Dropping the pen, Lou looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was scoured clean of make-up and her damp hair hung loose around her shoulders. At no point in the last week had she looked less like Miss Louisa Arnold, a guest of the Mandevilles of Hill House, and more like plain old Lou Arnold from Hill House Council Estate. She pulled a wrap around her shoulders, slipped Elliot’s envelope from the drawer, collected up her letters and crept from the room into the corridor.

Downstairs, the party was still in full swing. Lou kept close to the wall of the dark upstairs landing. If anybody spotted her, they would come and see her off. Just short of the secret staff door, she almost tripped over a bundle on the floor. Thinking it was an item of discarded clothing; she was about to step over it when it moved. She stopped. It moved again. Had a dog or cat found its way inside to the warmth? She crouched beside it. It wasn’t an animal; it was Bertie, fast asleep and with his face pressed to the banisters. He looked so peaceful that Lou hardly wanted to disturb him. She ran her fingers over his fine blonde curls. ‘You be a good boy,’ she whispered. ‘Cherish your mummy, and tell her every day how much you love her. Be sure to give your daddy such big hugs that he’ll be able to feel them forever. And if something happens … if he ever …’

Bertie squirmed. She pulled her hand free. Too late. He rubbed his eyes with little balled fists and blinked at her

‘I waited here for you,’ he said. ‘I’m to put your dolly away tomorrow morning.’ He threw his arms around her neck, and she held his small body to hers, rocking him gently, her chin resting on his soft cotton nightshirt. When she prised herself away from him, tears shone in his eyes, just as they had in his mother’s.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ Bertie said.

‘I don’t want to go either. But my family need me. And someone else needs to come here to take my place. You understand that, don’t you?’

He nodded.

‘Come along now,’ she said, putting on her best cheerful voice, ‘it’s time you were in bed. Father Christmas won’t deliver your presents if you’re not asleep now, will he?’ She held out her hand. Bertie wrapped his warm little fingers around hers and she helped him to his feet. Together, they walked to the secret door. She eased it open and ushered him up the first steps to the attic bedrooms. He turned back and waved.

‘Je reviens, Miss Arnold, je reviens.’

‘I hope so, Bertie. I really do hope so.’

She watched him until he disappeared at the turn in the stairs before descending the stone steps, heading for the basement. There was no time to dwell, or she might just crumble and she couldn’t do that; she had to keep her wits about her. Going down this way was a safer route than navigating the alternative staff stairway into the billiard room, which by now would be full of men enjoying Sir Charles’ fine malt. There was no way George would miss out on that. The only other option for leaving the house was to go out through the front door, but that risked facing the fury of George’s family and the other guests.