Lou stood up abruptly. ‘I should change. I’ve spilt tea on my blouse.’

‘Really? I can’t see –’

‘There … on the sleeve,’ Lou said. She hurried from the room before Charlotte had the chance to examine the non-existent stain.

13

Pacing up and down in her room, Lou tried to distract her thoughts by mentally rehearsing the dance steps Sally had taught her. But where was the point when, with Emma Caxton at the Ball, no other woman would get a “look in”? And what did it matter when none of this was real? She took a hairpin from a dish on the dressing table. It was just her luck that the doctors had put her into some sort of light coma that allowed her brain to run riot in this hallucination. With any luck, someone would take pity on her and add a stronger sedative to her drip so she could slip further into sleep and out of Cloud Cuckoo Land.

Lou gripped the hairpin so tight that it sprang from her fingers. Stooping to pick it up, she placed it back in the dish. As she stood up, she noticed how the fog outside the window still hung low over the land, although not nearly as dense as the day before. She became aware of a movement amongst the trees. Slowly, a form began to take shape. Emerging from the safety of the fog, picking its way gingerly through the snow, was a deer. A deer! She had only ever seen the odd crow on St Mary’s spire or a gnarly old grey squirrel scratching in the leaves. Never a deer! Gathering up her skirt, Lou ran from the room and raced along the corridor. Down in the hall, she had to leap over the branches of the huge fir tree Bainbridge, William, and a groundsman were dragging across the floor. ‘Sorry!’ she called on her way to the library. She threw the door open, and Tom looked up from his newspaper.

‘Where’s the fire?’ he asked.

‘Come on,’ she said, gesticulating wildly, trying to catch her breath.

‘What are you up to?’

‘Please, Tom … just come … look … you have to see.’

‘This had better be good.’ His eyebrows rose in a smile. He placed his newspaper on the table and followed her into the now empty morning room where she pointed out of the window.

‘See,’ she panted, ‘… there. It’s a deer.’

‘So it is,’ Tom said. ‘And from the single fork in his antlers, I’d say he’s a yearling. Stay perfectly still. If he so much as senses us watching, he’ll take fright and hightail it for the trees.’

The deer took a few tentative steps across the white lawn. ‘He’s so beautiful,’ Lou whispered, conscious of Tom’s closeness to her. ‘Why do you think he’s broken cover? Won’t he be in danger?’

‘He wants something. But he’s timid. See how he looks about, checking for any sign of danger. He’s taking each step carefully, purposefully … Lou, I –’ Tom’s gentle words disappeared, drowned out by the honk! honk! of a horn and a car revving its engine as it sped up the drive.