‘What is the matter?’ he asked, turning her to face him fully. ‘You look upset.’

She had spent her life watching him grow older. The serious expression of a young man was now permanently etched on his face in the way of deep furrows and dark lines. Silver flecks of grey had infiltrated his once dark brown hair and his handsome features had matured and settled. The years had passed and the changes had happened, but what had never altered was how safe he made her feel. He was the rock that she held on to and the wisdom she sought, as he would always tell her the truth.

‘I think someone is burying a body on Hel Tor,’ she blurted out, ‘and I don’t know what to do.’

Chapter Two

Grace sat in the front of the wagon, sandwiched between Uncle David and her father. Everything had happened so quickly. Her father had believed her, as she knew he would, and after shouting a few curt words of delegation, they were soon leaving Kellow Dairy and heading towards Bodmin Moor. Grace had insisted she went with them, as she was the only witness to the crime. Reluctantly her father had agreed, on the condition she stayed in the wagon when they went in search of the culprit. She looked down at the crowbars by her feet. Her uncle had placed them in the wagon to be used as weapons should the need arise. Their unforgiving, solid nature sent a prickle of fear climbing up her spine. Fear for her father and uncle’s safety rather than her own, as she was the one responsible for leading them into danger.

Her father turned off the road and onto the narrow track that threaded its way towards the base of Hel Tor. The narrow path, formed over the years by footfalls of men and women searching out a shortcut from village to village, snaked through the undulations of the moor. Each wagon wheel lifted in turn, as they rolled over spasmodic mounds of earth, creaking and grinding with each new strain placed upon them. At times the wagon tipped so precariously that the crowbars slid noisily to one side, forcing Grace to grasp her father’s arm for support on more than one occasion.

Eventually, her father gave up the journey and reined in the horse. They looked towards the looming tor, its ominous shadow engulfing them as the sun had begun to lower in the west.

‘We will walk the rest of the way,’ said her father. He handed the reins to Grace and jumped down from the wagon. Grace slid across the bench to follow him.

‘Stay here,’ he ordered as he reached for the crowbars. He handed one to David who had joined him. ‘This may take a while.’ He looked around, his eyes narrowing as he searched the barren landscape all the way back to the horizon. ‘You have a good line of sight. If a stranger approaches before we come back, go home in the wagon.’

‘You will scare her,’ said David.

Her father tested the crowbar in his hand. ‘If there is a man burying bodies on the moor, Grace needs to keep her wits about her.’ He looked up at her. ‘Sometimes the truth is not easy to say and even harder to hear. Do not wait for us if you feel you are in danger.’

Grace nodded and obeyed him without question, sliding back along the seat to her original position. Silently, she watched the two men trudge their way across the coarse, brown grass and towards the base of the tor, their heads occasionally turning towards each other, as if they were discussing which area to search first. Grace knew, despite the distance between them, that Uncle David was looking to her father for guidance — as everyone did.

Pride in her father made Grace sit a little taller. Daniel Kellow had come from nothing and worked hard to achieve his success. She understood why her mother had fallen in love with him all those years ago. Their love for one another still thrived, not like some of the marriages in the village where familiarity had bred either contempt, boredom or devalued any love that still existed. No, her parents were still very much in love. Grace had seen it in their candid glances over the heads of her younger siblings, a brief touch as they passed one another, the sound of their laughter in a far off room, or coming upon them during a quiet embrace. As a child, their love made her feel secure and her world safe. She loved them very much, as they had never damaged the trust she had once placed in them as an innocent child.

This was why her father’s word was never questioned. Years of candid wisdom and loyalty to his family, had earned Grace’s respect and compliance. He had never been demonstrative in his love to her — there were no hugs or kisses — but Grace did not mind. Fathers did not do that sort of thing, did they? Their presence, reliability and care was enough.

The silhouettes of the men disappeared behind a large boulder. An icy chill swept up her spine and for the first time she really feared for her father’s safety. What if something happened to him? There would never be an opportunity in the future for him to hug her. Grace’s stomach lurched as she realised, for the first time, she had always hoped that one day he would.

Grace sat stiffly in the wagon, growing more impatient for their return. Occasionally, she looked about her for approaching strangers. The only sign of life, apart from the small herds of moorland ponies and cattle grazing on the hill, was a family following a distant track across the moor. One by one, they followed the tallest figure, their size decreasing and reflecting their position in the family. There were eight figures in all, their number telling Grace it was Widow Smyth and her children, returning to her isolated cottage on the Candras. Soon they would discover the packages of food she had left them. She could imagine the widow looking about her for her benefactor and her widening smile as her children squealed in delight.

Grace dragged her eyes away and looked towards Hel Tor. A figure of a man holding a crowbar was approaching. Grace recognised Uncle David, jumped down and went to meet him.

‘Did you find him?’

David nodded, but did not stop walking. Grace retraced her steps as she tried to keep up with his long strides.

‘And the woman?’

‘We found them both. Daniel wants me to drive the wagon home and get back to work. We have a delivery to prepare and he wants me to oversee it.’ He threw the crowbar into the footwell and climbed into the wagon.

‘You are leaving Father alone with him?’ asked Grace, shocked he was going.

‘Daniel is in no danger. He wants you to join him.’ David flicked the reins and began to manoeuvre the wagon in a circle. Grace hastily retreated to avoid the wheels. She watched him turn then stepped into his path, her hands firmly on her hips. Her uncle reined in the horse and looked down at her.

‘Tell me what happened. I should at least be prepared.’

Her uncle’s expression was at first unreadable, until a slight smile curved his lips.

‘He wants to put your mind at rest,’ he reassured her. ‘You have nothing to fear now.’

Grace reluctantly stepped aside and watched him leave. He had said, ‘Nothing to fear now.’ Had they found them both dead? Or perhaps the man was captured — or injured after putting up a fight. Her uncle’s noisy departure left an eerie silence in his wake. An injured man could be dangerous too, Grace thought, instantly regretting not retrieving her uncle’s crowbar from the footwell. She decided she should prepare herself for the encounter.

Grace looked down at the ground and selected a small rock to use as a weapon. Testing the weight in her hand, she looked up at the tor for any sign of movement and headed towards the boulder where her uncle had emerged. The soft rustle of her dress, dragging on the moorland grass, seemed much too loud as it marked each determined stride she made towards the unknown.

* * *

As Grace drew nearer, she heard the low tones of a male voice, although at first she could not make out the words or who was speaking them. She tightened her grip on the stone and followed the sound, finally stepping into a small clearing surrounded by granite. Her father stood in the centre, deep in conversation with the man she had seen earlier. Neither had seen her approach, as her father had his back to her and the man was looking out to the horizon. Their conversation appeared oddly amiable, considering the circumstances.

Somehow this man had convinced her father that there was no crime committed. How had he managed it? He certainly carried off the persona of a respectable man. He was dressed in black, with a long frock coat, waistcoat and matching silk necktie. His starched white collar grazed a strong, shapely jawline and mirrored his stance, which was stiff, formal and impeccably groomed. He was an oddity — a gent more suited to the city than the barren landscape around him. Curiosity overriding fear, Grace took a step closer. The man sensed her presence and turned his gaze upon her.

His hard, hazel eyes, which had moments before been admiring the view, held her own briefly, before dropping to the sodden hem of her dress and back up to her wild, auburn hair. His intense gaze was unreadable, but she saw a flicker in his jaw as it tightened. Without saying a word, he returned his attention back to the horizon. The message was clear. She must make her own presence known.

‘Father?’ said Grace, hesitantly. Her father turned and for the first time Grace noticed a woman sitting primly on a rock between the men. Grace’s heart lifted. The woman was very much alive, although her skin was pale, her face rather lean and her frame too fragile to be called healthy. Soft ringlets danced in the breeze, as pastel blue eyes, glinting with amusement, stared at her. Grace realised she had wrongly accused a man of murder. More disconcertingly, she suspected the woman knew about her accusation. Her heart sank. No wonder her father had sent the wagon away. He wanted to walk home alone with his daughter, where he would speak to her frankly, impart a little of his years of wisdom and Grace would come away realising she still had a lot to learn about life. She was too quick to jump to conclusions would be the life lesson he would teach her today.

Her father was speaking, introducing her to these out-of-place strangers.

‘This is my daughter, Grace.’ Grace returned the young woman’s smile, with a reticent one of her own. ‘Grace, this is Mr and Miss Danning. They are here . . .’ her father looked pointedly at his daughter ‘. . . to admire the view and take the air.’

Grace held her breath, unsure what to reply.

‘I hear you were concerned for my safety,’ said the young woman, still smiling. Perhaps Miss Danning had the right approach, thought Grace. Best face her accusation head on. Even so, it was hard to do.

‘A little . . .’

‘More than a little,’ replied the man as he continued to stare out to the horizon. What could she say? She decided to say nothing. The man turned his gaze upon her again, this time it was less intense, yet, strangely, more unnerving. It lowered to the stone in her hand. ‘Perhaps it is your own safety you are concerned for now?’

Grace felt the weight of the stone. She had forgotten she still carried it. What had seemed a serious weapon, now felt a childish hope. She slid it behind her back and dropped it on the ground. It bounced on a rock with a loud thud.

‘I believed you were carrying a body and thought it best to fetch help. I’m sorry.’

‘For being wrong?’ goaded the man.

Grace felt herself bristle, ‘For believing Miss Danning was dead.’

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘But not for accusing me of murder?’

‘No slight was intended. I acted in good faith.’

The man addressed her father, effectively dismissing her from the conversation. ‘I accept your daughter’s apology. She acted hastily and needs to learn patience.’

Grace smarted under his criticism. She was not a child and would not be treated like one.

‘Can someone act too hastily if they’re in fear of their life? I would have thought acting hastily is the right thing to do, under the circumstances. If one is hesitant or changes one’s mind, it may be too late.’

He turned his gaze upon her again. ‘My victim was already dead, according to you.’

‘But I was not. I was very much alive. I am very much alive.’