Phoebe and her co-conspirators slip into Greymoor to read the numbers Sir Montague refuses to see, and the margins name a debt that wants to stay hidden.

Mr Fellowes, cornered by conscience, admits how York entered Pritchard’s plans, and how easily morality is initialled when a baronet asks nicely.

Back at the apothecary, three bottles carry the faint scent of bitter almonds, and someone proves they would rather poison the village than lose control of the story.

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