She smiled her thanks and hurried on the way he’d pointed to find herself in a large yard where some brilliant white sheets were flapping on a line in the wind. She passed a room with steam floating out of the door and saw a young, red-faced girl at a large sink scrubbing away at a sheet as if her very life depended on it. Beyond that was a large stable block where beautiful thoroughbred horses poked their heads over the top half of the doors, and beyond them she saw a large orchard. And then she spotted the door she wanted. She could hear the sound of pots and pans clattering as someone scrubbed them and rightly assumed that this must be the kitchen. Nervous now, she tentatively tapped on the door and seconds later it was opened by a young maid in a rough apron – the kitchen maid no doubt.

‘I’ve come to see Mrs Temple,’ Amber told her and the girl ushered her inside without saying a word. A rosy-cheeked cook was standing at an enormous table rolling pastry and at sight of Amber she raised an eyebrow.

‘If it’s a maid’s job yer after I’m afraid yer out o’ luck, lass,’ she said, not unkindly. ‘We don’t need no one at present.’

Amber shook her head. ‘Oh no, I’m not here for a maid’s job. I have an appointment with Mrs Temple at ten o’clock. I’ve come for the nanny’s position.’

The woman’s eyes stretched wide as she glanced at Amber’s down-at-heel boots and her shabby skirt and shawl. The lass looked clean enough, but she certainly didn’t look like nanny material, the cook thought.

Amber shuffled uncomfortably under the cook’s regard, wishing she’d worn the boots her uncle had given her, but she hadn’t wanted to ruin them on the long walk to the house.

Luckily, before the cook had the chance to comment, a tall, slim woman with fair hair swept into the kitchen and as her eyes settled on Amber she asked, ‘Are you Miss Ainsley?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Ah good, you are punctual so that’s a good start,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Mrs Brewer, the housekeeper, and if you’ll come this way, I’ll show you in to Mrs Temple. She’s in the drawing room.’

Nodding towards the cook, who was watching with interest, Amber followed the woman into a large hallway that was even bigger than the one at Greenacres and very tastefully furnished with gilt-framed pictures and mirrors on the silk-wallpapered walls. The keys on the chatelaine about Mrs Brewer’s waist clanked together as she walked and the full skirts of her stiff bombazine gown swooshed over the highly polished tile floor.