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off.”
    â€œWon’t be a sec, and then we’re going to go and ask if you can go out in the garden with me. I’ll show you the secret path to Far Look-out. Now, here’s the key. Do you want to wind it or shall I?”
    â€œYou.”
    The large spring wound with heavy clicks of the ratchet. When Vincent showed the child the lever for starting and stopping the motor she still refused to take any part in setting the gadget off, so he did it himself. The motor ran with an even whirr, but the crank clicked and clacked as the cradle jerked rapidly through a small arc.
    â€œNot so bad for a first try,” said Vincent, talking as much to himself as to the child. “I’ll have to gear it down next time, but …”
    â€œHello, darling,” said a woman’s voice from the door. “I see you’ve found a friend.”
    The child bounced to her feet and sprang across the room. Rising more slowly Vincent saw her thud into her mother, flinging her arms round her legs and burying her head in her stomach. As she staggered with the impact Mrs Dubigny laughed and began to tousle the child’s hair in an affectionate but still absent-minded manner, almost as if she had been fondling somebody else’s dog.
    â€œWhat have you two been up to?” she said.
    â€œBuilding a c-c-cradle for Mary,” said Vincent.
    â€œOh, that’s too good of you! Do look, darling—isn’t that clever?”
    The child paid no attention at all but continued to cling to her mother like some parasite anchored to its host for both their natural lives.
    â€œI wish we’d had something like that for you when you were little,” said Mrs Dubigny. “Do let go, darling. I’ve got to take Mr Masham to talk to the Countess.”
    â€œHe promised to take me in the garden,” said Sally.
    â€œI said we’d g-g-go and ask if we c-could,” said Vincent.
    â€œNot now, darling, I’m afraid,” said Mrs Dubigny, reaching behind her back and taking her daughter’s wrist to pull that arm free.
    â€œHe promised,” said Sally. “Why don’t any of you keep your promises? Ever?”
    â€œNow don’t be silly,” said Mrs Dubigny. “Mr Masham’s made you a lovely cradle for Mary, and …”
    Sally began to cry.
    â€œI’m so sorry about this,” said Mrs Dubigny, as if apologising for some phenomenon over which she had no control, such as the weather spoiling a tennis party. “She can be very temperamental.”
    Vincent knelt and undid the buckle of his watch strap.
    â€œCan you tell the time, Sally?” he asked.
    â€œCourse I can,” sobbed the child.
    â€œLook, here’s my watch. It says five past four, doesn’t it? I’ll put it here on the table and you can look after it for me. When it says twenty-five past four—look, when the big hand gets down here—I’ll come and take you out. That’ll give us half an hour before teatime. Don’t forget, I’m going to show you the secret path. All right?”
    â€œYou won’t,” whined Sally. “None of you ever do—none of you!”
    â€œIf I’m not here at half-past four,” said Vincent, “you c-can k-k-keep my watch for yourself.”
    â€œOh, no, I can’t allow that!” said Mrs Dubigny.
    â€œI will be here, so it won’t happen,” said Vincent, standing up again.
    â€œBut Zena …”
    â€œZena is not in my g-good books at the moment. Let’s be off. You’ll look after my watch, won’t you, Sally?”
    The cradle was still restlessly clacking as he closed the door. Mrs Dubigny stopped at the top of the circular stair and put her hand on his sleeve.
    â€œYou mustn’t think I neglect poor Sally,” she said in a low voice. “It’s just that we’re still getting used to things here. I must change Nanny’s half-day. I didn’t