It’s hard to tell a remembered story in a straight line.

It pops into my head that I should tell you about the first time Benham came to the parlour. It was the end of my first week with her. She’d gone down there for the afternoon. I came up from the kitchen with her wine and apple on a tray. When I went in, Benham was there, leaning on the mantel, where he fiddled with a glass of something. Madame was on the blue sofa. I stood rooted, not knowing whether to go forward or back. Neither of them looked up, nor said a word. They were frozen. I wondered what could have been happening that needed to be snuffed out as soon as someone else came in.

I crouched to set down the tray. He swivelled, spoke, voice cold as a blade. Carrying over some argument they’d been having. ‘I’m sure I told Linux it must go to storage,’ he said.

‘Yes. I asked Charles to put it back. Weeks ago. It is funny how seldom you visit most of the rooms in this house.’

‘The only household matter you’ve concerned yourself with for weeks. I ask myself why.’

‘And I ask myself why you want it removed.’

‘Because it’s the sort of thing no one should be decking their walls with any more.’

‘Or is it because you’ve given too much credit to nonsense gossip?’ She braced her arms beside her on the sofa. She hesitated, then said, ‘Let me see if I understand. The boy was here, but now his portrait must vanish so you can pretend he has. Is that it?’

The portrait. I turned to look at it. The boy. His black jaw a curve of sadness. Pru had told me she hadn’t been in service when the boy was there, seeing as she’d been only a child then herself. But she’d had some of the story from Mr Casterwick. He had been brought over by Benham from one of his Antigua estates when he and Madame were first married. From slave to servant, then, I thought. Just like me. He had been called Olaudah. Madame had bestowed upon him a pet name: Laddie. ‘The wee boys were so much more fashionable, once upon a time,’ Pru said. I asked her what had happened to him. ‘No one will say exactly. All I ever heard was that Mr Benham asked him to leave, and afterwards not a soul would even speak of him, save for Mr Casterwick. He says he used to bring the poor mite downstairs to warm himself through, after Madame had him out and about.’

Madame picked up one of the blue brocade sofa cushions, curled her arms around it. He laughed, like something hard tapping his teeth. ‘You’re far too spoiled, wife.’

She didn’t say anything to that. Twisted the cushion in her hands. Some strange look creaked onto her face. A sadness, to match the boy’s. He turned away, cracked his knuckles. Still laughing quietly to himself.