Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. In the flagged entrance hallway at the bottom, where extra light came in from a window above the double doors, it was easy enough to distinguish a family group, and a landscape which clearly included Remenham House in the distance. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. ’ ‘Well, she didn’t walk through the walls, that’s certain,’ said Hilary acidly. ‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere.
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