Joseph sighed. ‘Yes.’ He stretched his legs towards the flickering flames in the grate. ‘You know, I was involved in something, before the war. We got as many children out as we could. They were in danger. Jewish children, mostly.’

‘Danger? What kind?’

He hesitated. How much could he burden her with?

‘There were – are – things happening …’ He shook his head. He was regretting starting this conversation.

‘In Poland?’

‘In – oh, everywhere. Dark days, Miss Corbett, dark days. I wanted to bring more children out, but the war started and … it wasn’t possible. If I’d had my way, the parents would have come too. But the authorities wouldn’t allow it. Only the children. Rudi was initially staying with friends of ours but when they couldn’t look after him any longer, my wife brought him here.’

He didn’t mention that Rudi had become something of a plaything for Esther. Which had been fine, while it lasted. But Esther, as Joseph knew to his cost, was easily bored.

He picked up his notebook and pen and glanced at his watch. ‘I suppose we’d better crack on, Miss Corbett. It’s almost twenty past and as my Irish nanny used to say, “Not a child in the house washed”!’

* * *

Sarah Jewell. So, that was the girl’s name. And she was Lord Ashford’s niece. No wonder she’d been talking to Jack at the gatehouse so comfortably – she was part of the family. She and Jack might even be cousins. It had made Maggie’s insides twist to see them at the time, but she had nothing to be worried about, after all.

Oh, but it had all been so uncomfortable. Maggie had tried to smile at Jack but she’d felt silly, perched on the back of that tandem. She’d wished she wasn’t wearing breeches and had put some powder or lipstick on, so that she looked more ladylike, more like the glamorous girl he was with. Mind you, she hadn’t looked quite so sophisticated a few minutes ago, haring around after young Rudi.

Sarah Jewell clearly hadn’t recognised Maggie from the other day but then, she’d been so engrossed in her conversation with Jack, that she’d barely glanced around.

His Lordship coughed politely. ‘Miss Corbett?’

He was waiting, head inclined towards her, smiling.

Maggie snapped out of her daydream. ‘Oh, sorry, Sir!’ she said, shuffling her pages of notes. ‘Yes, of course. Let’s make a start.’

They had a good lesson although, once Mrs Nicholls – Gwen, as she’d insisted Maggie should call her – interrupted them to deliver his Lordship’s coffee, he couldn’t seem to concentrate. He rubbed his head and suggested they call it a day.

As Maggie gathered up her things, the telephone on Lord Ashford’s desk rang and he strode over and snatched it up. ‘Ashford?’

She’d got as far as the door when he called her back. ‘Miss Corbett!’