That afternoon found Mary tiptoeing along the first-floor landing of Godmersham, listening in doorways while appearing quite innocent. Of course, these were two conflicting activities – she wasn’t the complete dunce everyone here seemed to think – but she was all out of ideas. Those girls had said they would meet her at two after noon when they had finished their riding, and that was ages ago. But there was no one downstairs, and the nursery was empty. Surely they had to be here, somewhere or other.

The clock down in the hall struck three – late enough to merit concern – and then came the footsteps. At last, someone was … Yet this was a masculine tread! Strong, athletic, taking the stairs two at a time. Mary’s blood quickened. Should she run, should she hide: why must she live in this perpetual state of horrible anguish? Now full in a panic, she made a run for the attic, her own room and safety – but it was too late.

‘Hull-o!’

The early autumnal sun dazzled – danced – through the long, principal window and so blurred Mary’s vision.

‘And what have we here then?’

A halo of light obscured all physical details leaving nothing but a dark figure in outline. Mary could discern only an averagely tall sort of gentleman, broad enough in the shoulder, with a head like a mop that had met with a hurricane – though the weather was perfectly still.

‘You make no reply, madam? Then I see through it at once. You intend to remain a figure of mystery.’ The voice was something quite close to stern, though Mary felt, hoped, she could detect the hint of a chuckle – a bubble of air caught in a stream. ‘Then it falls to me to unravel it.’ The shape put its hand to its hair and made it yet wilder, said ‘Hmm’, stretched out an elbow, leaned on the banister, crossed its long legs at the ankles and thought for an instant. ‘Quite so. There are but two explanations. The first being that you are a Burglar of the Master variety – in which case’ – a muscular arm signalled her plain white day cap and starched schoolroom pinafore – ‘the perfect disguise.

‘Or – and this, I agree, is the more fantastic by far – you have got rather lost. Now.’ With three long strides he crossed the corridor. ‘Which is it to be?’

Mary, who had remained fixed to the same spot – a sapling transplanted – had until that moment stayed blind. And only now that the body had moved out of the shadows and the face was inches from hers, only now could she see who it was.