The drawers were empty but for a ripped stocking that had fallen to the back and caught on a knot of wood. I went to stand at the window where a layer of cold seeped in from the frame. The eaves above me creaked and I realized then how silent it was at the top of the house, sound muffled and absorbed by thick floors. Something in the air made me pause and I experienced a strange awareness of Hettie as if she stood just behind me, watching and judging. I envisaged her easing a shoe from her foot at the end of a long day or raising her arms to pull pins from her hair. Turning, the quietness seemed to shiver and I moved quickly back to the door.

The other rooms were neglected – a schoolroom where I tried to visualize William and Mary bent over desks with inky fingers, the lure of a blue sky in the panes beyond. Had they giggled behind their palms or passed secret notes between the pages of a book? The atmosphere still clung to some of the schoolroom smells of paint and industry.

As I returned along the narrow corridor, I tried not to compare the stillness and decay with the sunny rooms at home, but they lingered in my thoughts, pinching hard at my emotions. Clara had not taken lessons as her hands were too clumsy to write, but she had sat beside me when Miss Dodds came with her dusty maps and tomes on the kings and queens of England.

When I had wandered to my satisfaction, and with Mary still at lessons, I returned to the drawing room fire. At half past three, the maid I had heard humming that morning brought tea and bread and I studied her more closely. She was young, no older than myself, with thin, dark hair and a long face.

‘Good afternoon,’ I said.

Her eyes were dull with high, arched brows that framed a less than friendly expression. She bent her thick waist and placed the tea things on a table before me.

‘Are you Greer?’ I said. ‘Was it you that made the preparations to my room?’

‘That was me.’

‘I thank you. It is much appreciated.’

Her gaze constantly shifted and there was an air of animosity about her.

I took up a piece of bread and put it on a plate. ‘How long have you worked here?’ I asked.

She paused, hands clasped behind her back, and fidgeted to be gone. ‘I’ve been doing jobs here since I was nine or so.’

‘You must know the house very well by now,’ I said by way of conversation.

She gave the smallest of impatient sighs and her eyes slid to the door.