‘I’m not sure.’

The door flew open, and a young woman burst in. ‘Aunt Leonora!’ she exclaimed, brandishing a newspaper. On seeing Lou, she stopped. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t realised your guest had arrived.’

‘Charlotte, dear, this is Miss Louisa Arnold. Louisa, I would like to introduce my favourite niece, Miss Charlotte Mandeville. And Charlotte, don’t worry. I think that in Louisa we have an ally for our cause.’

Cause? What cause? A small, knowing smile passed between aunt and niece. Lou rose briefly to shake hands with the girl who laughed. ‘Don’t be fooled by my aunt’s flattery, Miss Arnold,’ she said, flouncing back into an armchair. ‘Since I am my aunt’s only niece, it goes without saying that I must be her favourite. I may call you Louisa, that’s not too familiar, is it? You must call me Charlotte, I insist.’ Charlotte looked from Lou to Mrs Hart. ‘You haven’t dressed for tea. What would Mama say?’

‘Happily for us, since your mother is attending the Christmas assembly at the village school, she is not here to reprimand us. For one afternoon at least, Louisa and I have agreed to say fie to formality.’ Mrs Hart flashed a wicked sort of grin, making Charlotte laugh again.

‘Oh, Aunt. You are so rebellious,’ Charlotte said, adding two sugar lumps to the cup of tea that her aunt poured for her.

Lou could hardly take her eyes from this young girl. She was sweet, no more than eighteen-years-old, with fair hair, a nose that turned up at the end and wide blue eyes: not just pretty eyes but eyes continually watching, taking everything in, like a young owl. With a sudden, sinking sensation, Lou remembered the old man’s earlier prediction about Charlotte Mandeville’s future.

‘Aunt Leonora says that a friend of hers from India asked that you might come and stay with us for a while,’ Charlotte said, sipping her tea. ‘I would so like to go to India. It seems so very colourful and exotic. One of my favourite stories is Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. I know that’s not exactly India, but it’s similar, don’t you think? With all of the spices and perfumes.’

‘You will have to excuse my niece,’ Mrs Hart said. ‘She has so many thoughts racing around her head that they crash about like young birds leaving the nest for the first time. But don’t let her beauty or her silliness fool you; she has a brain the size of a planet. And never play her at bridge. I have often thought about taking her on a trip on a paddle steamer up the Mississippi. Charlotte would make our fortune beating those Yankee card sharps at poker!’

‘I’m certainly not that good,’ Charlotte protested. She took a plate of biscuits from the tea tray and offered them to Lou. ‘Please, do try one. Monsieur Gotti, our chef, bakes them. He’s from Switzerland. Aunt Leonora and I spent the summer in Switzerland when I was sixteen, didn’t we Aunt?’