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speed. Margaret was left alone to stare after her. Saumur Castle had not been this busy for years and she could hear her father’s deep voice raised somewhere nearby. If he saw her, he would put her to work, she was certain, so she headed in the opposite direction.
    Her father’s sudden return to Saumur had brought Margaret to bitter, furious tears more than once. She resented him as she would have resented any stranger who arrived with such airs, assuming all his rights as lord and master of her home. Over the decade of his absence, her mother had spoken often of his great bravery and honour, but Margaret had seen the blank spaces on yellowing plaster as paintings and statues were quietly taken and sold. The collection of jewellery had been the last to go and she’d observed her mother’s pain as men from Paris arrived to appraise the best pieces, staring through their little tubes and counting out coins. Every year had brought fewer luxuries and comforts, until Saumur was stripped of anything beautiful, revealed in cold stones. Margaret had grown to hate her father by then, without knowing him at all. Even the servants had been dismissed one by one, with whole sections of the castle closed and left to grow blue with mildew.
    She looked up at the thought, wondering if she could get up to the east wing without being spotted and put to a task. There were mice running freely in one of the tower rooms, making their little nests in old couches and chairs. She had a pocket full of crumbs to entice them out and she couldspend the afternoon there. It had become her refuge, a hiding place that no one knew about, not even her sister Yolande.
    When Margaret had seen the men from Paris counting the books in her father’s beautiful library, she’d crept in at night and taken as many as she could carry, stealing them away to the tower room before they could vanish. She felt no guilt about it, even when her father returned and his booming orders echoed around her home. Margaret didn’t really understand what a ransom was, or why they’d had to pay one to get him back, but she cherished the books she’d saved, even the one the mice had found and nibbled.
    Saumur was a maze of back stairs and passages, the legacy of four centuries of building and expansion that meant some corridors came to a stop for no clear reason, while certain rooms could only be reached by passing through half a dozen others. Yet it had been her world for as long as she could remember. Margaret knew every route and, after rubbing her elbow, she went quickly, crossing a corridor and clattering through a wide, empty room panelled in oak. If her mother saw her running, there would be harsh words. Margaret caught herself dreading the footsteps of her governess as well, before she remembered that terror of her youth had been dismissed with all the others.
    Two flights of wooden stairs brought her up to a landing that led straight across to the east tower. The ancient floorboards were bowed and twisted there, rising away from the joists below. Margaret had lost entire afternoons stepping on them in complicated patterns, making them speak in their creaking voices. She called it the Crow Room for the sound they made.
    Panting lightly, she paused under the eaves to look out across the upper hall, as she always did. There was something special in being able to lean over the vast space, up atthe level of the chandeliers, with their fat yellow candles. She wondered who would light them for the king’s visit now that the tallowmen no longer called, but she supposed her father would have thought of it. He’d found the gold somewhere to hire all the new servants. The castle teemed with them like the mice in the tower, rushing hither and yon on unknown errands and all strangers to her.
    Onwards through the library, which made her shiver now that it was bare and cold. Yolande said some great houses had libraries on the ground floor, but even when they had been rich, her father