Lou fell silent. What else could she say? Didn’t Sally think it odd that the Mandeville women treated her son like a pet? Wasn’t she worried that they might tire of Albert and abandon him like an old ball gown? Although questioning the motives of the Mandeville women would be a far easier conversation than the one where Lou revealed that she had first met Sally’s adorable, fresh-faced little boy when he was an arthritic old man confined to a wheelchair.

‘He was beautifully behaved today,’ Lou said. ‘You must be very proud of him.’

Sally smiled, almost reluctantly it seemed, although Lou detected a glimmer of pride. ‘I’m just thankful that he minds his manners for Her Ladyship and Miss Charlotte. He’s a handful for me and for my mother when she looks after him. William is the only one he really listens to. I suppose men are better at understanding boys, I know I never shall.’

Lou busied herself with unscrewing the cap from a tub of cold cream. She rubbed a dollop into her knuckles. If she spoke, it would be to warn Sally to make the most of every minute of her life with William, to cherish every hurried kiss as her husband was on his way out of the door. She looked at Sally’s reflection again, at the tip of her tongue sticking from her lips as she concentrated on securing a hairpin. It was against Lou’s nature, but she decided to say nothing. If she couldn’t tell Sally that she had met her son as an old man, she could hardly tell her that her husband was destined to die in a war.

9

The dinner gong couldn’t come soon enough for Lou, and she was already on her way downstairs when the last ripple rang through the house. The door to the drawing room stood ajar and voices raised in conversation floated into the hall. She hovered outside, waiting for a convenient moment to make her entrance. Peering through the gap between the frame and the door, she saw that most of the family had assembled. Bainbridge and the two footmen were waiting on them. Lady Mandeville, Mrs Hart and Charlotte sat together on a sofa like three exotic birds on a perch with plumages of bright silk and satin. Captain Mandeville stood before the fire, a highly polished black shoe up on the grate. Another man – Sir Charles Mandeville, Lou presumed – sat in a chair beside the fire. Like Captain Mandeville, Sir Charles wore a black tail suit. Even sitting down, he cut an imposing figure, with an impressive sweep of grey hair, parted to one side. The sherry in his glass glinted in the light from the fire. With the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, he rolled the tips of his moustache to fine points and laughed as Captain Mandeville recounted the highlights of his journey back to Hill House earlier that day. Lou looked from father to son; another twenty years and it wasn’t difficult to imagine Captain Mandeville taking that seat beside the fire. Only he never would.