Hannah hurried after her. Her astonishment at being suspected was turning to anger. Mrs Feilden had no business in her room. She had things in there that were private to her, that she didn’t want anyone else to see – and none of them were stolen books.

The door was unlocked. Hannah had never been given a key. She watched Mrs Feilden turn the handle and go in. She wanted to run in and pull her out, to tell her that she couldn’t go looking through her belongings, but the house was hers and Hannah was only a servant. She could only comfort herself with the thought that the woman would find nothing.

Mrs Feilden glanced along the shelves where Hannah kept her hairbrush and hairpins and her best bonnet. She pulled at the skirt and dress that were hanging up and she took down Hannah’s little coat and felt inside the pockets, though heaven knows how she thought a book could be hidden in there. If Mr Horrocks hadn’t been standing half in front of her to prevent her running forward Hannah would have grabbed Mrs Feilden by the hands and shouted in her face to get out and leave her belongings alone.

Mrs Feilden turned back the covers on the bed, bent to look under it, finding nothing but the clean chamber pot, then ran her hands under the mattress. She paused.

‘What’s this?’ She pulled out the chopping board. ‘Cook? Is this from the kitchen?’

‘It looks very much like it, Mrs Feilden. I wondered where it had got to.’

Hannah stared at the floor. She was going to be in trouble after all.

‘What’s this doing in here, Hannah?’ demanded Mrs Feilden. ‘Were you hoping to sell this as well?’ She paused as a thought struck her. ‘You’re friendly with that girl from the Star, aren’t you? She was a maid at Woodfold Hall with you. She’s walking out with Mr Starkie, the pawnbroker.’ She stared at Hannah and then spoke to the butler. ‘Horrocks, you had better go down to Mr Starkie’s shop and enquire about the missing book.’

‘I’ve taken nothing!’ protested Hannah, shocked at the unfairness of the accusations.

‘You’ve taken this!’ Mrs Feilden shook the chopping board and for a moment Hannah feared she was going to strike her with it.

‘I only borrowed it.’

‘Borrowed it? Why on earth would you borrow a chopping board and hide it in your room? It’s not as if you’re going to be preparing vegetables up here, is it?’

‘I … I …’ Hannah hesitated to tell the truth but she knew that it was the only thing that might save her. ‘I borrowed it to do my writing.’

They all stared at her as if they thought she was mad.

‘Writing?’ repeated Mrs Feilden.

‘It makes a hard surface, like a desk, to rest my paper on. I put it on the bed.’

‘And what do you write?’ asked Mrs Feilden, seemingly torn between incredulity and a wish to know what fanciful tale Hannah would come up with next to cover her crimes.