"Here we are, then," said Lowbeer, stopping unexpectedly, a thick wooden door, previously unnoticed, partially opening to Netherton’s immediate left. Fearing, dimly backlit by candlelight, squinted ferociously at him over something thrust forward in both hands, her arms outstretched from the shoulders. A pistol, Netherton saw, of the county’s era, and exactly the sort he knew her younger self to favor.