‘After my sixteenth birthday, she began to say other things, alarming things. She told me that I should prepare myself, and that I had to go home. As far as I was concerned, I was home. The messages went on for weeks, and I tried to convince myself that they didn’t mean anything. Finally, I was so disturbed that I decided to ask Leo directly whether she knew she had been talking in her sleep. At the same time, I confided in her about the death of my family. She said that we mustn’t talk about it in earshot of the house. She was right, we shouldn’t have talked so openly …’

‘You don’t have to continue –’

Elizabeth held up her hand. ‘I must.’

‘Not if it’s too difficult.’

‘It’s not difficult. It’s just that this is the first time I’ve talked about any of this.’ Elizabeth took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, I remember. One day, soon after I confided in Leo about my previous life, I went to the village to choose a gift for Lady Mandeville’s birthday. It was a trip I had made many times before. But that day, when I returned to Hill House, the grounds were full of men. I couldn’t believe my eyes. They were soldiers. Canadian soldiers. Playing croquet and sitting in wheelchairs on the lawn, smoking cigarettes. There were cars on the driveway, and the men listened to a wireless. I was no longer in the Victorian times. I dropped my parcel and ran inside the house. A woman in a nurse’s uniform stopped me and asked whether I was a visitor. I pushed past her and ran up to the room I shared with Leo. Only it wasn’t our room any longer, it was the bedroom of two officers, who were somewhat surprised at my bursting in on them and rather shocked when I became hysterical. They called for help and two nurses escorted me to another room where they sat me on the bed.

‘There was a vicar from St Mary’s. He was holding a service for the men too infirm to attend church. He came to speak to me. He asked my name, and I was just able to give it, before I started screaming again, and a doctor was called to sedate me. When I woke, many hours had passed. It was dark, and I thought I was back in my room until a man sitting beside the bed took my hand and spoke to me. He said he was my brother, Frank. I thought I was dreaming again, that I had lost the ability to distinguish between reality and fantasy. Frank was so kind and gentle. He explained that after his aeroplane crashed into the sea, he had been picked up by a German ship and was a prisoner for most of the war. After the Red Cross secured his release, he began to look for me and had just that day arrived where I had been sent as an evacuee and was last known to have been.’