‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Lou said.

‘I’m afraid I’m a clumsy chump. I’d be sure to jab myself and draw blood.’ Emma gave Lou one of her winning smiles. ‘What say you take a break from the perils of garland making and take a turn around the hall?’

Emma began to walk away, leaving Lou no option but to follow. In the short time Emma had been in the house, Lou had learned that she wasn’t the kind of woman who would accept no for an answer.

Emma stopped at a statue of Pan so Lou stopped too. Emma made a show of pointing out details of the carving before glancing towards the tree. ‘Do you know, your name came up in conversation a number of times this afternoon?’ she said. ‘I do believe you’ve made quite an impression on the family. Especially Tom.’ She watched Lou, obviously waiting for a reaction. ‘You needn’t look so surprised. Tom considers you to be an eminently sensible person, with your head stuck on the right way, sort of thing. And from what I’ve seen, I’d say he’s bang on. Which helps me no end.’

Lou stared at the silver particles glittering in the marble of Pan’s pipes. ‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘I see.’

‘Thank goodness.’ Emma gave Lou a conspiratorial grin. ‘That makes this all much easier. You see, as soon as I laid eyes on you, I thought to myself, now, there’s a good bean who knows what’s what. The sort of girl who can be trusted to keep a secret. I’m not wrong, am I?’

‘No,’ Lou said. Just where was this conversation heading?

‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that these old houses lap up cash like a cat with the best Jersey cream. And it’s just …’ Emma glanced towards the tree again. ‘Look here, nobody will have told you this, but I think it’s important you know everything. How else are you to understand the urgency of the situation? You see, dear old Uncle Charles – who I adore of course – well, a few years ago, he made a rather misguided investment in a Polish salt mine. You might have read about it. It’s rather gone belly up and left a few chaps completely on their uppers.

‘But it’s not Uncle Charles’ fault at all,’ she added quickly. ‘My father’s had a word with a few of his chums and has managed to keep Uncle Charles’ name out of the papers. He wanted to do something more to help and came up with what he thought was an excellent plan to rent some of Hill House’s land to expand his stud farm. But Uncle Charles won’t hear a word of it. He can be a stubborn old goat when he wants to be, and he thinks Father’s plan has the whiff of charity about it. I’m afraid that his pride was dented, even though he can’t do anything else with the land because of the dratted issue of entailment. He’s insisted the ball go ahead this Christmas along with the shoot, when he can ill-afford either. Father’s in cahoots with Lady Mandeville and has been sneaking crates of champagne and brandy into the cellar here for months now. Just to take the edge off the costs. You see the fix poor old Uncle Charles is in, don’t you?’