The older woman continued. “I am a little surprised that the uncle in Bristol has not responded to your letter. However, that is your concern. I will begin the search for a governess at once. I have already heard of a suitable woman.” Her voice gained in assurance. Any momentary uncertainty gone, she became once more the Dowager, confident and important. “She is a little older than you, as is far more acceptable in a household where the master is without a wife. Please make yourself ready to leave within the week. You may go.”

Philomena turned to leave without a word, but the Dowager called her back. “There is one thing I wish to know. When you arrived here, had you any knowledge of Thatcham Hall and its inhabitants?”

Philomena, outraged at the suggestion, took a moment to collect her thoughts. Did the Dowager believe she had deliberately found a way to the Hall, in the hope of capturing a rich and noble husband? If it were not so ridiculous, she would have laughed aloud. Instead, she clung fast to her dignity, for soon that would be the only thing left. She shook her head.

“Mmm,” the Dowager murmured. “There is something about you that reminds me a little… I felt that perhaps we had met before…but no, I must have been mistaken. That is all.”

Philomena fled up the back stairs. The Dowager’s words had at least removed any need to make her own decision as to whether she should remain at the Hall. She must go. There was no choice. Blinded by tears of regret that she could hold back no longer, she hardly noticed as she cannoned into one of the under housemaids, knocking a pitcher of water on to the stairs. The pitcher bounced down the treads, spinning noisily as it came to rest in the centre of the hall, water pooling around it.

“Whatever’s the matter?” the maid cried. “Why, look what you’ve gone and done, Miss Philomena. Here. Wait a minute.”

Philomena, too desperate to care what should happen to her now, ran headlong back to the nursery. She threw the door open, rushed past Alice and John, ignored their startled exclamations and shut herself into her little sitting room, leaning back against the door to prevent anyone from following. Alone again, she sobbed harder than ever. So, this was how it felt to have a broken heart. If only she had never left home.

Later that morning, Selena visited the nursery, her face pale. She took one look at Philomena, who had recovered sufficiently to sit listlessly by while John scribbled on table and floor, and ran to her, arms outstretched. “My dearest Philomena…” Selena took Philomena’s hand. “Mama has told me you are to go.” Her eyes filled with tears, which threatened to trickle down her face.