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lists, but the store beside his room was kept locked. Mrs Cotton had a key, of course, as did Mr Lock. I decided to go to him.
    Rob came in from outside, carrying an armful of logs.
    ‘Looks like Rowena’s time’s come,’ he said. ‘She’s out there now in the stables, looking a sight sorry for herself.’
    ‘Poor thing. Do you think she needs some food?’
    ‘I daren’t go near her,’ said Rob, grinning. ‘She gave me a snarl like a Bengal tiger.’
    ‘I’ll have a look,’ I said. ‘Do you know where Mr Lock is?’
    He put the logs down beside the small woodburner in the kitchen. ‘With His Lordship, I think.’
    I thanked him, and took Rowena’s bowl of water outside. The stable block was at the back of the yard. I clucked quietly as I entered, trying not to scare her.
    There she was, lying at the back, on a tarpaulin. She lifted her head, then let it sink back when she saw it was only me.
    ‘I bet you wanted to be away from all the fuss, didn’t you?’ I said, placing the bowl next to her head. She lapped gratefully at the water as I stroked her behind the ears. ‘Not long now, eh?’
    She purred softly and gave a slow blink. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘this is what will happen if you get yourself a follower.’
    I left her, but I’d come back to check as often as possible. I didn’t know what would happen to the kittens though. Perhaps Adam could take them to a good home. I had a feeling one cat was enough for Mrs Cotton.
    Back inside, I went in search of Mr Lock. Rob was right – he was upstairs with His Lordship. But I could hardly go barging in, so I lurked impatiently near the bottom of the stairs, half-heartedly wiping the skirting with a cloth. I couldn’t help hearing snatches of conversation, and realised they were speaking of Samuel.
    ‘. . . house isn’t suitable for an invalid, Mr Lock,’ said Lord Greave in a gruff voice.
    I was shocked at how normal he sounded. So often now he spoke in gibberish or not at all. I felt a glimmer of hope.
    ‘We have made the best of it, sir,’ said Mr Lock. ‘The staff know their duties.’
    ‘Still, perhaps he would be better in a hospital,’ said His Lordship. ‘In some recuperative ward, where professionals can attend to him.’
    ‘Dr Ingle will be here,’ said Mr Lock. ‘And you heard what the staff sergeant said: Samuel wishes to return to his home.’
    I couldn’t hear what His Lordship said next, and the butler emerged on to the stairs with His Lordship behind him. Though he was dressed smartly, his general demeanour was still wretched. His eyes were bloodshot, the lids heavy. I wondered if he had been weeping, but dismissed the notion. The idea of a man crying was ridiculous.
    Mr Lock seemed surprised to see me on the landing, and he looked at me with a little suspicion. He knew Mrs Cotton’s rotas as well as she knew his. I shouldn’t really have been there.
    ‘Miss Tamper, can I help you?’
    I asked if I could trouble him for the key to the storeroom, as I needed more blacking for the grates.
    ‘Couldn’t this have waited?’ Mr Lock asked irritably.
    ‘Sorry, sir,’ I said, ‘but Mrs Cotton –’
    ‘It’s quite all right, Mr Lock,’ interrupted His Lordship. ‘I am aware that my sister-in-law runs a tight ship. Better see to the young girl’s problems. I believe our conversation was concluded.’
    Mr Lock bowed shallowly and I followed him down the stairs, thinking about what they’d been discussing. After seeing my mother pass away under this roof, the idea of watching Samuel do the same wrenched at my heart. I made a promise then that I would do everything in my power to make him comfortable and help him recover.
    In the kitchen, Mr Lock opened the storeroom and stepped aside.
    ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘Fetch what you need.’
    I thought for a moment that he might watch me, but he stepped back from the narrow doorway. The storeroom had shelves on either side, filled with spare napkins and cloths, brushes and