Lady Beatrice must be Lord Thatcham’s wife, then. Philomena sat a little straighter. She could hardly breathe, let alone talk. Lord Thatcham had a wife, not to mention a son. How could she have imagined otherwise? In any case, the master’s opinion mattered not at all.

She fought to remain calm while the housekeeper chattered. “Lord Thatcham is willing for you to remain here a while. Naturally, you will want to show gratitude. There is a way for you to repay such kindness. I am sure you will wish to help out where possible in the Hall: that is no misjudgement, I hope?”

Philomena shook her head. “No, indeed, and I can assure you I am honest…” Her voice tailed away.

Mrs. Rivers smiled. “Except for the little matter of pretending to be a boy?”

Philomena giggled. There was a funny side to all this, after all.

“In any case,” the housekeeper pointed out, “it does no good to be idle. Whatever troubles may come, hard work is the best way to overcome them.” Samuel would have shared Mrs. Rivers’ sentiments. Philomena began to like Mrs. Rivers.

“Now, Master John is without a nurse,” the housekeeper said. “They come and go, I am afraid, and Master John can be a handful. Perhaps you would help to watch over the boy while the maids go about their business?”

Philomena nodded. She would agree to anything if it meant a few hours rest. Her arms and legs throbbed with weariness, and both eyelids drooped. At last, the tears that had threatened all morning bubbled up. Mrs. Rivers’ kindness was the final straw. Philomena pulled out a handkerchief, scrubbed at both eyes, and blew her nose.

“You get off to Ivy’s room and have a sleep,” Mrs. Rivers said. “I’m sure things will seem better when you are less tired, my dear. In any case, you will need to be fresh as a daisy to keep up with Master John. He has energy enough and to spare—but a dear child all the same. I cannot think why Abigail left the house, with no thought of loyalty to the family at such a sad time.” She sniffed.

What did she mean? Why should Christmas be a sad time in the Hall? Philomena longed to understand but was far too exhausted to bother with questions. Instead, she accepted the offer of a bed in Ivy’s room and the promise of more appropriate garments when she awoke, and in return, agreed to present herself in the kitchen at 6 o’clock that evening. Her first duty would be to take Master John’s tea upstairs and sit while he ate. “Of course, I’ll help in any way I can.” She struggled to swallow down the lump in her throat.

Sleep arrived at once, within seconds of lying down on Ivy’s bed, but no longed-for peace came with it. Philomena dreamed. The screams and shrieks of the train accident returned to haunt her. In her imagination, she smelled fumes from the engine and remembered the pull and suck of sticky mud as she tried to scramble back to the overturned carriage. The chaos of light and dark as lanterns wove through the night had burned images into her memory. She tossed and turned, restless and frightened; the dream more horrifying than the reality, for no rescue came in her sleep. No handsome, severe Lord Thatcham arrived on a black horse, with a haughty frown, dark grey eyes and sardonic smile. Philomena cried out in her sleep, but no one came.