‘It’s disappearing as fast as we can serve it,’ the housekeeper said, before rushing off again.

Cook gave a satisfied nod, and then glanced at Jenny. ‘You sure you’re all right, Jen?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Peters. Your remedy worked wonders.’ Jenny arranged small cakes on a large dish. There were fruit ones, some covered in lashings of cream; others were chocolate and coffee. They looked delicious.

‘You’ve made a real professional job of that.’ The cook gave Jenny a sly wink. ‘I’ve got a few of those put aside for our little party tonight.’

The presentation of food was something she had been taught at the Templeton School. Jenny’s nerves steadied. If she made herself useful here, they might not ask her to go back upstairs again.

There was at least one person in the room who had witnessed Jenny’s flight of panic. Matthew had seen her come in and stop suddenly, the colour draining from her face. For a moment he thought that she was going to drop the large dish she was carrying. He was almost on his feet when she turned and fled. There wasn’t a sound of a crash, so she must have held on to the serving dish. For some strange reason he felt concerned for the young girl, wanting to protect her. That was why he had been unusually harsh with Luke for playing his games with her. It was that instinct that kept him in his seat. Was there something or someone here she didn’t want to see? Someone who was a threat to her?

He glanced around the long table, studying each guest carefully. It was unlikely that an under housemaid would know any of these distinguished people – unless she’d worked for them of course. That idea was quickly dismissed. She was far too young. This was probably her first job. Nevertheless there was something about the girl … He silently cursed his overactive imagination.

The older housemaid had come into the room carrying the same dish. He watched her whisper something to the butler. When Green came round to refill the wine glasses and bent over near Matthew, he said quietly, ‘Is the young girl all right?’

‘Yes, sir. She felt unwell and is being taken care of.’

Matt nodded, satisfied, turning his attention back to the guests. His mother expected all her sons to play their part in keeping the conversation going.

‘Matthew!’

He looked across the table to Gloria Tremain, a polite smile on his face. She always called him Matthew, not Matt like everyone else.

‘Your father told me you are going to learn about engines.’

‘That’s right. Car engines.’

‘What a strange profession.’ Her expression said that she disapproved. ‘But I suppose that as the third son you are allowed to do much as you please.’