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Anker seemed to be enjoying our reactions to the food. “Are you staying long?”

“Difficult to say,” said Havelock. “Sometimes an investigation takes no more than a few hours. Sometimes it can take weeks.”

“An investigation?” Anker paused. “Ah. You must be here about the Duke.”

“We are,” I said.

Anker was solemn for a moment. He closed his eyes, pressed his hands together, and muttered a small prayer under his breath.

“Are these cheeses local?” I asked, when he was done.

“We import them from Lancaster. But surely our cheeses can’t be relevant to the death of the Duke?”

Havelock chuckled. “You might be surprised by which details end up being the most relevant. Do you keep livestock in Farleigh? I have yet to hear any.”

“Well observed,” said Anker. “We did, once. But these days, we much prefer importing the animal goods we need.”

“I have seen no meat, either. Which is peculiar because, even without livestock, the hunting must be good in a forest as rich as Farleigh’s.”

“You have a sharp eye.”

“It is my job to notice things,” said Havelock, polishing off another slice of bread.

“Well—you are quite right. No meat, at least in recent years. There was hunting a while before I arrived, but everyone seems to have lost their taste for it.”

“Because of the trees?” I asked.

“Because of the trees,” said Anker, nodding. “They are a beautiful mystery, aren’t they? And the longer you ponder that mystery, the more it will change you, I promise.”

“You think we will give up eating meat?” I asked.

“I think that if you stay here, there’s a very good chance you might.” Anker smiled.

Havelock sat back—sipping at his cup of apple juice. “We have been told that you are new to Farleigh.”

“New?” This seemed to take Anker by surprise. “I’ve been here five years or so. I suppose by Farleigh standards I am a newcomer.”

“Where were you before?”

“Have you heard of the Canadian Pacific Railway?”

I had. “Spanning the continent, from what I know. A marvel of engineering.”

“I joined the company in Ottawa during the earlier stages of construction. There were enough labourers that it felt as if it were a town, and that I was one of the town’s priests. You’re right to say that it was a marvel. It certainly was a marvel. Day by day we cut a line through the landscape. I grew so used to the rhythm of the nails being driven through the sleepers, even in the dead of night, that I still miss the sound of it. I had a whole section of a carriage to conduct my sermons: a church on rails! Some days, I would wake, and the view from the carriage door would take my breath away. Canada is very beautiful. I was there for the better part of five years, all the way up to the railway’s completion—and when it was complete, I took one last train back from Vancouver, back to Ottawa, where I started. I couldn’t believe how quick the journey was. Upon my return to England, I was offered Farleigh. The assignment was meant to be something of a challenge—a village with a run-down church that had gone without a priest for several decades—but the truth was that I relished the stability. Ten years was enough wandering for me.”

“An extraordinary experience,” said Havelock.

Anker nodded. “It was. But I look back on it differently, these days. I think about the sleepers quite a lot. I pray on them.”

“The sleepers?” I asked.

“When I tell you that we cut through the landscape, I really mean that. Thousands of trees were felled for the railway. Hundreds every week. For the sleepers, you see. Nowadays, when I think about the rhythm of a train—the clack-clack-clack down the track—I think about those sleepers. All the trees cut down and laid beneath the rails.”

“You cut down no trees in Farleigh?” asked Havelock.

“Not for a century now. We fell no trees, and we burn no firewood.”

“Which explains why you import so much coal.” Havelock smoothed down his moustache. “Tell me, then—what use would Farleigh have for an axe?”