Far worse than the animals were the other sounds, the noises of the Upiremongers asleep. Upiremonger, that’s what the servants called the family members who lived above ground. Their breathing came down through the flues and into my face. I was certain the house held many ghosts, I should not have been surprised if all the ghosts of London congregated there and made a great playroom of the mansion, I did try not to think of that. But when you work at a fireplace your back has to be turned to the room, and there is no escaping the feeling that someone is watching you. I kept my head low, the coal scuttle in my hand, I lit candles and in the light, I told myself, made little pockets of safety. I tried to remember the songs I used to know.

I found a little tuppence,

I kept it for myself,

It was a magic tuppence,

It ate up all my health.

But that didn’t help much.

Spit spat sputum,

Whither are you walkin’,

Forlichingham Mound

I am bound.

Crick crack sternum

You shall fall in.

Slip and trip and smack your head,

Filching Mound, that’s your bed.

And nor did that, so I kept myself pretty quiet after. Mrs Piggott, I said to myself, and somehow that made me feel better.

There were so many things upstairs, so many little bits and pieces that I didn’t know the name to. I liked to pick them up and hold them, odd objects on mantelpieces or side tables, things, just things, that fitted into the hand so nicely. Small portraits of unhappy-looking people, framed silhouettes of oddly grown men and women, with locks of hair tied up in black ribbons, twisted up in the back of the frames. Carved snuff boxes, miniature buildings made of toothpicks, silver compasses, an ivory baton, tiny books with gilt edges.

There were so many things of sadness and delight around the uphouse rooms. I felt miserable to leave them behind, once or twice I put them into my pocket just to know what they felt like, and they felt very good, the weight of them. They were such a comfort. Most of all, though, what I felt my hand longed for was something small and box-like, that rattled when you shook it, that I felt should be the perfect thing to hold.