At the end of the hall, a staircase led up to the next floor, and an old man was picking his way down it. His hair was pure white, long gone from the crown of his head but sticking up in wild tufts around his ears and along the back of skull. His chin was clean-shaven, but he sported massive grey side whiskers, of the sort that had gone out of fashion sometime around the end of the Civil War. His face was wrinkled and jowly, with deep-set eyes with lines around them that might have come from smiles or just from a lifetime of squinting. He wore dark trousers and a grey waistcoat over a white shirt, whose sleeves were black with splotchy stains.

‘I thought I heard that awful machine screeching,’ the old man said. ‘You’ll be Miss Creighton. Any problems, Mr Black?’

‘No problems, sir,’ Mr Black rumbled.

‘Good, good.’ The old man reached the bottom of the steps. ‘Well, come on, girl. Let’s have a look at you.’

Alice walked the length of the hall. She would have liked to examine the statues more closely – they were marble, sitting on oaken stands, and each one seemed to depict a fantastic beast of some sort – but the old man was tapping the banister impatiently. Alice curtsied as best she could – it had never been her strong suit – and met his level glare.

‘Are you my uncle?’ she said. She couldn’t see any resemblance herself.

‘Not precisely,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that. But all you need to understand is that we’re family, and that you’re welcome here. My name is Geryon.’

‘Alice,’ said Alice, trying to remember her manners. ‘It’s very kind of you to take me in.’

‘Think nothing of it.’ Geryon gestured, one stained sleeve flapping. ‘After I heard what happened to your father, it was the least I could do.’

‘Did you know my father?’

‘Not well, I’m afraid. But I’ve always kept track of him, and you, with a certain – affection. Please think of The Library as your home for as long as you like.’

Alice looked around. ‘The Library?’

Geryon chuckled. ‘The estate is called The Library. A reference to my own peculiar habits, of course. I’m a great collector of books. Do you like books, Alice?’

‘Very much,’ Alice admitted.

‘I’m sure we shall get along, then. Though I must warn you, I’m a bit . . . particular about my books. You should never go into the library building on your own. For your own safety, you understand?’ Before Alice could reply – she’d never found anything more dangerous in a library than a paper cut – Geryon slapped the banister with a sound like a gunshot. ‘But here I am keeping you talking in the hall when you must be exhausted. Let’s get you squared away. Emma!’