My room was next door to Belinda’s. It wasn’t really my choice of room—a little too like Castle Rannoch to ever be cozy. The walls were wood paneled, the furniture also dark and heavy, but it was decorated with lilac curtains and pillows on a window seat. There was also a fire burning in the grate which added to the friendliness. The view was mainly across the grounds with that rhododendron wilderness and the wood beyond, but one could glimpse the estuary winding inland from the far right.

“This will suit me perfectly,” I said. “It really is so kind of you to take us in like this.”

Rose flushed. “Well, Belinda’s old grandma was always good to my mum. And she gave her a nice legacy that has set her up with her own café. So I’m grateful. And besides that, I’m happy to have the company, especially an old friend.”

“The bathrooms are all the way at the other end of the hall, I’m afraid,” Rose said. “I don’t know why she chose these two rooms for you. I suppose she had her reasons.”

“Don’t worry. The rooms are perfect,” Belinda said. “And I’m sure we’re both used to walking miles to a bathroom, aren’t we, Georgie?”

Rose waited while we arranged our hair and Belinda reapplied her bright red lipstick. I still hadn’t learned the habit of making up my face on a regular basis. Then Rose led us back along the upstairs corridor. At the top of the stairs she paused. “I really should show you what you are missing,” she said. “Come on. You have to see the west wing.”

We followed her back to the balcony and crossed the foyer to an identical corridor. Toward the end she opened a door. Sunshine streamed into a lovely room, with a spectacular view of the estuary and the Atlantic beyond. It held a bed made up with white lace pillows. White lace curtains hung at the windows. There was a set of blue enamel-backed brushes on a white dressing table in front of one of the windows. Along one wall was a bookcase containing leather-bound volumes. A series of china dolls sat on the shelf above. There were even a pair of slippers placed beside the bed and a robe draped over it.

“Is this your room now?” I asked.

Rose shook her head. “No, it’s Jonquil’s,” she said. “Nobody uses it. Mrs. Mannering keeps it exactly as it always was. And her nursery on the other side. I keep hoping we’ll be able to use the nursery one day.”