The disciples knew their duties well enough, needing no supervision. They would flush out the manor’s staff and open their bodies for possession: a chore repeated endlessly over the last week. His work would come later, selecting those who were worthy of a second chance at life, who would embrace the Night.

“What—!” Genevieve began hotly as the last of the odd adults disappeared inside the manor’s entrance.

Louise’s hand clamped over her mouth. “Come on!” She pulled hard on Genevieve’s arm, nearly unbalancing the younger girl. Genevieve reluctantly allowed herself to be steered away.

“You heard Mother,” Louise said. “We’re to look after the horses.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“I don’t know! All right? Mother will sort everything out.” The words brought scant reassurance. What had happened to Daddy?

Boston must have been truly terrible to have affected him so.

Louise undid the strap on her riding hat, and tucked it under an arm. The manor and its grounds had become very quiet all of a sudden. The big entrance-hall doors swinging shut had acted like a signal for the birds to fall still. Even the horses were docile.

The funereal sensation was broken by Merlin who had finally reached the gravel driveway. He barked quite piteously as he nosed around Louise’s feet, his tongue lolling out as he wheezed heavily.

Louise gathered up the reins of both horses and started to lead them towards the stables. Genevieve grabbed Merlin’s collar and hauled him along.

When they reached the stable block at the rear of the manor’s west wing there was nobody there, not even the two young stable lads Mr Butterworth had left in charge. The horses’ hooves made an almighty clattering on the cobbles of the yard outside, the noise reverberating off the walls.