“I believe you,” I said, nodding to add emphasis to my words. “Do you have a name?”
“I'm Matthew Juner,” the man said, after a little hesitation that made me wonder if he was telling the truth. He looked up as a shift of wind uncovered the moon once more and light glossed across the lawn, so we stood as exposed as if it were full day. He was tall for a collier, too, which was in his favour. “Please, I must hide.”
“Come with me,” I said, making a sudden decision to help this unhappy man, although I could not say why. “I know the very place.”
I led him off the lawn on to one of the narrow paths through the shrubbery, brushing past father's rhododendron bushes and down a steep, barely-marked track. “Where are you taking me, Miss Moffat?” Matthew asked.
“I grew up here,” I said. “I know ev
