. ‘Come on, then,’ he said.
    They rode down the road to Tonbridge in silence. Josse was trying not to think about what lay ahead: it was something that had to be done, and he dreaded it, but it would not be improved by dwelling on it. Instead, he let his mind ramble, and presently he found himself recalling other journeys he and Helewise had made together. I used to have to slow old Horace’s pace , he mused, but now our mounts are more evenly matched. He glanced over to Helewise’s grey mare, another of Honey’s descendants. Her name was Daisy.
    Too soon they were at the bottom of Castle Hill and the town was before them. The river curled through the valley, and swirls of fog hung over the marshy ground to the east. The town was already about its business, and Josse had to shout out several times to clear their passage along the narrow, crowded streets.
    They turned off to the left, and the crowds quickly thinned. Gervase de Gifford’s house was some distance out of the town, and Josse, who had visited many times, led the way unhesitatingly. They rode into the courtyard, and almost immediately a lad emerged to take their horses.
    â€˜Morning, Sir Josse,’ he said with a grin. Then he saw Josse’s expression and the grin faded.
    â€˜Is the sheriff at home?’ Josse asked as he dismounted.
    The lad nodded, then jerked his head in the direction of the steps leading up to the house. ‘Him and the mistress are having breakfast,’ he said.
    Josse nodded his thanks and then gave Helewise a swift, questioning look.
    â€˜Ready,’ she whispered.
    Together they mounted the steps and went into the hall.
    Helewise looked around her at the home of Gervase and Sabin de Gifford. The hall was generously sized and well furnished. The rushes on the stone floor were fresh and sweet-smelling, and the table at which the family were sitting to eat was sturdy oak.
    Gervase was on his feet, greeting his guests and calling to a servant to bring more food. Helewise paused briefly to respond to his welcome, but her eyes were on her son.
    Dominic had also risen. Unlike Gervase, he stayed where he was at the table. He was staring at her, and she recognized that even in that first moment he was aware something was wrong.
    Josse was muttering something to Gervase, who turned to stare at Dominic. Helewise, hardly noticing, walked steadily across to her son.
    â€˜Rosamund is missing,’ she said. ‘She was last seen yesterday at dusk and we have had been out all night looking for her. We believe she was taken away by a young man who was lurking close to the House in the Woods.’
    She watched Dominic’s face. She saw doubt and anger and, finally, agony so severe that instinctively she reached out to him.
    He pushed her hands away. ‘She is eleven years old, Mother,’ he said, and his voice was like ice. ‘Could you not have taken better care of her?’
    Helewise felt as if she had been stabbed through the heart. She dropped her head, fighting tears. She sensed a swift movement beside her, and Josse’s arm went round her shoulders. She heard his words as from a great distance – he was saying it was not her fault, it was the result of mistaken identity, and that Dominic should take back his harsh comment – but she did not take them in.
    He