The boy offered no reply and Rosa’s head buzzed. The melody he was humming seemed to burrow deeper and deeper into her mind. She knew she had locked the door. Surely he could not have been in here all along? She would have noticed him before now. Perhaps she had drifted off and he had entered with a spare key.

She longed to get up and take him by the arm, to turn him to face her and somehow make him talk, but she shuddered at the thought of waking the twins again. She didn’t think she could take any more crying tonight. She would go mad.

‘When we met before, why were you looking for the Carousel of Icicles?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice low.

The boy stopped humming but continued to stare at the soldier in his hands. He was silent for so long that Rosa was about to repeat the question when, finally, he said, ‘I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.’

Rosa shook her head impatiently. ‘Never mind that. Where did you learn about the carousel?’

He dropped the soldier, which fell with a thud to the boards. Rosa winced, but the twins didn’t stir.

‘From the book.’

‘You’ve seen the page too?’ Rosa was suddenly eager. She spoke a little too loudly and Ada shifted in her arms.

The boy did not reply, so Rosa nodded at the pop-up book and spoke in her most authoritative voice. ‘Bring it here. Show me.’

To her relief, the boy got to his feet, picked up the Winter Garden book and brought it to her. He opened it and the Carousel of Icicles sprung up on its folded mechanisms, just as it had before. In the silver light from the tiny star, it looked even more lovely than it had previously.

‘Please,’ the boy whispered. ‘Tell me where it is?’

Rosa looked at him, startled. He was close enough that she could see each individual freckle across the bridge of his nose.

‘But I have no idea,’ she said. ‘It appeared in the grounds the other night and then vanished again.’

He looked confused. ‘But you must know where it’s gone?’

‘Why should I?

‘It’s your carousel.’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘Why did you draw it in your workbook then?’

Rosa flushed. ‘How have you managed to go through my workbook?’ she demanded. ‘It’s in a locked drawer in my dressing room.’

The boy bent down and put the book on the floor as carefully as if it were made of glass.

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘My father will be angry.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I will speak to your father, if you tell me who he is.’

Rosa expected him to give the name of one of the footmen, or perhaps the man who wound the clocks, or one of the many gardeners.