By the time we reached the village, the afternoon light had turned golden. Edith left us at the square, explaining that she had potatoes to attend to and that potatoes, unlike certain other things in the valley, were best dealt with promptly.
The White Heron was pleasantly busy. Someone was playing chess near the window; Rowan was arguing with a customer about the price of a basket, and a small dog had occupied the warmest spot beside the hearth.
The innkeeper looked up as we entered.
"Ah. Back again."
"We've been to the old church."
"Have you?"
"Yes. We met Samuel."
The innkeeper stopped polishing his glass.
"Samuel?"
"The bell-ringer."
He looked at us for a moment.
"Well, that is interesting."
"He had a little brass bell. He said one bell rings for arrivals and another for departures."
The innkeeper put the glass down.
"And did he mention the door beneath the church?"
We nodded.
"Apparently it has been sealed for a long time. He suggested we ask Mrs Bell who built the church."
The innkeeper gave a quiet sigh.
"Samuel has always been inclined to give people things to investigate."
"Do you know who built it?"
"I know who laid the first stones."
"Who?"
"Mrs Bell's father. Or, more accurately, the man she called her father."
We looked at him.
"There's a distinction?"
"Apparently."
He reached beneath the counter and brought out the little wooden box containing the brass key.
"I think it's time I told you something about this."
He placed it on the counter but did not open it.
"Mrs Bell gave me this when she handed over the inn. She said it was not a key to a lock, but a key to a decision."
"What decision?"
"She didn't say. She thought I would know when the time came."
"And do you?"
He smiled faintly.
"I've been running an inn for twenty-three years. I've learned that the best way to deal with a mysterious key is to keep it somewhere safe and not let curious guests get hold of it."
Rowan, from his table, called out:
"That's a very sensible policy. Particularly with these guests."
The innkeeper ignored him.
"Samuel has another bell, you know. The departure bell. It isn't kept in the church."
"Where is it?"
"Mrs Bell has it."
We looked at the little box.
"Then perhaps we should visit her."
"Perhaps."
He lifted the box, turned it once in his hands, and returned it beneath the counter.
"But before you do, there's something I'd like you to understand. Mrs Bell has been in this valley for a very long time. Longer than I have, certainly. And she doesn't always tell the same story twice."
"Why not?"
"Because she doesn't always remember the same version."
He smiled.
"Or perhaps because we don't."
A moment later, the garden door opened and Mrs Bell herself stepped inside. She carried a basket of late pears.
"Ah," she said, seeing us. "You've met Samuel."
The innkeeper looked at her.
"Have you come to collect your pears?"
"No," she replied. "I've come to collect my key."
The room fell quiet.
She looked directly at us.
"Though I see you've already been discussing it."
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