Hearing the clip-clop of horses, she turned back to the window and looked down to the street. A carriage drew up outside their gate and the horses whinnied as they were brought to a halt.

‘Is that a horse?’ Lizzie sat up and knelt on the window seat cushion to look out. ‘Oh look, a carriage. Who is it?’ Her eyes opened wide. ‘Is it Pappa coming back from his adventures?’

James dropped his pencil and ran to the window, where he jumped up to join his sister on the seat.

A man stepped down from beside the driver to open the carriage door. A figure, dressed in black, descended, pausing on each step as if it were slippery. There had been a sharp frost that morning and there was an icy blast coming straight off the North Sea and down the river. Once on the road, the figure straightened up, revealing her face.

Ann gasped. ‘It is Lady Cruickshank. She must have received my telegram.’ She stood up and brushed down her skirts then ran to the mirror above the mantelpiece, sweeping her fingers through her hair and pinning up some straggly locks. She sighed as she noticed her grey pallor, then pinched her cheeks to try to revive some colour. ‘Why has she come? Has she news?’ she muttered to herself.

The children ran over to her, excited. ‘Why is that lady here, Mamma? Does she have news of Pappa?’

‘I don’t know, but you two must remain up here while I receive her.’ Ann took a deep breath and looked at her hands; they were shaking. She opened the door then turned to her children. ‘Play quietly, please. You ought not to be in the drawing room at all. She would expect children to be in the nursery.’

Ann closed the door behind her and rushed to the top of the stairs; she looked down to see Mrs Baxter shambling along the hallway to the door. ‘The morning room, Mrs Baxter! Put her in there.’

Mrs Baxter looked up and nodded, stopping to remove her apron and ram it in a drawer in the hall.

‘Bring tea!’ Ann hissed, before shuffling backwards so that she could not be seen.

The door swung open. Mrs Baxter inclined her head and ushered in her master’s aunt. ‘Please come this way, my lady. Mrs Craig shall be down presently.’

Ann peeked round the banister to watch Lady Cruickshank peel off her gloves, remove her cloak and thrust them at Mrs Baxter. Ann appeared at the top step, nodded at the housekeeper and began her descent. She wondered what news she brought. If it were good, why was her attire the black of mourning?

Ann entered the morning room and walked to the window where Lady Cruickshank, dressed in a dark tea gown, stood looking out onto the rose garden.