And so it was that at eight on the Saturday morning, he arrived at his sister’s house-which had belonged to their parents-and found her dressed for the country and ready to go. As he held the door of the motorcar for her, she said, “The day doesn’t look promising.”

It was true. Clouds had banked over the city, and as they drove east toward Essex, the clouds seemed to follow at their heels. The brightness far out over the North Sea dimmed, and by the time they were well out into the countryside, the sky was slate gray over their heads and the increasingly marshy landscape was colorless and drab with no features of interest. It wasn’t suitable for cultivation or pasturage, and Rutledge decided the people who lived farther out on the hook of land that followed the length of the river must make their living from the sea.

Frances said, “Is this where your curiosity is taking you?”

Rutledge found the turning he was after. “Call it a sudden and irresistible desire to explore. I don’t know this part of Essex.”

“Then how did you know that turning was there?”

“Ah. As it happens, I was looking at a map.”

Just here the river was out of sight beyond the widening stretch of marsh grass and a few wind-stunted trees. But they could see it glinting like pewter from time to time and knew it was there, moving silently and swiftly, the current dark and smooth.

“I’m not sure I like this place,” Frances said after a while, gazing out toward the river. “Whatever possessed you to want to come here?”

“Curiosity,” he answered. “I told you.”

“Yes, well, you must be in desperate need of entertainment. Couldn’t we have explored in Surrey? Or perhaps Oxfordshire? There are some lovely restaurants in Surrey. And Oxford, as well.”

“I think you’ll change your mind before the day is out,” he said. But he had a feeling that she wouldn’t.