It was barely one minute before Christopher came up from the cellar, looking pale. ‘Nothing down there, after all,’ he said. ‘I’d better go upstairs next.’

‘Wait for me. I want to see the view.’

‘What about Robin?’

‘You can carry him. We can’t leave him down here.’

Without another word, Christopher lifted the child out of his straps and went ahead, taking the stairs quickly. Simmy followed, trying to absorb every detail of the staircase, and the landing at the top.

‘This must be five times the size of Beck View, and I thought that was big,’ she remarked, thinking of her parents’ former home in Windermere, which they ran as a B&B. ‘Look at all these doors!’ There was a broad passageway down the centre of the house, with bedrooms leading off it on both sides.

‘A mere eight bedrooms,’ said Christopher. ‘So nowhere near five times the size. That’s on this floor. There’s three more above this, for the staff. Only one bathroom, though. Can you believe it? Plus a separate lavatory, and a privy downstairs.’

‘So primitive,’ laughed Simmy. ‘However did they manage?’

‘I don’t think they bathed very much. It’s a very modern obsession.’

Simmy had gone into one of the bedrooms and stood in the middle of the huge space. ‘You could get six beds in here, easily. And a fireplace! But no view.’ The window looked onto the stone face of the fell, only eight or ten feet away. ‘Must get very cold and dark in the winter.’

‘Hence the fireplace,’ said Christopher. ‘These back rooms weren’t much used, I suspect.’

‘But it’s so big.’

‘This one had two double beds, a cheval mirror, two wardrobes, a couch, plus writing desk, trouser press, bookcase and three very nice floor lamps. More than enough to amuse anyone without needing a view as well.’

‘How’s the wiring?’ she asked, mindful of the endless regulations they’d been subjected to when they converted their barn to a house. ‘Is it legal?’

‘Very much not if it’s to become a hotel. But it’s only thirty years old, so it works perfectly well. Whoever did it then was extremely generous with sockets. Every room has at least four.’

‘Electric was cheap then, I suppose,’ said Simmy wistfully.

‘Mm.’

Simmy was opening her mouth to ask him if he was all right when Robin interrupted with his habitual squawking, indicating that he was not being given his due attention, and was certainly displeased with the current situation. ‘He’s bored,’ she said.

‘He’s a pest,’ said Christopher affectionately. ‘We should have left him behind.’

‘Huh! And the dog’s going to be feeling much the same, by now.’

‘Well, we’ll have to go, then. We’ll leave the car here and walk down to the cafe. Maybe the brat’ll be asleep when we get back here again, and we can have another look round.’

‘Don’t call him a brat,’ Simmy protested. ‘He might hear you. But it’s a good plan. And can we drive home a different way? Isn’t Honister Pass around here somewhere? I’ve never seen it. Is it like Kirkstone?’

‘Worse. Steeper and goes on for longer. I’ve only done it once. There’s a famous photo of it from the 1890s, with a poor horse pulling a buggy or something down it. It must have been terrifying. And we sold a painting not long ago, based on that photo.’

‘Presumably it wouldn’t have to pull to go down, if it’s so steep. What stopped the coach running away and dragging the horse after it?’

‘They had brakes, I guess,’ he said vaguely.

Simmy had a vivid mental image of the scene, arousing strong sympathy for Victorian horses in general and a faint understanding of the harshness of life in this isolated spot not so long ago. ‘It rains such a lot,’ she remembered. ‘The road must have been muddy most of the time.’

‘Snowy. Icy. And then bumpy and hard in summer. I don’t imagine the people of Borrowdale went out and about very much if they could help it.’

‘So – are we going to risk it?’

‘Not much of a risk these days. The car’s just been serviced, so the brakes should be okay. It’ll be good to see it again.’

Again she found herself wondering if he was all right. His voice was flat and the tone oddly distracted. ‘Did you—?’ Again her child interrupted, even more insistently, drowning her words.

‘Come on, then. This is hopeless,’ said Christopher. ‘But at least you get the general idea. I’m glad you’ve seen it, and we can have another go after lunch, if you like.’

They went back down the handsome staircase and out through the front door. Christopher carefully locked it, and they set off down the hill to Grange, having collected Cornelia from the car.

Simmy was still holding onto her question, and tried again as they reached the first bend in the winding little road. ‘What did you see in the cellar? You came back as white as a sheet.’

‘Did I?’ He made a poor show of trying to laugh. ‘Well, if you must know, it was rats. Two of them. Big ones. I didn’t want to scare you and have you screaming in front of Robin.’

‘Oh, God! Now I won’t dare go back in there for another look. They might be all over the house.’

‘At night they probably are.’ He shuddered. ‘It’s irrational, I know. But they completely freak me out. Did I tell you about that time in David?’

‘Guatemala, right? Yes, you did.’

‘It’s lucky you’re the same about them. You don’t just dismiss it as silly.’

‘It would be better if one of us could cope with them. If we get one in our house, we’ll both scream and run away, leaving Cornelia and Robin to deal with it.’

‘Which they probably would.’ This time his laugh was more successful.

The stroll down the gentle decline into the village and the river Derwent was easy and interesting. They passed the Borrowdale Gates Hotel, which felt like a kind of rival to High Gates. Christopher stopped suddenly for no apparent reason, and stared at something that Simmy assumed was a gatepost.

‘Look at that!’ he said.

She looked. ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know, but it was never designed to be part of a fence. It’s from some kind of industrial machinery.’

The object was black, apparently made of iron, and about three feet high. It comprised cogs and bars that confirmed Christopher’s observation that it was thoroughly out of place. ‘I see what you mean,’ she said.

‘How on earth did it get here?’ he wondered. ‘Something dismantled, bits sold off, or left for anyone to just help themselves to. There’s got to be a story.’

‘Recycling,’ she suggested. ‘It’s a nice sturdy thing, and someone’s been clever enough to find a new use for it.’

‘Right,’ he agreed with a nod, clearly not quite satisfied. ‘I suppose we’ll never know.’

Ahead of them was a group of hikers, looking as if they were heading for the same cafe as the Hendersons. It was almost half past twelve and people would be feeling hungry.

‘I hope it’s not too crowded,’ said Simmy.

‘They probably sell food to take away. We can buy something and eat it near the bridge, if necessary.’

But it proved not to be necessary, and they all sat outside on a modest-sized area with six or seven other people and two other dogs. Simmy was facing the river, although it was invisible behind buildings. The view was of an almost entirely tree-covered fell rising steeply not far beyond the river. Her eye was caught by a massive boulder sitting high up amongst the trees, appearing to hover ominously over the settlement that was Grange. One day it would work loose and crash down without warning. Gravity alone must make that inevitable. She drew Christopher’s attention to it, and he turned to look.

‘The tree roots are bound to dislodge it one day,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think?’

He showed no concern. ‘In about a million years, perhaps.’

‘Or maybe next week.’

‘It’s attached to the mountainside. That’s just one small part of it that you can see there. I don’t think the trees will make much impression on it.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘But I won’t worry about it...