But the strange, half-mechanical girl only shakes her head again, with that same stiff gesture.

“Well, perhaps you help him keep house.” Charlie rises, pats the top of the stool. “Here, please, sit down. Perhaps I can keep you company while you wait? Yes? That’s kind of you. It’s cold outside. Do you think we should close the door? We are letting all the heat out, and you’ll catch your death, standing there in the draft.”

ф

Renfrew returns within the hour. They have not moved, Charlie and the little girl, are standing in the hallway, two paces apart, the stool she is too scared to use standing between them. At several points Charlie considers leaving and waiting outside. But it disturbs him, the thought of this young child alone in the house. Even though he has no success in drawing her into conversation — even though he cannot rouse from her even a single smile — he is aware that his presence soothes her; that he is not the cause of her fear but something else, some weight on her childish heart so heavy that she hardly dares breathe.

Then they hear the sounds of steps crunching on the gravel path. Charlie opens the door long before his teacher can reach the house, wishing to reveal himself to him and apologise for intruding. Dr. Renfrew wears dark leather riding gear, mud-splattered and steaming with the heat of his exertion. The horse is nowhere in sight, and must have been left with the school’s groundsman. When he catches sight of Charlie, the teacher stops in his tracks, his features registering surprise, even alarm. Then he collects himself, strides on, and shifts his riding crop from right hand to left. It frees the former for a handshake.

“Mr. Cooper. This is most unexpected! Most unexpected indeed. Do come in.”

Renfrew passes his hat and gloves over to the stiff little girl, sits down on the stool, and peels himself out of his boots.

“If you will excuse me. I have just returned from Parliament. I was asked to speak on issues pertinent to the future of the realm.”

He winces as his feet leave the long shafts of his boots and accepts the slippers the girl hastily brings out for him, each movement made oddly formal by the bulk of her contraption.