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“They are thirsty, when they are young.”

Havelock leaned up against a metal bench. The Duchess seemed at ease, and as such, he deemed it the right moment to interview her about the night the Duke was felled. It was always thrilling to watch Havelock conduct such an interview. He had a way of carefully teasing out the finest of details, while remaining sympathetic—building as clear a picture as possible. From time to time, I went outside to fetch a little water from the well, while I continued the Duchess’s work of tending to the greenhouse.

These are the facts that Havelock ascertained:

Six nights ago, the Duchess had awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of a rhythmic knocking. The embers were low in her fire, but still glowing, putting the hour at around midnight. There was a little wind, gusting down the chimney and through the halls, and as the Duchess listened, the knocking began to gradually slow. Then, there came a tremendous creaking groan, followed by an almighty crash, which shook the house. The ornaments in her bedroom jumped about. After the crash came a quiet, during which the Duchess rose, and went to her window. Several of the panes had cracked, and beyond it, where usually the Duke stood proud and tall, was the empty lawn.

The Duchess proceeded downstairs with a candle. As she went, she saw a little dust falling from the rafters of the house—no doubt disturbed by the great shaking crash. Her candle guttered, casting shifting shadows through the halls. Nevertheless, she moved with confidence, peering from the windows. The Duchess was well acquainted with the darkness of her house, and though she could hear the creaking of the boards as they resettled around her, she could neither see nor hear any evidence of an intruder.

When she reached the conservatory, she found that the trunk of the Duke had fallen through it, leaving shattered glass everywhere. She was much distressed by the sight, but still moved over to the Duke’s roots, where she could clearly see that his trunk had been cut. There was nobody to be seen, and the wind coming in through the great tear in the glass meant that she had to relight her candle several times. She returned to the Duke’s trunk, and there sat with him for the rest of the night, conducting something of a vigil for him.

At the first signs of dawn, she was found by a fellow known locally as the Ambassador. The Duchess routinely breakfasted with the Ambassador, and though he lived on the far side of the village, and had in recent days twisted his ankle rather badly, leaving him with something of a limp, he still arrived on schedule. The Ambassador surveyed the scene, and then went out onto the grounds and into the forest, in search of the perpetrator. He returned after some time, and declared that though he could find no sign of the culprit, he did find an axe discarded near the stables, which looked to have been recently sharpened.

Soon after, the Duchess’s assistant and housekeeper, named Mary, arrived from the village. Mary, too, surveyed the damage and the grounds. She confirmed the Ambassador’s description of the suspicious axe, and though she searched both house and forest, she, too, could find no sign of or clue as to the perpetrator.

Between the three of them, they discussed at length how to proceed. The felling of the Duke was a terrible crime, but none could think of a suspect. The trees of Farleigh Forest are precious to all who live locally, and the Duke was especially beloved. As such, the Duchess decided that external help would need to be summoned. Of course, the authorities in Windermere could hardly be relied upon—they would surely sneer at being asked to investigate the felling of a tree. But she had read a great deal about a certain famous detective in The Times, renowned for taking on unusual cases. His consulting fee was high, but thanks to Farleigh’s trade in high-quality fruits, the Duchess felt confident paying him—at least in part so that she would be taken seriously.

It had taken a few days to organise the transfer and letter, during which time the Duchess had reconsidered who might be responsible for the felling. It was true that the forest and the Duke were beloved locally, but there were those in the village with whom she had certain disagreements—some long-standing. Perhaps one of those disagreements might have been more profound than she had first realised. Perhaps … someone had snuck up to the house in the middle of the night and felled the Duke in order to intimidate her.

As such, she had compiled a short list for Havelock to consult. On that list was the Farleigh schoolmistress, Heather Fairweather; the orchard keeper, Amake Ube; and the new village priest, Father Anker. Havelock assured the Duchess that he would enquire with all of them in turn, along with the Ambassador and Mary, just to be sure.

The interview then came to an end, by which point I had completed my rounds of the greenhouse. The wind was picking up again, and the trees of the forest shivered, loose leaves skittering across the glass. It would be night soon.

“Now then, gentlemen,” said the Duchess, “I am growing weary. I anticipated that you would have no arrangements for the night, so I have had Mary prepare you some rooms.” Fetching a key from her side, she presented it to me. “You’ll find them upstairs, at the end of the hall in the north wing—adjoined for your convenience. I believe that Mary has left you some dinner, though you’ll have to use the fireplace for hot water if you need it.”

“Thank you,” said Havelock, with a small bow. “We will begin our enquiries first thing in the morning. You have been most helpful.”

The Duchess folded her hands across her lap.

At the door, Havelock paused. “One more thing, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” said the Duchess.

“In your letter, you wrote that it was vital this case remain secret. Why so?”

The Duchess nodded gravely. “I think that the Ambassador would be best placed to answer that question for you. Or—perhaps—you might like to spend a little more time in the forest. The trees have something of a way of answering questions themselves.”

The balcony doors of Havelock’s room had been flung open by the wind, scattering autumn leaves across the room. I secured the doors with a sash, and there stood a moment, watching the trees bluster about beyond the panes.

We had brought the axe up with us, and Havelock was examining it in the last light of day. “This is an ancient tool,” he said. “Much more use, and the haft will disintegrate. The blade is quite rusted. I’m surprised it lasted long enough for the culprit to cut through such a thick trunk.”

“Why not use a better axe?” I asked.

“Why indeed?” said Havelock. Leaving the axe, he draped himself across a threadbare divan, and there thoughtfully twirled a dry leaf by its stem.

“What are your thoughts?” I asked him.

“Too many to number.” He smiled at me.

There was some hard bread and jam, which we stuck into with relish. Afterwards, I lowered the room’s ancient chandelier and lit the candles there. I could feel the ache in my arms as I hauled it back up; it had been a taxing day.

“Sebastian,” said Havelock.

“Yes?” I settled into the armchair beside him.

“I find myself yearning for distraction and inspiration. Will you recite for me the story of the Duke of Farleigh’s Stone Library?”

“It’s only an old folk tale.”