‘They’ll be after those who were in the cave. Come on. You can lean on me.’

They made their way up the cliff, using a path that Rosalind and her brothers had created by scrambling down to the beach without being spotted by the gamekeeper or any of the outside staff. When they reached the top Rosalind pointed to the dark shape of the castle that owned the landscape with its imposing presence.

‘That’s where I live, boy.’

‘Then we’d best get you home before you’re missed.’

They walked on in silence. Rosalind knew from experience that sounds seemed to carry more at night, and if Abe Coaker, the gamekeeper found them he would feel bound to tell Hester. It would be preferable to be scolded by Mama than by Hester, especially if she brought slipper into action. Hester was loving and gentle, but when pushed to the limits she invoked “slipper” – an old leather slipper worn to a shine by its contact first with Bertie’s bottom, then Walter’s, and on rare occasions Rosalind had felt its sting. Patsy, of course, was too young and too easily moved to tears to need such chastisement.

‘Does your mother work at the castle?’

Rosalind stopped at the postern gate and opened it carefully, mindful of the squeal of its hinges if pushed too hard. ‘Mama doesn’t work, but she used to sing in opera.’

‘That sounds very grand.’

‘I’ve never thought about it.’ Rosalind laid her finger to her lips. ‘We have to be very quiet or the dogs will hear us and then there’ll be trouble. Follow me, boy. Don’t say a word.’

‘I can’t come in with you, maid. I have to start walking.’

‘You’re clothes are wet – you’ll catch your death of cold, so you must come in and get dry.’

‘All right.’

‘We’ll go in through the kitchen. Bertie will have left the door unlocked. Just don’t tread on the boot boy – he sleeps in the hall.’

Rosalind led the way across a cobbled courtyard to the rear of the castle, and as she had predicted the door to the kitchen had been left ajar. The vast kitchen, where little had changed over the centuries apart from the addition of a cast-iron range, was illuminated by the glow from the fire. Rosalind tiptoed across the flagstone floor and motioned her new friend to sit down while she cut bread from a loaf she found in the larder and buttered each slice, adding a spoonful of jam, which she spread lavishly. She watched the boy devour the food in seconds, and she cut her piece in half and gave it to him. She poured milk from a pitcher into two cups and handed him one.

He drank thirstily and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Oughtn’t you to tidy up?’