Grandmother made a noise as if she were blowing out a very stubborn candle. And then she was silent again for a while and the noises were left to fill the room. I shall go to the Sitting Room soon, I thought, I shall see Lucy before the sun comes up again. It’s so dark out already, it is such a bad storm to have taken all the light with it. Tic. Tic. Crack. Snarl. Scream. The door opened, and I jumped, but it was only five maids stepping in, bowing at my grandmother, one of them asking, ‘May we, my lady, if it is quite convenient, close the shutters now?’

‘So early?’ she asked. ‘Why?’

‘It is gone seven, my lady.’

‘Already?’ She regarded a clock. ‘I had no idea.’

‘And the storm, my lady …’

‘Get on then, don’t make a fuss.’

They went about their task, nervous and fretful; each time a window was opened – for the windows must be opened in order for the shutters to be folded out and the bolt-slides to be dropped down – each time this happened the storm entered the room and danced about it. It leapt and laughed and set the room in disorder, it picked things up, hurled them the length of the place, it shivered all the paintings. Even Grandmother’s great mobcap was ruffled by it, such was the storm’s cheek. My own new trousers flapped about me with the weather, and my parting was unparted. The storm spat at me, there was rain on my cheeks. It filled my head with its noise and its foul breath had me wincing. But most of all, of course, was the noise of it.

At last all the shutters were shuttered up and the windows closed behind them and the room quite sealed in, and, as if in happy victory, the clocks were much louder and more confident. Tic! Tic! Tic! I mopped at myself with my handkerchief, Grandmother looked disapproving. The maids lit my grandmother’s lamps, then went about righting the place, and at last, with their bows and crouching down and my-ladying, left. And we were together again, and it was only then, for the first time, that Grandmother showed some hint of disquiet.

‘Your grandfather’s late,’ she said. ‘I have not heard the train yet. I do not think I could have missed it.’

‘No, Grandmother,’ I said, ‘I don’t think it has come back yet.’

‘He is late then. I do not like him to be late.’

‘Perhaps it’s the storm, Grandmother.’

‘It is not like Umbitt to be affected by a storm. Though I must own that it is a bad one. No doubt he’ll be home again soon enough. And tomorrow, Clodius, you are for the city?’

‘Yes, Grandmother, I am to take the morning train.’

‘I have never been to the city.’

‘No, Grandmother.’