Lou laughed. ‘No, it makes you his sister.’

Charlotte lifted her eyes. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were nipped to a healthy pink. ‘I don’t know how you do it, Louisa, but you seem always to know exactly the right thing to say.’ She slipped her arm through Lou’s. ‘Wouldn’t it be marvellous if you could stay with us forever? I’m sure we would be the very best of friends. You are quite simply the kindest person I have ever met.’

‘Really?’ Lou said, embarrassed but touched by Charlotte’s immature enthusiasm. If Charlotte knew the truth, she might not be so gushing. ‘I think my brothers might disagree with you. I have been known to be quite cruel to them.’

‘Cruel! I don’t believe it for a second.’ Charlotte squeezed Lou’s arm. ‘Let’s say “pooh” to brothers. They are nothing but silly boys.’

Lou laughed. ‘All right, then. Pooh to brothers.’

Arm in arm, they walked through the freshly fallen snow, their skirts and boots growing increasingly sodden as they made their way towards the beacon of St Mary’s spire.

They didn’t need to leave the grounds; the church was within the boundary wall of Hill House. Taking the path around the side of the church, the view became more familiar to Lou – bushes and hedges, ancient headstones green with moss and lichen – although beyond the front gates stood a row of neat redbrick workers’ cottages, surrounded by woodlands and evergreens, not the back fences of council houses she was used to. Churchgoers milled around the open door; men in suits, women in dark dresses and children in smart little outfits, mirroring the adults. The staff of Hill House were amongst them, and Lou spotted Sally holding the hand of a little boy in a pale blue coat, a shock of blonde curls escaping from beneath a cap. There were more worshippers here today than she had ever seen at St Mary’s, and they all moved aside to let her and Charlotte pass, the men and boys removing their hats, the women and girls curtseying.

Inside the vestibule, they were greeted by the melancholy sound of the organ echoing around the stone walls. Lou was about to follow Charlotte into the church when a sudden and unexpected memory stopped her dead. It was no longer daytime but a cold evening in late December. A breeze whistled through the churchyard into the porch. She was a small child. She was with Stephen and Dean, bundled up against the cold in scarves and hats, each clutching an orange decorated with red ribbon and a small candle. Their eyes gleamed in the tiny flames, and Mum smiled as she held the door open for them. The scene transformed. It was years later. They were all older. Stephen and Dean looked uncomfortable in their newly-purchased cheap black suits. Heads dipped, they walked slowly through the vestry in time with the undertakers, bearing the weight of Mum’s coffin on their shoulders.