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please, Mary, for Sophie.”
    While the rain beat down outside, Tom Norbery waited with his charges and servants under the wooden veranda covering the back door to the inn. Sophie was engrossed, watching Salter bring out the team of Linmore horses harnessed to the coach. Suddenly, she dashed forward onto the damp cobblestones of the courtyard amongst the bustle of shouting ostlers, travellers and conveyances.
    Charlie leapt forward and pulled her back. “No, Sophie,” he said. “You can look at the horses later.”
    She made no demur when he propelled her towards the waiting coach, but once inside, peered through the rain-splattered window and started to make a strange warbling sound.
    “Is she all right?” Tom wondered what was happening.
    Charlie sighed contentedly, and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Sophie only sings when she is happy. It does not happen often, but it is a good sign. It was seeing the horses.”
    The thought brought a lump to Tom’s throat. “In that case, I hope she will be happy at Linmore. We have many horses there.”
    It was not his only hope. He wanted them to find peace and the security of knowing they were wanted. He still felt anger on the children’s behalf for the way their uncle discharged his obligations, but it was something to which Lucius Cobarne would have to come to terms.
    If truth be told, Tom did not know how best to prepare the children for what lay ahead. If he advertised the size of Linmore Hall, with the servants, it sounded like a boast, and yet they needed to know what to expect. He had his suspicions about their uncle’s establishment, but that was all they were – his assumptions; how to discover the truth, though, he did not know.
    In the event, Mary Kilcot was instrumental in his discovery, when she clambered into the coach after a break in their journey.
    “Come over here, young Sophie,” the nursemaid said. “Let us girls sit together.”
    He knew the girl intended to be friendly, but instead of complying, Sophie scowled and edged closer to her brother, leaving Charlie to explain.
    “I’m afraid she isn’t used to girls. Uncle Lucius only employed older women as domestic servants. Aunt Barleycorn said the young ones were lazy.”
    “Aunt…Barleycorn? I thought your uncle’s wife was Matilda.” That was what Jane told him.
    “Yes, sir.” Charlie flushed with embarrassment. “Aunt Tilda was his wife. She was there when we first went to live with them, but after she died, the year before last, he married the housekeeper.”
    “I see,” said Tom, and he did understand. Unless the woman was the lawyer’s mistress, he probably did it to save paying wages.
    “The trouble is, sir, although Barleycorn dresses in new clothes, she hasn’t the way to be a real lady, like Aunt Tilda.”
    “Did you call her by that name?”
    “Only between us, sir,” said Charlie. “I tried to be polite, but Sophie didn’t call her anything, because Barl… they… sent her away to the nuns for her schooling.”
    Tom nodded. He had heard the outcome of that from the adults.
    “How should we address you, sir?”
    “I’d be happy if you called me Uncle Tom.”
    Charlie looked puzzled. “But you’re not a real uncle, like my father’s brother, are you?”
    “Your mother was a cousin to Aunt Jane, so it seems appropriate to me.”
    “Is that what we call Aunt Norbery?”
    Tom wondered how best to explain the family relationships.
    “No,” he said. “Aunt Jane is my wife’s sister. I doubt if you will see much of Mrs Norbery – she is an invalid.”
    Charlie turned to his sister. “Did you hear that, Sophie? Aunt Jane belongs to us.”
    The girl chewed it over and nodded her understanding.
    “I don’t wish to be rude, sir,” Charlie said, “but will there be enough room for us at your home? I mean… my uncle’s house was quite large.”
    “Lor bless me, young sir,” Mary Kilcot interrupted. “Your uncle’s house was nothing compared to Linmore Hall.