‘Now,’ said Meredith. ‘This lack of electric light is very unfortunate but if we are systematic about things there should be no trouble. We have sufficient oil-lamps from the house and our own Tilley lamps to provide two lamps to each room, that is to bedrooms upstairs and lounge and dining-room downstairs. And each person can have one electric torch. Make sure each person has matches or a cigarette lighter. The three bathrooms are in working order, though I am afraid there is no hot water.’

How did they cook tonight? Carol wondered. Calor-gas stoves, I suppose.

Paul thought: Meredith talking like this reminds me of something. What is it? Why yes. He’s like a general addressing his troops before they go over the top. And he suddenly realized that Meredith was speaking to him.

‘Sorry, I’m afraid I was miles away.’

‘I was saying that after your journey you two probably want an early night. We’ve put your room in order, as far as we are able to. You’ll even find a couple of hot-water bottles in your bed. Courtesy of the house. So if you’d like to . . .’

It’s almost as if he’s sending us off like children to bed, Paul thought, so that the grown-ups can talk in adult fashion. His tiredness was such, however, that he felt no desire to linger let alone resent their dismissal. He picked up the cases. Ann Parish handed Carol two torches. She glanced at Meredith.

‘We’ll guide you to your room. In case you lose your way.’

The hall had one oil-lamp casting its mellow glow over the stairs, a bare floor and panelled walls. A passageway on either side of the stairs led away into blackness. Meredith, carrying a lamp, led the way to the first floor. Great pools of shadow fled from his patch of light to scurry behind it and re-form in the rear.

They climbed to a landing that ran round all four sides of the stairwell. Above the well a large domed cupola of many panes was black under its weight of snow.

The Wilsons’ bedroom was a mirror-image of the dining-room downstairs. Its bay window was curtained. The bed was a huge double one, old-fashioned and massive, as was the tall, heavy walnut wardrobe to the right of the door and the two dressing-tables. Two oil-lamps, one on each dressing-table, were already lit.

Meredith and Ann Parish entered the room with them.

‘I’m afraid it’s pretty cold and uninspiring,’ he apologized. ‘But the bedclothes have been aired. As you’ll see from the charts I’ve given you, the nearest bathroom is at this side of the house, two doors in the direction of the dining-room.’ He watched Paul hoist a case on to the bed. ‘There are no oil-lamps in the bathroom so you’ll need to take your own illumination with you.’