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reputed to be imprisoned in one of the many chimneys, though in which one no one was ever quite sure. It had been a white bird, the legend said, though when finally it fell lifeless into the hearth it was pitifully soot-streaked. It could have been a white barn owl, people said, or a dove. Or there was the fantastic story that it had been a white heron, its long legs hopelessly entangled in the narrow space. That had been why the fluttering and screeching had been so loud. Its imprisonment had coincided with the death of the young mistress of Darkwater at that time. When the dishevelled creature had fallen into the hearth, her young face had lain like snow on her pillow.
    As the years and then the centuries passed, the struggling bird was heard again and again. It always portended disaster.
    ‘Mamma, there was a gale blowing last night,’ Aunt Louisa said. ‘That’s all you heard.’
    ‘That’s what you’d like to think,’ said the old lady portentously. ‘But remember the last time I heard it. We had news about George soon after.’
    Aunt Louisa clucked impatiently.
    ‘Goodness me, it’s a good thing we haven’t all got your imagination. If I’d listened to all your omens I’d have been frightened out of my life years ago. Now watch your step. Where are you going?’
    The old lady lifted her voluminous skirts an inch or two and peered short-sightedly at the stairs.
    ‘To say good-bye to Fanny, of course. Should I be left out of the farewells?’
    ‘First George, and now you. Anyone would think Fanny was going on a long journey and not coming back.’
    Lady Arabella had reached Fanny’s side. She was out of breath and wheezing a little. She tucked a crumpled package into Fanny’s hand.
    ‘Sugar plums, my dear. Eat them on the journey. Keep one or two for the children. They will find them comforting. You always did, do you remember?’
    ‘Yes, Great-aunt Arabella. Thank you very much.’
    Fanny’s eyes pricked with tears. It was a good thing the old lady was too short-sighted to see them. Anyway, she had turned to remount the stairs. She had two woolly shawls around her shoulders. Her head, with its slightly awry lace cap, sank among them cosily. With her short broad stature and her skirts tending towards the crinoline, it was virtually impossible to pass her on the stairs. She was more comical than sinister. Surely she wasn’t really sinister, at all. That had been only childish imagination in a dusk-filled room.
    Now she had been kind, and Fanny wished passionately that she hadn’t been. First it had been Amelia with her request for French ribbons, then George urging her to hurry back, and now Lady Arabella giving her comfits for her journey.
    But she mustn’t let these things shake her resolution. She wouldn’t be back at Darkwater. Never again…
    Hannah had appeared with the baggage, and Uncle Edgar came in briskly to say that the carriage was at the door.
    ‘That’s better,’ he said, looking at Fanny’s smart appearance. Her fur-trimmed cloak, the smart shiny boots peeping beneath her silk skirts, her bonnet tied with velvet ribbon, all marked her as a young lady of taste and fashion. ‘You must look your best, my dear, otherwise you may find people trying to take advantage of you. Hannah!’
    The elderly servant in her modest dark attire came forward.
    ‘Yes, sir?’
    ‘I expect you to take good care of Miss Fanny. Don’t let her do anything foolish.’
    Hannah’s lips went together. It wasn’t for her to say that the master must know Miss Fanny could be unpredictable at times. Didn’t he remember the storms and tantrums at intervals in the past? But one had to admit she looked a well-bred well-behaved young lady at this minute, so perhaps all would be well. Personally she couldn’t wait until the nerve-wracking journey in one of those fast smoky trains was over, the perils of London safely avoided, and all of them home again in the peace and quiet of Darkwater.
    ‘Fanny! Fanny!’