There it was again; that strange use of the plural. Only now, it was Mrs Hart using it instead of Bertie.

‘You see,’ Mrs Hart said, ‘other people wouldn’t understand. Not like us.’ She looked up and fixed Lou in what she felt was a challenging stare. Did Mrs Hart suspect something? Lou’s guard slammed up. She was glad when Mrs Hart turned her attention back to the rocking horse.

‘Bertie loves that old thing as much as I once did,’ Mrs Hart said. ‘He has a name, you know. Pegasus. He was my dearest friend when I was barely this chap’s age.’ She tucked the edge of the blanket beneath Bertie’s back where his pyjama top had ridden up. ‘Charles had already been sent away to school, and as a girl, I, of course, was kept at home, passing from the care of my nanny into the hands of a governess. I only saw my mother for an hour before tea each afternoon and on special occasions. My father, I saw even less, as he was always in London. My mother had children brought from the village once a month to play with me, but when they went home, I was, once again, left alone in the company of adults. I was better acquainted with the staff who were paid to take care of me than I was with my own family. They were all very kind, but it wasn’t enough. Many was the day that I sat in Pegasus’s saddle and dreamt that he would sprout wings like his namesake and fly me away to a land where I would find somebody to play with. No child should ever feel that lonely.’

She kissed Bertie’s forehead. As she stared into his sleeping face, she began to smile. ‘Then, one day, my mother announced over breakfast that we should expect the daughter of a distant relative to come to stay. I was twelve years old by then, so was allowed to take breakfast, as well as tea, with Mother. This relative was to become my mother’s ward, as her own parents had tragically died in an accident. Mother was vague about the girl’s relationship to us, which was immensely odd, as Mother was never anything but specific about everything. When I pressed her, she said that the girl was the niece of a second cousin that I would not have heard of.

‘Later that day the girl arrived, alone, at the front door. She carried a small suitcase containing only a very odd dress, and she gripped the paw of a stuffed bear. They were her only possessions. Odder than that was the luggage label pinned to her overcoat with her name written on it: Elizabeth Goodwill. I wanted to ask why someone would need a tag; did she not know her own name? But Mother said I was not to pry, as it would only upset Elizabeth. It’s hard to imagine now, but I was an obedient child, so I did as Mother said, besides, I cared nothing for Elizabeth’s strange appearance. I was simply thrilled that my prayers had been answered and at last I had a friend.