Page 166 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘But she was trying to protect someone.’ Jean continued, her voice matter of fact. ‘Her friend Chloe caused the damage. Sammy panicked. Nate helped her cover up before you discovered anything.’

Magnus stared at the papers on his desk. The pieces aligned unpleasantly quickly. Sammy accepting blame without defending herself properly. Nate deflecting questions about professional distance.

‘And Sammy should have sent that little madam Chloe back to Swansea sooner. She knows that. But Sammy’s got a habit of putting other people first even when it hurts her. Sometimes that’s downright foolish. But it is the reason she lied.’ Outside, in the corridor, a door closed. Jean glanced toward the sound before continuing. ‘She has spent most of her life trying not to inconvenience people. Foster care teaches some children that keeping hold of a place matters more than anything, and they’ll do anything for anyone to keep it. When trouble comes, Sammy’s instinct is to catch it herself before anyone else gets hurt.’

Magnus remembered Sammy constantly apologising, like a woman trying to pay in advance for mistakes she hadn’t yet made.

Jean met his gaze directly. ‘She thinks very highly of this house.’

‘That is not the issue.’

‘No.’ Jean said. ‘The issue is whether one mistake outweighs everything else she has brought to it.’

Magnus leaned back in his chair. He thought about the changes since Sammy’s arrival. The Hall had come alive.

Jean spoke once more, this time softer. ‘Sammy won’t fight for herself properly. That’s why I’m here.’

Magnus clasped his hands together. ‘You understand,’ he said carefully, ‘that trust within a house such as this is not negotiable.’

‘I do.’

‘And yet you came anyway.’

Jean’s expression altered, becoming more certain. ‘Because decent people deserve the chance to recover from bad decisions.’

The room fell quiet. Magnus reached for the photograph. Mr Wetherby stared back at him, frozen in time. The man who had taught him everything worth knowing. The silver frame felt cool beneath his fingers.

An old memory stirred. The theft of a bottle of Château Margaux. A terrified young housemaid. His own determination to shield her from the consequences. At the time – young and in love – he’d thought himself noble. He’d been spectacularly foolish. Mr Wetherby had seen through him within minutes. Yet instead of ending his career before it began, the older man had given him a second chance.

Magnus stared at the photograph, stroking the side of the frame with his thumb, before returning it to the desk.

Jean watched him her eyes unwavering.

‘I made a poor decision once,’ he said quietly. ‘I was given a second chance. Miss Jenkins may yet prove salvageable.’

‘Thirty-seven. Check,’ pronounced Magnus from somewhere deep in the cellar.

Sitting on the bottom step, the stone cold beneath her legs, Sammy ticked the number off on the page. A stock take. The first Sammy had been involved with. Her thoughts drifted to Nate; five days ago, on Exmoor he’d told her about his family’s business, the endless inventory checks. The life he’d left behind.

She forced her brain back to today’s task. Trying not to think about Nate was becoming a full-time job.

She stared at the next line, trying to decide how to pronounce it. ‘Chateaux Giscours, 2008 . . . should be a dozen.’

Magnus moved along the wine racks, ledger balanced in one hand, the other passing steadily over the necks of the bottles as he counted.

His shoes squeaked to a stop by an open pine box. ‘Ah here they are – yes twelve bottles of the 2008,’ Magnus said. He dipped his head to the ledger, made a mark and moved on. ‘How many of the 2009 should there be?’

Sammy checked her printout. ‘Ten.’

‘Miss Jenkins – why did you leave the cellar door open earlier this morning?’

Sammy glanced over her shoulder at the door wedged open above her, a rectangle of sun cutting in brightening the top three steps. Out in the corridor, a vacuum cleaner droned – Val the Vampire would be enjoying this. ‘I’m pretty sure I closed it,’ she said, frowning.

Magnus turned a page with his thumb. ‘Ten 2009 – check.’ But he wasn’t finished with her. ‘I asked you to empty the dehumidifier; you were the last one down here. The door was open when I arrived for the stock check.’

‘I definitely locked it,’ she said.

The vacuum cut out mid-pass. The silence was almost oppressive.