It seemed angry and dark as the sun set behind it, as though it wanted him there as little as he wished to be there. He felt weary for this grieving family who, in the few years he had known Portland, had lost a father, a sister, a child and a wife.

The cause of his late arrival had been a visit to the churchyard, to that corner were the Portland family tombs rested. Two small holly bushes had been planted at the foot of the steps and, for the first time he noticed the crest over the doors. It was the same image he had witnessed the first time he had met Lady Barrington, of two unicorns bowing to a tree. But one of them had now been painted black. The day was so still and the air so peaceful that Fotherby had lingered there for over an hour, touched by the tenderness with which these memo...

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