Lotti forgot that she was afraid of her uncle. Still holding Federico by the neck, Hubert Netherbury marched out of the drawing room down the servants’ corridor to the scullery, roaring for Sally to open up the coal cellar. Pulling, punching, kicking, Lotti fought him every step of the way. Again and again he pushed her aside. Again and again she returned to fight.

But she was so much smaller than her uncle. Sally, tight-lipped, opened the door to the coal cellar. Lotti tried to bar the way, but Hubert Netherbury pushed her out of the way with one hand and threw Federico downstairs as if neither weighed more than a feather.

Then he turned to his niece.

This time, when he slapped her, Lotti saw stars.

Her head was still spinning when he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back along the corridor and up the stairs to her room.

“Savage!” he thundered, as he flung her inside.

He slammed the door behind her and locked it.

“Let me out!” screamed Lotti. “This is my house! You can’t lock me in!”

“I can do what I damn well want until you’re twenty-one!” her uncle bellowed back. “You’ll stay in there until I can find a school desperate enough to take you!”

Lotti kicked the door.

“I won’t go to school! And I won’t let you send Federico to the pound!”

And then Lotti’s blood froze as her uncle began to laugh. “Oh, there’s no fear of that,” said Hubert Netherbury, and somehow it was more frightening when he spoke softly than when he shouted. “The pound’s much too good for the little brute. I’ll arrange for him to be shot instead.”

Sally came up later with a tray of food and found Lotti sitting on the floor with her back against the wall.

“I’m not hungry.” Lotti’s voice was hoarse from screaming, her face puffy from crying.

Sally put the tray down and joined Lotti on the floor.

“Want a hug?”

Lotti nodded and began to cry again. They sat quietly for a while with Sally’s broad arms wrapped round Lotti’s slight frame, until at last her sobs subsided and they were able to talk.

“I got news,” said Sally. “You ready to hear it?”

Lotti sniffed.

“Your uncle’s found a school that’ll take you,” said Sally. “It’s called St. Winifred’s Academy for Girls, and it’s in Pembrokeshire. Lady Clarion recommended it, so you can imagine what your aunt’s like, all thank you, your gracious ladyship, etc. Snob. You’re to leave on Sunday, the day after tomorrow. I’m to see you on to the train. I’m sorry, Lots. I know it’s the last thing you wanted.”