A Christmas Cracker: The only festive romance to curl up with this Christmas!. Trisha Ashley

to time. But then, that might just be his natural expression. His nose and chin appeared to be attempting to join forces and his eyes were sunken under amazingly bushy eyebrows, which didn’t help.

      Silas went to his rooms the moment he had had his coffee, and I told Mercy I would, too.

      ‘Yes, do go, dear. I’ll lock up and follow suit. Of course, when I’m away Job makes sure that the house is secured for the night before he leaves, after serving Silas his dinner. Silas has those frozen ready meals delivered that you just heat up in the microwave – he loves them – but when I’m home I cook the dinner with a little preparation beforehand by Freda, Job’s wife, and we eat together. Then, in the morning, do help yourself to breakfast in the kitchen if I’m not there, and give Pye anything he wants.’

      I nodded, taking in only half of this through crashing tidal waves of tiredness. Mercy seemed to produce a running commentary to her life, but I thought perhaps if I missed something it would come round again … and probably again after that, too.

      ‘It will be such fun, showing you over the house and mill tomorrow!’ she said, before kissing me warmly and with such kindness to someone who was not only a stranger but, for all she knew, a criminal, that it brought tears to my eyes.

      ‘I hope you’ll be very happy here,’ she said. ‘Good night, my dear.’

      Pye, following me back into the kitchen wing, made brief use of the cat-flap again, before joining me in my quarters and watching with interest as I unpacked the basic necessities before getting into bed. It was soft, lavender-scented and warm, and felt as if it was undulating … perhaps it was and I was floating away on the moat among the quacking ducks …

      I half woke as four furry feet landed next to me with a heavy thump.

      ‘Good night, Pye,’ I said, wondering, as I fell asleep, at the astonishing turn my life had taken.

       Chapter 9: Rumbled

       Q: Who delivers presents to cats?

       A: Santa Paws!

      I’d slept deeply and dreamlessly and woke feeling the heaviness and warmth of Pye hogging most of the bed. For a moment I thought it was some kind of lovely dream and I was still in my room at the open prison. But then Pye rabbit-kicked me a couple of times with his back legs before leaping off the bed and I was wide awake, seeing the unfamiliar shapes of the furniture in the small room and remembering where I was. I could feel the tag around my ankle, too.

      I switched on the bedside lamp, for it was only just starting to get light, and looked at my watch. It was five and the rest of the house was, naturally, still silent.

      Pye indicated he wanted to go out and so I opened the doors through to the kitchen so he could use the cat-flap. Then I tiptoed up the spiral stone staircase with my spongebag, in search of the bathroom.

      There was a dim light burning in a wall bracket in the passage at the top, and lots of closed doors, but I opened the one directly opposite the stair head, as I’d been instructed, and, after some fumbling in the dark, found a light switch on a cord.

      It illuminated a scene of Victorian splendour: the room was palatial, with a black and white chequered lino floor, on which stood a claw-footed cast-iron bath, a throne-like toilet with a metal chain running down from a water cistern balanced overhead on metal brackets, and a washbasin large enough to bath a baby in.

      The only incongruous note was struck by the large and roomy modern corner shower, but I was very glad to see it, because the radiators were as cold as stone and I’d probably have frozen to death by the time I’d run a bath.

      There were fluffy fresh towels on a rack and also some wrapped French rose soaps in a bowl. I thought the latter were probably intended for guests, but I couldn’t resist taking one into the shower with me.

      I wouldn’t say there was a great deal of water pressure, but at least it was hot, though the way the water pipes clanked made me guiltily hope I hadn’t woken anyone up.

      I washed the prison off my outer self, shampooed my hair with a bottle of something that looked even more expensive than the soap, then stepped out feeling if not like a new woman, then at least one ready to take on the world again.

      I went back downstairs in a cloud-soft towelling robe that was hanging on the back of the door – that too looked new – and untangled my hair. Then, while I was making a cup of coffee in the quiet kitchen, Pye materialised through the cat-flap and I went to rummage for his bowls in the boxes piled in my sitting room. I discovered them quite easily, along with a few tins of his favourite food, half a bag of dried mix, some kitty litter and his tray, because Jeremy, a teacher to the last, had not been able to resist labelling the cartons with things like: ‘Cat: Equipment for the Maintenance Of’ and ‘Kitchen: Sundry Utensils’. He must have got bored after a while, though, because there were an awful lot of ‘Miscellaneous’ and two that weren’t labelled at all.

      I fed Pye, who indignantly expressed strong disappointment that it wasn’t a tin of tuna like last night.

      ‘Don’t get ideas above your station,’ I warned him. ‘Silas thinks you ought to catch mice for your living.’

      ‘Pfft!’ he said, with a scathing look.

      After I’d filled his water bowl I scalded out the saucers Mercy had put down for him last night, before setting up the litter tray in one of the many unused rooms, little more than a cupboard, off the passage. Pye gave it a cursory glance, but though he much preferred to go out, he also hated heavy rain, so it was as well to be prepared.

      Taking another mug of coffee through into the sitting room, I started to sort out the boxes. Most of my clothes were in the small tin trunk that had belonged to Mum, who’d kept her materials in there when she’d worked as a dresser and costume assistant. Her old Singer sewing machine, a black and inlaid mother-of-pearl thing of beauty in its own right, was sitting on the floor in its carrying case, and I put it on the wide windowledge before rummaging for clean clothes.

      It was odd to picture Jeremy, who I’d once thought the love of my life, unable to resist folding everything neatly before putting it in there. He so hated untidiness and mess …

      I felt better when I was dressed head to foot in new clothes – black jeans, a T-shirt and sweatshirt, socks and old baseball boots. My slippers must have been Miscellaneous, because they were nowhere to be seen.

      Any garment that had been in prison with me was going straight into the washing machine and then on to the nearest charity shop, because the tag on my ankle was reminder enough. There was a laundry basket in the scullery and I tossed everything in there.

      I began unpacking and my clothes and shoes were soon stowed away in the bedroom, with my balding teddy bear sitting on the chest of drawers alongside the locked box of my small treasures … the key was still on my ring.

      Books, photograph albums and a few ornaments went into a small, empty bookcase or on the mantelpiece, and once I’d pulled the yellow velvet chair in front of the electric fire and hung a framed theatre poster on a vacant picture hook, the little room started to look very much more like home.

      I left the two unlabelled boxes for later – things just seemed to have been randomly tossed into them in a most un-Jeremy way – and repacked anything I wouldn’t need into two cartons, which I stowed with the unopened kitchen ones in another of the small flagged rooms off the passage, which didn’t seem to be being used for anything. It had stone-slabbed shelves along one side, so had probably been another larder.

      My freshly washed hair was now dry and hung straight and thick almost to my waist. It could do with a trim and so could my fringe, which was practically in my eyes, but it would have to wait. I twisted my hair into a practical plait, the end secured with an elastic band, and felt ready for anything: I was determined to earn my place here, and Mercy Marwood’s trust.