‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why? It’s hardly your fault that my brother dislikes me. And sorry, you were about to tell me something about Edward before I interrupted you.’

‘It’s just … well, he mentioned something about Charlotte’s marriage.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t aware of an impending engagement.’

‘I mean her eventual marriage.’

‘Ah, I see, a hypothetical marriage. I shouldn’t worry, I’m sure my mother has that all in hand. It wouldn’t surprise me if she hasn’t already got her eye on a number of eligible chinless wonders with money and titles.’

‘Like your cousin?’

Tom’s expression changed. His smile disappeared, and his eyes locked on Lou’s. ‘Caxton,’ he said as though spitting out a sour grape.

‘I must have got it wrong. I thought I heard … I’m sorry …’

Tom turned away. He clenched his fists and stared out of the window. Unable to see his reflection in the glass, Lou read his mood in the rigid line of his shoulders. After a minute or so of stony silence, which she didn’t dare fill, Tom said, ‘Let’s continue.’

He led the way from the conservatory through the billiard room, and Lou was relegated to watching his back rather than walking beside him. She had gone too far by insulting his family. For all she knew, Tom and George Caxton were best friends. When was she going to learn to keep her big mouth shut and her nose out of other people’s business?

Tom was subdued when he recommenced the tour. He stuck to his promise and took her to parts of Hill House that she would not have seen without him. They went in and out of rooms, Tom explaining the history of ornaments and architectural features. His enthusiasm gradually returned when he pointed out the South American carvings and Asian tapestry wall hangings in his father’s office – souvenirs from his travels abroad as a young man and army officer. By the time they reached the top floor, Lou was relieved to find Tom slipping back to his more good-humoured self.

Letting them in through a doorway on the uppermost landing, Tom had them make their way along a narrow corridor beneath slanted eaves. The bare floors and walls up there were in stark contrast to the splendour of the world they had left behind. ‘These are the rooms of the male staff,’ Tom said quietly. ‘We shouldn’t really be up here.’

At the very end of the corridor, he opened a door to a room stacked from floor to ceiling with luggage – trunks, cases, valises. They passed through to an attic beyond – the lumber room, Tom called it – where old and broken furniture and furniture that had fallen out of fashion was kept. He pulled dustsheets from paintings; from an old pram; from long-forgotten furniture and toys whose home had once been the nursery on the floor below. With his breath clouding the unheated air, he regaled her with the story of how the rocking horse had suffered its battle wound the Christmas Day Sir Charles had given him and Edward each the gift of a toy sword. He found a box of lead zoo animals, which he handled fondly, remembering how he had favoured them as a child. He unearthed a tiny chair mounted on rockers, which he said Charlotte had regularly managed to squirm out of, much to the frustration of her nanny.