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‘But the order is no longer in existence.’

‘The order might not be, but some of the nuns are still around and the bishop has deep coffers.’

‘Would you be able to give me details? I’d like to talk to them.’

‘Private and confidential.’ His grin bordered on salacious, which she found disturbing.

‘Are there any records still here?’

‘Records? The other one asked that too. There’s nothing left. Place was stripped to its floorboards. And even some of them were taken too.’

‘What did you tell… the other woman?’

‘Same as I’m telling you. She was more of a snoop, though. Didn’t pay any heed. Took off up them there stairs.’ He pointed to the stone staircase behind her. ‘I followed her, of course, in case she stole something.’

‘Thought you said there’s nothing left.’

‘Might be something I missed.’

She smirked. ‘So it was you who stripped the place bare.’

‘Only returned things to their rightful owners.’

‘Those who no longer exist?’

‘You said that, not me.’

She tried to follow his cryptic logic. ‘When you followed the woman around this place, was she scared?’

‘Not a bit. A right amateur sleuth Mel was. I made her tea in my caravan back in the woods. Told her a few lies and off she went, happy as Larry.’

‘Was she a detective?’ She banked the woman’s name.

‘Not at all. But I’d say you’re one. That makes me wonder what you’re doing out here. Did Mel send you?’

‘Who’s Mel?’ Draw him out, she thought.

‘Come on, lady. You know right well, don’t you? She sent you here. All talk of a grand exposé on some documentary. Silly girl. Nothing left to expose. All the secrets are out in public. Hounded the nuns away. Inquiries and commissions did me out of any respectability I may have once had.’

Now Lottie was silent, her mind in turmoil. His revelations were both enlightening and sickening, because she believed the Mel he was talking about was Imelda Conroy, documentary-maker. And she had been brutally murdered in a holiday cottage not far from where Lottie stood with this strange old man.

‘Can you tell me exactly when Mel was here?’

‘Last week sometime. I don’t keep a diary. Hardly know what day it is most of the time.’

‘Did you report back to the nuns? The ones who don’t exist?’

‘Now you’re pulling the mickey.’ He laughed, a bawdy sound that reverberated in the hollow space. ‘My name may be Mickey, but I haven’t had it pulled for a long time. Don’t suppose you’d?—’

‘Mr…’ What was his name again? She hid a grin at his attempt at a joke. ‘Mr Fox. I take offence at your crudeness.’

‘That’s the trouble with the world today. No sense of humour.’

‘And I suppose your nuns had a great sense of humour. Laughing all the way to the bank while poor unfortunate girls, through no fault of their own, were incarcerated here into a life of hard labour.’ She paused to take a breath, her mood darkening suddenly with her rage-fuelled words.

‘No fault of their own? You’re deluded, lady. Those girls were sinners. Each and every one of them. And they got what they deserved.’

Despite his words, Lottie felt there was a lack of certainty in his tone. Was he trotting out what some might refer to as a party line?