The Twisted Root

turned around, the beam of light swinging across the two trees to their right. It caught for a moment on a tangle in the lower branches.
    "What’s that?" he said quickly.
    "An old bird’s nest," she replied. "Last year’s, by the look of it."
    He played the light on it, then moved forward to look more closely.
    "What?" she asked, with curiosity more than hope. "Clever how they weave them, isn’t it? Especially since they haven’t got any hands."
    He passed her the lantern. "Hold this onto it, please. I want to take a closer look."
    "At a bird’s nest?" But she did as he requested, and kept the light steady.
    With hands free it was easy enough for him to climb up until he was level with the nest and peer inside where it was caught in a fork in the branches, close to the trunk.
    "What is it?" she called up.
    He turned around, his face a shadowed mask in the upturned beam.
    "Hair," he answered her. "Long hair, lots of it. The whole nest is lined with hair." His voice was shaking. "I’m going to look for a hollow tree. You just hold the light, and keep your eyes away."
    She felt a lurch inside. She had no longer believed it, and now here it was. They were almost there—in the next half hour—more or less...
    "Yes," she said unsteadily. "Yes, of course."
    Actually, it took him only fifteen minutes to find the tree with the hollow core, blasted by some ancient lightning and now rotted. It was closer to the road than the nest, but the spread of branches hid the hole until it was deliberately sought. Perhaps twenty-two years ago it had been more obvious. The entire tree was hollow down the heart.
    "It’s in there," Robb said huskily, climbing down again, the lantern tied to his belt. His legs were shaking when he reached the ground. "It’s only a skeleton, but there’s still cloth left..." He blinked, and his face looked yellow-gray in the beam. "From the head, she was killed by one terrible blow... like Treadwell... and Mrs. Stourbridge."

13
    RATHBONE HAD SLEPT LITTLE. A messenger had arrived at his rooms after midnight with a note from Hester:
    Dear Oliver,
    We found the body. Seems to be a woman with gray hair. She was killed by a terrible blow to the head—just like the others. Am in the police station with Sergeant Robb. They do not know who she is. Will tell William, of course. I shall be in court in the morning to testify. You MUST call me!
    Yours, Hester
    He had found it impossible to rest. An hour later he had made himself a hot drink and was pacing the study floor trying to formulate a strategy for the next day. Eventually, he went back to bed and sank into a deep sleep, when it seemed immediately time to get up.
    His head ached and his mouth was dry. His manservant brought him breakfast, but he ate only toast and drank a cup of tea, then left straightaway for the courtroom. He was far too early, and the time he had expected to use in preparing himself he wasted in pointless moving from one place to another, and conversation from which he learned nothing.
    Tobias was in excellent spirits. He passed Rathbone in the corridor and wished him well with a wry smile. He would have preferred a little fight of it. Such an easy victory was of little savor.
    The gallery was half empty again. The public had already made up their minds, and the few spectators present were there only to see justice done and taste a certain vengeance. The startling exceptions to this were Lucius and Harry Stourbridge, who sat towards the front, side by side, and even at a distance, very obviously supporting each other in silent companionship of anguish.
    The judge called the court to order.
    "Have you any further witnesses, Sir Oliver?" he asked.
    "Yes, my lord. I would like to call Hester Monk."
    Tobias looked across curiously.
    The judge raised his eyebrows, but with no objection.
    Rathbone smiled very slightly.
    The usher called for Hester.
    She took the stand looking tired and pale-faced, but absolutely confident, and she very deliberately turned and looked up towards the dock and nodded to both Cleo and Miriam. Then she waited for Rathbone to begin.
    Rathbone cleared his throat. "Mrs. Monk, were you in court yesterday when Mrs. Anderson testified to the extraordinary story Miriam Gardiner told when she was first found bleeding and hysterical on Hampstead Heath twenty-two years ago?"
    "Yes, I was."
    "Did you follow any course of action because of that?"
    "Yes, I went to look for the body of the woman Miriam said she saw