Lily the maid came in. ‘Finished, miss?’

‘Oh yes, diolch, Lily.’ She stood and went out and along the corridor.

The Crow was their teacher. Of course it was all top secret. Lady Mair thought that Tomos and Seren went to the schoolroom and taught themselves from books. When she tested them on Latin and Greek and History and Geography she was always startled at how well they were doing. ‘Quite extraordinary!’ she had said last time. ‘I don’t know how you children are so clever!’ And the Clockwork Crow, who had been perched listening behind the waxed fruit dome, had smirked and preened himself with pride.

But that couldn’t last either.

The Crow had to find his human shape again, and they had to help him.

It was only fair.

The house was lovely on a summer morning like this. All down the corridors dust hung in the slants of sunlight from the high windows. Doves cooed from their perches on the eaves, and the casement hung open so that Seren could hear the hum of bees in the lavender on the terrace below, and smell the sweet honeysuckle that climbed the garden wall.

She was so lucky to live here!

As she ran along the upstairs corridor her fingers brushed the panelwork. The house was safe now. There had not been a whisper of the Tylwyth Teg since Mrs Honeybourne’s strange scarlet coach had disappeared into a flurry of leaves last autumn.

Denzil had iron horseshoes hanging over every doorway, and when Captain Jones had laughed at him about it he had just shook his head and said darkly, ‘Better safe than sorry, Captain. Better safe than sorry.’

So there was no need to worry. But, as she came to the door of the Captain’s study and stood outside looking at the brass doorknob, there was one tiny fear inside her that she didn’t even want to name.

She knocked, lightly.

‘Come in.’

She peeped round the door. ‘It’s just me.’

‘Oh come in, Seren, please. It won’t take a minute.’

She came in and stood in front of the desk. It was a big wooden structure, with estate documents littered across it, and letters and a pipe-rack. The whole room smelt sweetly of tobacco; it must be, she thought, just how Mr Sherlock Holmes’ rooms in 221b Baker Street must smell.

‘Well now. Sit down.’

She looked round and saw that a stool had been pulled up; she sat on it.

Captain Jones was a tall man. He walked up and down looking out of the open windows. He seemed a little bit nervous, she thought. ‘Well, Seren. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a few days now. It’s … ah … a little bit… Um … well, it’s something I’ve been thinking of for a while.’

‘About me?’

‘In a way. Tell me, Seren,’ he turned quickly. ‘You are happy with us here, aren’t you? At Plas-y-Fran?’

She stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘I love it here, with Tomos and Gwyn and you and Lady Mair and the Cr … cats and doves and everyone. Denzil and Mrs Villiers and Lily. I love everything about it.’