Occasionally Mrs Stellion went out in the car, her husband driving, to see people Gina knew only by name, with no idea of who they really were: Mrs Peters, Mrs Lampton, Miss Stanwick. So far, though, they had not visited in return, and after an afternoon out paying calls, Mrs Stellion often succumbed to a headache and went to lie down, leaving Gina with no one to talk to except her own mother, who was usually busy getting ready to go home by then, or Mrs Bassett, in whom she had no interest.

An awful thought crept into Gina’s mind: It’s just as dull here as it was at the farm. Nothing ever happens! I thought I was getting on in life and instead I’m stuck in another dead end. And Mrs Thwaite might yet come back.

It was a Friday afternoon and Mrs Stellion was out visiting her friend Miss Stanwick, who lived just outside Clitheroe. Gina was at a loose end and went into the garden to think things through.

She sat down on a bench on a sheltered side of the vegetable garden, leaned back and let her mind wander over the possibilities of her situation.

It had been quite a few days since Mrs Thwaite’s accident; it was high time Gina found out whether the woman was intending to return to the Hall.

But you’re just going to let her walk back in and do nowt about it, are you? a little voice in Gina’s head asked. You’d do well to make sure she doesn’t come back at all.

How was she to do that? Gina thought of the little book of spells in her attic room, hidden away, but the magic had proved to be very powerful, and with a little careful planning it might not be necessary to unleash its force, especially if Mrs Thwaite wasn’t coming back anyway. Just a little nudge in the right direction might persuade her that life with her sister had a lot more to offer than resuming her work at the Hall. After all, everyone had a secret that they might not wish other folk to know about …

An idea was forming in Gina’s head and she was just about to get up to follow it through when she heard voices close by. It was her own name that caught her attention.

She kept quite still and listened. Soon she realised it was her mother and Tom Arnold; they must be just the other side of the hedge, next to the shed where Tom kept the lawn mower.

‘Aye, she seems to be making an effort this time,’ Dora said. ‘I haven’t heard of anything going wrong yet. Or going missing, either.’

Tom gave a short laugh. ‘And what does Phil make of Gina’s success?’