Daisy closed the door behind her.

‘Sit down. There’s some tea coming in a minute.’

Lena perched on a chair and looked round the room, which was lined with shelves. Only through the open door of the town library had she ever glimpsed so many books. Behind the desk was a window with a view over the lake.

‘Is your room warm enough?’ said Martha.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Does someone bring you coal?’

‘No, but Daisy told me where to fetch it.’

‘Good … So. I like to have a word with people when they first arrive. Just so you know that if you have any problems you can come to me. Not that you will, I’m sure. Daisy runs everything pretty well.’

‘She seems …’ Lena wasn’t sure what word to use.

‘Don’t worry. She tries to be strict, but she’s kind enough underneath. She had a difficult start in life.’

A maid brought a tray of tea. ‘We have it in the English way,’ said Martha. ‘I hope that’s all right. Strong, with cold milk. And today some cake, I see.’

Lena had hardly ever drunk tea. ‘Are you English?’ she said. ‘You don’t sound English.’

‘My father was English and my mother is half English and half German. She was a patient here once herself. I was brought up speaking both languages. With a bit of a local accent, people say. And French. My cousin was half French. Daniel. That’s a photograph of him there.’

It was all rather confusing, Lena thought. ‘What’s wrong with the people here?’ she said.

‘They are all … unhappy. That’s perhaps the simplest way of looking at it.’

‘And was your mother, was she … a lunatic?’

‘Not at all. One of the least lunatic people you could meet. We don’t use that word here, by the way. We call them patients.’

Lena was thinking of Carina and couldn’t let the subject go. ‘But your mother, was she—’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Martha. ‘It nearly caused the whole place to close down. I only found out the truth myself quite recently when I came across some old papers. She came here with certain symptoms. One doctor thought they were caused by unhappiness – by sadness and desires she hadn’t been able to face. Another doctor found she had cysts growing in her womb and was still suffering from a childhood illness called rheumatic fever.’

‘So one of the doctors was right and one was wrong?’

‘Yes. But the one who was wrong was wrong for good reasons. His intentions were … for the benefit of all.’

‘And who was the right doctor?’

‘He was my father. His name was Thomas Midwinter. He later married his patient. My mother.’

‘Is he dead now?’

‘I’m afraid so. He died quite young. From one of the many diseases that fascinated him. Dementia.’

Lena drank some of the English tea. ‘What was he like, your father?’

‘How can I describe him? I would say that he was … He was like a knight on a quest. And he killed himself searching. It was as if he wore out every cell in his brain in his attempt to find some holy grail.’