I tried to be encouraging. “This could be a nice cheerful room. Let me have a word with Raynor. He’ll speak to the housekeeper. I’m sure she can find another place for these pictures.”

Milly pointed to the little door in the wall, where the roof sloped. “There’s stuff in there. There’s noises. Mrs. Blanchard, the housekeeper, says it’s just the old house groaning. But somebody comes. Alec said this room is haunted.”

“He was having you on.”

“I think he was.” She folded her arms across her chest and rocked. It was cold in here. “Because I don’t think a ghost would keep a pair of shoes and a box in someone else’s room.”

The little door to the eaves had no knob. It was made of planks, the kind where you had to put your fingers on the edge and pull it out. I opened the panel. “It’s storage space, that’s all.” Knowing we were going to the attics, I had brought my flashlight, and shone it in the space. “You’re right, but it’s only a shoebox, and a man’s shoes.”

“There was nothing there before, when Mrs. Blanchard looked. Someone crawls round the roof and into the eaves.”

I knelt down to take a closer look. The only other light came from the roof where there was a gap in the tiles. On closer inspection, I saw that the shoes were of good quality. There was a brown paper carrier bag with a string handle.

I closed the door. “How long have these things been there, Milly?”

“I don’t know.” Mrs. Blanchard looked last week and there was nothing.”

“Have you looked at the shoes or the box, or touched anything?”

“No. I never saw them until today.”

“Do you think one of the other servants might have been in here, one of the men?”

“They don’t come this side of the attics. The men have their own stairs. Somebody must crawl through, all the way round the house. That’s why I hear noises.”

“Try not to worry, Milly. The housekeeper is right. The noises you hear could simply be the creaks and groans of an old house. But don’t tell anyone what we’ve seen today. Let me look into it.”

If I had killed a man, and had something to hide, what better place than the room of a girl who was in love with a murder suspect?

Milly pulled a battered brown suitcase from under the bed. “I’m off home. I don’t care if there’s too many mouths to feed. I’d rather starve.”

“Don’t be hasty. Either there is a simple explanation, or there is something odd going on. Be brave.”

Milly decided against being brave. She began to cry. “Everything’s going wrong. Mi mam’ll say I’ve let the family down. And Stephen, poor Stephen, he’ll be –”