Among the many packets of letters and faded photographs neatly docketed and banded with elastic that snapped at a touch, Joanna found stray pages from an old Erskine journal. The delicately penned entries were very affectionate, “Our sweet baby Perdy cut her second tooth on Thursday of this week. Old Nursie calls her our ‘hen of gold,’” – was one that caught Joanna’s eye. From further back in the same drawer came an inlaid cedar box. This was stuffed with tiny locks and plaits of hair, each having been lovingly labelled, – “Our little Miranda’s hair at two and a half years. Sept. 1846.” – “Darling Papa’s hair, at the time of his death. Jan. 3,1870.” – “A piece of my hair cut off during an attack of brain fever in Rome, 1860” – “Mamma’s hair as an infant.” – “Baby Robert’s hair.” – Who, wondered Joanna, was baby Robert? And here was one of her own locks as a baby, fair, like gold silk, and Georgie’s only a little darker, and Sholto’s quite dark like greenish bronze, and Linnet’s like white floss. How many tresses there were!

She drew out her mother’s. It was unlike the other tight little sheaves of hair, being fine and long – full half a yard long – and the sheen of youth was upon it still. (Eighteen, Juley had been, when her father’s passion for education had brought serious illness upon her.) Joanna carried it lying silkily across her extended hands to the window, let the light play on it, kissed it, with sudden, sorrowful passion inhaled its pleasant, aromatic odour. And there before the dressing-table mirror which had so often reflected her mother’s painful toilets, she laid it against her own light brown head. As she had thought, it was of the very same texture and colour as her own hair.

Having restored it tenderly to its place, her next interest was her mother’s square old jewel-case. A wedding present this; big and solid, covered with black Russia leather and lined with bridal satin. In spite of her knowledge of the contents Joanna felt a stirring of the old childish excitement on opening it and lifting out the trays. Once Juley had had a diamond ring and some pearl ornaments, presents from her bridegroom, but she had lost these long ago; and now there remained only some pebble and silver brooches, a cameo or two, a bunch of worn seals, a set of beautiful but clumsy amethysts which were an Erskine heirloom, an ivory carved fan with some of the sticks broken, a silver vinaigrette that still smelt faintly invigorating, the children’s broken strings of coral – the girl went over all these, fingering them with a fresh curiosity, but there was nothing here she did not know by heart.

Right at the bottom of the deepest drawer however she was to come upon some almost forgotten possessions.