In the centre of the room stuffed with abandoned treasures and beneath the glow of a single, un-shaded light bulb, was the source of the noise. The rocking horse rocked back and forth, and on it, sat Bertie. His eyes were closed, and his fingers grasped the woollen mane.

Lou ran to him. ‘Bertie?’ she said, her breath a cloud in the ice-cold air.

Bertie seemed not to hear her. He continued to move in the saddle, keeping up the momentum. Using the weight of her body, Lou stopped the horse and took hold of Bertie’s hands. His skin was warm, although he wore nothing but a pair of thin cotton pyjamas. She felt his forehead; his face burned and his fringe was damp.

‘Bertie?’ Lou whispered. ‘What are you doing here, sweetheart?’

Bertie’s eyelids flickered just as they had when he played with the doll’s house, but he didn’t respond. He was in the grip of some kind of trance again. Lou was so concerned that she didn’t hear the footsteps until they were behind her. She turned with a start.

Mrs Hart swept into the room, her hair loose about her shoulders, her colourful robe floating behind her. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ she said to Lou, briefly touching her arm before hurrying to Bertie. ‘There, there, darling,’ she cooed. ‘You are quite all right now.’

‘I think he’s ill.’ Lou said. ‘He’s running a temperature.’

‘Bertie’s not unwell, are you, my little one?’ Mrs Hart wiped Bertie’s fringe from his face. Gently, she eased him from the saddle and carried him to an old wooden chair where she took a seat amidst the objects hidden beneath sheets. Cradling Bertie, she said, ‘Close the door, won’t you? We don’t want to disturb anybody else. You’ll find a blanket in there, if you wouldn’t mind.’ She nodded towards an old chest.

Lou closed the door. She opened the chest and the rusty hinges creaked as she removed a blanket. She handed it to Mrs Hart, who wrapped it around Bertie.

Mrs Hart wore no slippers, and Lou watched the tendons in her feet contract beneath her skin. Unnerved by Mrs Hart’s state of undress, Lou said, ‘I heard a noise so I came up. Do you think he came all the way from his parents’ cottage on his own?’

‘He walks in his sleep sometimes,’ Mrs Hart said. ‘You go for little adventures in the night, that’s all, isn’t it, my darling?’ She kissed Bertie’s forehead and held him closer.

‘Should I get someone to fetch Sally and William?’ Lou imagined making her way in the darkness to the cottage and shuddered. If the prospect of that short journey down the drive terrified her, how in heaven’s name had a little scrap of a boy made his way all alone?

‘There’s no call to alarm them unnecessarily,’ Mrs Hart said.

‘Unnecessarily? Their son is wandering around in the dark. Shouldn’t they be told?’

‘Don’t worry yourself, Louisa. This little lamb is so dear, so precious to us. We will make sure that no harm ever comes to him.’