Page 134 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

She didn’t move, every part of her remaining fixed on that small white furry body.

‘That’s it, good boy,’ she said again. ‘Come on.’

His pace slowed but he inched closer, curiosity taking over. She reached out – carefully – fingers folding around the collar and gripping hard. Got you.

She pressed her forehead against the dog’s side, feeling his wiry fur, listening to him panting, but her hand tightened on his collar. ‘You daft thing,’ she said. Her throat ached with the swallowed panic still lodged there like a stubborn crumb. ‘You absolute daft thing.’

Nate arrived breathless, long hair tucked behind his ears. ‘You got him,’ he said.

Sammy grinned. ‘Course I did.’

He clipped on a lead in one quick movement, his other hand closing around her arm and pulling her up. ‘Thank God,’ he said, breath still ragged. ‘We’d all be finished if anything happened to that dog.’

Sammy noticed a smear of dirt on his cheek, felt his hand firm on her arm. She was still catching her breath, her pulse racing, her body not yet done with the fear – or something else. ‘You’re . . .’ he stopped himself. Whatever he’d meant to say dissolved; he kissed her instead.

It tasted like the aftermath – the wild edge of danger not yet over.

Then . . . footsteps. Quick and heavy trampling through the grass. An apple kicked aside, hitting a tree with a resounding clunk.

They broke apart. Not far.

Magnus came into view. His jacket was bunched up at the shoulder, his tie pulled slightly off centre. When he was a few yards away, he stopped, taking in the open gate, the road, the dog, Nate holding the lead.

He leaned over, placing his hands on his legs, panting. ‘Well done, Miss Jenkins.’

‘We should head back,’ Sammy said.

Stop It led the way, towing Nate behind him.

After a few yards, Sammy glanced back. ‘Mr Magnus,’ she called. ‘Walk back with us.’

It looked as if he might, then his hand went to his pocket. The watch came out. Magnus checked the time and slipped it back. He picked up the pace, took the dog from Nate. ‘Miss Jenkins, my office. One hour.’

Sammy watched him go. Her key. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Valerie’s face.

Thirty-two

For the next hour Sammy tried to concentrate on the roller iron, but her imagination kept jumping from Stop It careering into the road, to what would happen in Magnus’s office later that afternoon. She checked the time – exactly an hour – then pulled the plug out for the second time.

Outside Magnus’s office, Sammy could hear noises from further down the corridor, from the housekeeper’s room. Her room. The door was closed. She couldn’t help smiling – Valeire would have to start packing. Soon, Sammy would have her back door key, her own room, and Valerie would be reporting to her.

She knocked.

‘Enter.’

Magnus closed the book he was reading and laid it on the desk.

‘Miss Jenkins.’

Sammy caught a glimpse of the cover; a photograph of ornate silver candlesticks; . . . Silver . . . she read in the title before it disappeared beneath his hand.

‘Interesting book.’

‘Very.’ His hand rested on the cover. ‘It was a gift.’

A gift.

She remembered him saying, weeks earlier, that nobody ever sent him anything.