Mrs. Rivers was still talking. “We did all think that the marriage to Miss Beatrice would settle things: that the master would calm down, lose that temper, and get along quieter. But then, poor Lady Beatrice was never right for him, and it all ended in disaster. He’s not been the same since. All the fun gone, you might say.”

Mrs. Rivers stopped and blinked hard at Philomena. “Now, just you keep everything I say to yourself, young lady. If you stay here at the Hall, you need to know about Lord Thatcham’s ways. Just make sure you don’t cross him, that’s my advice.” Closing her mouth firmly against further indiscretions, Mrs. Rivers finished the journey upstairs in silence and left Philomena in the nursery.

Daisy, an under-housemaid, hissed at Philomena, relief written on her face. “Keep your eyes open,” she said, making for the door. “Master John will be off given half a chance and up to mischief.”

The child sat, bored, at a table, carelessly tearing up strips of gold paper and, so far as Philomena could see, gluing them indiscriminately to the table and to each other. His legs drummed against the table legs.

“What are you making?” She knew very few children—just a few ragged urchins who clustered around the doors and passages in London, begging for scraps and stealing what they could from the street-sellers. She’d certainly never known such a beautifully dressed, clean child as Master John.

He glared. “A boat.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. Philomena and Master John assessed each other. The child’s feet kicked the table legs harder, but Philomena bit her lip and ignored it.

The child gave in first. “Mrs. River says you are to look after me.” She nodded. “Then please finish this boat for me. I want to go outside.” Hoping to wheedle her into giving him his own way, John smiled sweetly.

Philomena would not be tricked. She shook her head. “I think it a little late for exercise out of doors, so perhaps we can find something better to do here. But first, eat your bread and butter and drink your tea.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he tucked in with enthusiasm. Once eating, he forgot to tease, but munched in silence. From time to time, his eyes, half-closed, slid sideways, following Philomena. “Why did you wear boy’s clothes today?”

“Well, I had to look like a boy so I could travel safely.”

“Why?”

How could she explain? “Women must protect themselves when they are alone, because men are stronger than women.”

“Why were you alone?”

“I had no one to be with me.”

The child nodded, satisfied with the answer. “I have no one to be with me, most of the time. At least, I had Abigail and the others before she came. But they just tell me what to do. I would like a friend.”

“Are there no children like you nearby?”

He shook his head. Philomena frowned. Why had Lord Thatcham left his son in such a predicament? What a lonely life for a child, in this huge Hall with no one to play with but a rapid succession of hopeless nurses. How could the boy’s father be so thoughtless?