“It’s so weird that it’s mine now,” Johnny said. “Did Arthur tell you? Millie left it to me. I can’t decide...” He let the sentence hang.

“Where are we going?” Lizzie was trying not to spill her coffee on the carpet. She was trembling so much she suspected she was leaving a trail of biscuit crumbs like Hansel and Gretel. Johnny didn’t seem to have noticed, fortunately. He was concentrating only on what he needed to do. Lizzie felt a burst of compassion for him. He was so intense, so driven to save Amelia. There was no room in his mind for anything else.

“I thought we’d go to my room,” Johnny said. “There’s something I want to show you, to try to explain...” The sentence trailed away as he started to climb the grand stair, slowing his loping stride to match Lizzie’s shorter one. The steps were broad and shallow, and at the top the landing spread out on either side like a huge gallery. The light was multicoloured, refracted through the panes of the stained-glass windows. Lizzie paused, remembering her vision of Johnny standing there as a child on the day of Dudley and Amelia’s wedding, peering through the mahogany bannisters. It felt as though the shadow of Oakhangar Hall hung over everything, including Avery, who had warned her not to go back...

“This way!” Johnny called, and Lizzie hurried after him, down a side corridor. It felt colder here, even less friendly than in the gallery. Lizzie’s skin prickled a warning. She was so attuned to the house now, to its moods and its memories, that it almost felt as though she could hear it breathing. Its presence wrapped about her, cold and claustrophobic.

Johnny was waiting for her at the end of the passage. They ducked beneath a low arch that was decorated with another of the Oakhangar stone angels, went down a couple of steps and suddenly they were on a small landing. It was diamond-shaped with mullioned windows and the ubiquitous stone angel over the arch at the top of a narrow flight of stone stairs. She felt the atmosphere as soon as she stepped through the door. It felt close, stifling, a blanket of grief and misery. The sensation was so strong and repellent that she took an instinctive step back, bumping clumsily into Johnny, missing her step and dropping the coffee mug. It smashed on the flagstones, splashing everywhere, but Johnny didn’t seem to notice. He caught her arm and steadied her.

“I like this part of the house,” he said. “It feels very close to the past.” He smiled at Lizzie. “Don’t worry. It can’t hurt you. It’s only the memory in the stone. I think it holds all of Amy Robsart’s grief and regret, and that’s what you are feeling.” He ran a gentle hand over the smooth plaster of the wall. “This part of the house reuses the stone from Cumnor Place. Its very fabric is created from the place where Amy Robsart died.”