Maggie gazed up. Maybe Mutti and Violet, wherever they were, were looking up at that same moon too. It was a comforting thought.

As she stepped onto the terrace she whispered, ‘Tabby! Tabs!’

There was barely a sound. No distant gunfire or the drone of enemy bombers. Nothing, except the breeze rustling through the trees and the wavering ‘woo woo’ of an owl. How queer to be able to walk outside in the dead of night, without worrying about raids or falling off the kerb or tripping over sandbags in the street. Maggie exhaled. Standing here, you could easily imagine there was no war on at all.

Behind her, the Hall was in complete darkness but in one of the outbuildings, a light was shining from a first-floor window.

According to Pam and Nancy, the Ashfords had moved out of their rooms to make way for bank staff and were now living in a flat over the stable block. Perhaps the light was coming from their apartment.

‘Oh!’ Something soft had just brushed against Maggie’s leg. Tabby! Thank goodness. ‘Clever girl,’ she said, bending to stroke the cat. She gave her the scraps of bread and the cat took them greedily.

As Maggie moved her hand through Tabby’s soft fur, her gaze was drawn in the direction of the light. She shouldn’t really, she felt like a Peeping Tom, but Maggie couldn’t help herself.

There she was, Lady Ashford silhouetted against the window. She was brushing out her long hair. Maggie held her breath and ducked down below a stone plinth. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

What must it feel like, to be her? Beautiful and rich, married to handsome Lord Ashford, who clearly adored her, and to live here, in this mansion?

Maggie sighed. Lady Ashford. Esther. Even her name was magical, like a whisper. Maggie thought she’d never admired anyone so much in all her life.

Chapter 10

Joseph sat on the edge of the bed, unfastening his cufflinks and shirt collar.

The deed was done; he’d moved the bank to Snowden.

Other businesses had evacuated at the outbreak of war – the Bank of England for one – but he’d held back. His sources had assured him the war would be fought offshore for a while and so it had proved. But it was here now, with a vengeance. London was under attack. His judgement had been right.

‘I do hope you haven’t set the wrong tone tonight, Jay,’ Esther said. She was sitting at the dressing table next to the window. He watched as she unwound her turban, shook out her dark hair and reached around her neck to undo the pendant.

When he stepped forward to help, she ducked, with a shake of her head, undid the necklace herself and tossed it onto the dressing table. It clattered on the glass top and made him jump.