‘Sir Charles lived … and Charlotte was an MP.’ Lou had to say it aloud to believe it. Sir Charles hadn’t killed himself. Charlotte hadn’t married George. The bright young girl in a pretty pink dress with a fondness for weather machines and playing cards had made it. She’d only bloody gone and made it!

‘She married a young officer, who became the local doctor. They did so much good for this town,’ Bertie said. ‘A veteran from the war, he was. Survived a terrible injury. Carried the scars on his face for the rest of his life. He met Miss Charlotte at one of Mrs Hart’s hospital dances.’

‘Mrs Hart turned the house into a hospital.’ Lou smiled. ‘I can believe that.’

Bertie pointed out a series of photographs of young men, some in pyjamas, others in uniform, some with bandages covering wounds, others on crutches or in wheelchairs. They all had one thing in common – they were photographed in and around Hill House; taking tea in the morning room, enjoying a meal in the dining room, fishing in the trout lake, smoking and drinking over cards in the billiard room or sitting in the wicker chairs in the conservatory amidst Sir Charles’ flowers.

‘Mrs Hart insisted that Hill House be turned into a hospital for soldiers during The Great War,’ Will said. ‘But it was on one condition – that it treated all ranks, not just officers. And no man wore the invalid blue uniforms. Mrs Hart was adamant that each wore his normal uniform, a civilian suit, or the silk pyjamas she had the wealthy ladies of the area donate.

‘She set up one of the guest rooms as an operating theatre for the surgeon who came up from London once a week, and she led the nursing team, made up mainly of the maids. Lady Mandeville took care of the men’s pastoral needs, sitting by their beds, helping them write letters home, arranging silver service dinners, cards, and billiards and croquet tournaments, for those able. Every man was welcomed at the door by Mrs Hart, no matter the time of day or night. Some of them arrived in a dreadful state, with gangrene and dysentery, but nothing fazed Mrs Hart; she oversaw the care of every man, regardless of his rank or his injuries. The archive is full of letters from ex-patients thanking her and the doctors and nurses. There’s an extract from my favourite letter sent to Mrs Hart.’ Will pointed to a letter in the cabinet and read it out.

‘When I arrived at Hill House, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to live. The pain was unbearable, although I’m sure not as severe as many of my fellow patients. You sat with me that first night and made the world seem a gentler and kinder place. I knew then that if there were people such as you in the world, it was a world I wanted to return to.’

‘It didn’t end there,’ Will said. ‘Mrs Hart’s legacy lived on, and Edward and Alice saw to it that Hill House served as a hospital in the next war too.’