“That’s wonderful!” Clara looked relieved. “Nil desperandum, as Sister used to say at the hospital—do not despair! Oh, lordy, we have to do Latin too …”

“We did loads of Latin at St. Margaret’s, miss.”

“Lotti, please call me Clara! Miss makes me sound ancient, and I’m only twenty-three.”

“We did loads of Latin at St. Margaret’s, Clara. I’m actually really good at it. I can teach it!”

The class had been, Clara said with a smile as she let them out just before the five o’clock train, extremely democratic.

“Which is a word derived from the Ancient Greek—demos, meaning the common people, and kratos, meaning rule.”

“Meaning,” Lotti expanded joyfully when she and Ben parted at the Sparrowhawk, “that we are in charge! And did you notice, Ben, how pretty Clara looked when she smiled? Almost like she was really young!”

Yes, everyone enjoyed lessons with Clara, and over the next few weeks it seemed that this new way of life might last. Ben and Lotti worked hard at their lessons, at the boatyard, at Being Useful and Exemplary, at repairing the Sparrowhawk. Clara, busy and no longer lonely, smiled more and more often. Federico put on weight and his coat grew glossy. Elsie, for reasons no one could understand, took to sleeping most of the day.

Soon, Lotti told herself, she would explain to her aunt and uncle about Federico. It wasn’t fair to keep him hidden away. She rose at dawn to walk him before the Netherburys woke, and she gave him a good run in the afternoon, but he spent the rest of his days when Zachy was working tied up behind the gardener’s cottage, which was no life for a sociable dog. To be fair, she had tried to tell her uncle. On two occasions, she had gathered up the courage to knock on the door of the study. Each time, when Hubert Netherbury bade her enter, Lotti’s eyes drifted to his hand, flexing and unflexing, and she lost her nerve.

Soon, soon, soon … but not yet.

“Soon” was also Ben’s reply to Albert Skinner, each time the policeman returned to the Sparrowhawk. Once he heard that Clara would be tutoring Ben and Lotti, Albert had said no more about school, but on the subject of Sam he was relentless.

“Any news?” he asked, at least once a week.

“Not long now,” Ben would reply, buying time.

Soon, soon, soon …

The days lengthened, bluebells flooded the woods. Under normal circumstances, Lotti would have loved to drift among them, as she used to with her parents. Papa had adored bluebells, the way the flowers hovered over the forest floor like a secret blue sea. “Where shall we sail to on this ocean of blue?” he would say on their walks, and together he and Lotti and Mama would stay out late into the evenings, breathing in the sweet hyacinth scent and making up adventures.