In comparison, Maggie felt rather drab in her navy skirt and the cream blouse she’d only finished sewing last week. She should have packed the couple of dresses that Mutti had left behind. She’d thought about it. She’d got as far as opening the wardrobe in her parents’ room this morning. But as well as the smell of mothballs, there’d been a waft of her mother’s sweet lavender scent. She’d quickly shut the wardrobe doors again and turned the key. She’d swallowed hard, determined not to cry. She couldn’t take anything. It was like saying Mutti didn’t need them; that she wouldn’t be coming back.

Nancy suddenly appeared at Maggie’s side. She was frowning.

‘Say, aren’t you going to get ready, Maggie?’ she asked. ‘Chop, chop! We’ve got to go down any minute!’

Maggie blushed and stepped back, as though she’d been punched in the stomach. She was ready, for goodness’ sake! She’d changed, washed her face, applied Pond’s cream and a dab of precious lipstick and told herself that would have to do. But it wasn’t good enough.

It was mortifying but at least no one else seemed to have heard. The chaps were gathered nearby, teasing each other and larking around. Nancy’s words had almost certainly been drowned out by the babble of voices.

The next moment, someone yelled, ‘Let’s go!’ and Nancy dashed off without another word. She jostled her way past the others, the first to head downstairs and join the throng below.

Still smarting, Maggie leaned back on the wood-panelled wall behind her, between two large oil paintings. An old building like Snowden Hall was bound to have secret panels and passages. Oh, if only she could accidentally touch one and disappear!

The thought of joining the party downstairs was making her feel quite ill. Rosman’s staff were all so pally with each other and, unlike her, everyone looked the part. She didn’t belong. Why had she ever agreed to come to this stupid place with all these strangers? It was turning into the worst decision she’d ever made.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to take a few paces to the top of the stairs. In the hall below, everyone was filing through a doorway, their excited chatter getting increasingly fainter. In a moment, they’d all be gone.

Maggie’s fingers grazed the cool oak of the carved banister. Did she dare slip away, back to her room and spend the evening there? Surely, she wouldn’t be missed?

But as the last of the crowd disappeared from view, one person remained: Ray Maguire. He turned one way, then the other, as though searching for something. Then he glanced up the stairs and spotted her.