She tried to give him a few lessons, more as a distraction for herself than for any benefit to him, but he was bored and would not concentrate.

Soon they were both sitting on the floor playing with the tin soldiers, making them march under the table and round the chair back into the box again.

The evening passed slowly.

It came and went, but there was no sign of anyone save the footman who had carried up their tea, the housemaid who came in to draw the blinds and the youngest footman who brought up the oil lamps.

Carina ordered hot water for Dipa’s bath and, although he protested, she washed him well.

Then she put him into his little nightshirt and lifted him into bed.

“A story – tell me a story,” he pleaded.

She told him one that was rather long and rambling because her mind kept slipping away onto other things and before she reached the end, a happy ending because all good stories end that way, she found that he was asleep.

She tucked him in and opened his window a little more and took away the oil lamp.

Back in the nursery, Carina wondered how she was going to pass the rest of the evening with her curiosity still unsatisfied.

She found herself listening for a footfall. She wondered, until she felt she must scream the question aloud, what was happening below?

‘Why,’ she thought, ‘does he not need me now? What is happening? Oh God, what is happening?’

She found herself walking up and down the room and then sternly disciplined herself to sit down at the table and sew a button on Dipa’s coat.

At seven o’clock a footman appeared with her supper. He set it down on the table and she glanced at him quickly. Had he noticed anything untoward downstairs and, if so, would he tell her about it?

“It’s a nasty evening,” she said conversationally.

“Aye, ’tis still rainin’,” he answered with the strong accent of a country boy.

“It’s a pity after such a nice morning,” Carina persisted.

“Ah well, the crops need rain,” the boy replied.

“You come from the country?” she asked unnecessarily.

“That’s right. I live down in the village. I’m only here temporary like because they was short-handed.”

He glanced down at the tray.

“Got everything you want, miss?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Carina replied.

He went from the room, pulling the door noisily to behind him.

Carina sighed.

She was not hungry and she knew that she would feel sick if she tried to eat the boiled chicken and rice that she saw was set on her tray in a covered dish. But because she felt that the chef who had prepared the meal would be offended, she put some food on her plate. But she merely toyed with it and, after drinking a glass of water, she went back to her sewing.