‘I’m … I’m going somewhere. I’m in quite a rush,’ she said, not wanting to get caught up in the gaggle of women.

‘Very good, Miss.’

Through the billiard room door, came the sound of people entering the house – heels clicking on tiles, voices exclaiming how nice it was to be back in the warm.

‘I’ve never seen Northampton so busy.’

‘One fears for one’s feet in the midst of such commotion.’

‘A positive ocean of people.’

Then came a banging noise. ‘Mama, Mama, let us in,’ Charlotte called. ‘I long to see the decorations. What have you been doing all morning? I must see!’

‘Patience, child,’ Mrs Hart intervened. ‘William, might we have some tea in the morning room, please? I think my niece is in need of something to calm her spirits.’

Lou shrank from the door. After last night, she would rather not bump into Mrs Hart. Slipping out through the conservatory, she made her way down the path along the back of the house.

The stables were almost empty, the horses having been taken on the ride to Caxton Hall. Lou made for the only occupied stall.

‘Hello, boy,’ she whispered. She approached Ambrose cautiously and ran her hand along his warm, rough coat. He hardly seemed to notice her presence and carried on pulling hay from a net on the wall, chewing it slowly. She made her way further into the stall so that she was level with his head. She stroked his satiny ears, and when he turned his face to her, she ran her hand along his neck. His mane was far shorter than that of any of the other horses and stood in a line of grey tuft down his neck.

‘It’s called a hog cut.’

Lou spun around.

Elliot pointed to Ambrose. ‘His mane’s coarse, so we keep it cut short. Not pretty, but it’s practical.’

In the storeroom, instead of placing tea on to brew, Elliot produced a bottle of cider, which he poured into a small, battered pan and placed on the trivet in the hearth. He added sugar, stirred the mixture and, just before it came to the boil, shared it between the two chipped mugs, still stained with tea. He took a heavy fruitcake from a tin and cut two thick slices. Pushing the cake towards Lou, he sat down. ‘A woman in the village makes it for me. It’s good.’

Lou took a slice. They ate and drank in silence. The cake washed down with mouthfuls of hot cider was the most satisfying meal she had eaten in days. Elliot’s silence and aura of calm was a welcome relief from the chaos in the house. When he held the pan above her cup, she nodded for him to top it up. He lit a cigarette and smoked slowly. Once he was finished, he stubbed it out, reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed an envelope. He pushed it across the table.