In the bustle of room allocations and Aunt Sarah’s complaints, Eva found herself separated from the rest of the group she’d arrived with. Even her parents had been sent up a different set of stairs to the ones she now climbed, following a smiling young woman with an accent like music.

The woman opened a door near the end of a corridor with blue carpets and landscape paintings of lakes and calm seas. “Here you are, Ms Stone. Her Ladyship chose your room especially; said you’d like the colour.”

Eva felt like she’d fallen into a watercolour flowerbed. The walls were a soft sunshine yellow, picking out the fine edging on pale green curtains. The carpet was a couple of shades darker, with a swirling leaf pattern picked out in cream and even darker greens. The bedspread was a swirl of pastel yellow, green, pink, and blue, complementing the scene beyond the French doors – a blue summer sky behind a grey stone balcony, framed by pink climbing roses.

“I do like the colour. Very much.”

The woman’s smile broadened. “Her Ladyship would have been so happy to hear that. Now, there’s a lunch buffet in the orangery if you’re hungry – just take the stairs down and find any path you like to the back of the house – and dinner’s at eight. Otherwise, you’re welcome to rest or wander as you wish. The reading of the will is after breakfast tomorrow, so there are no obligations this afternoon.”

Quiet time sounded blissful. “My parents?”

“You’ll find their room in the west wing, Ms Stone, at the other end of the house. It seemed best to keep the guests together.”

“And yet I’m here…”

Another smile, this one holding a secret. “Indeed you are, and I’m sure all will be explained come morning.”

***

Eva found lunch, and survived dinner, despite the overbearing attentions of a teenage cousin she’d never heard of. She’d have remembered … Humphrey Alphonse Winston Smyth was not a name you forgot.

A knock on her bedroom door the next morning brought the woman from yesterday with a covered tray. “I saw young Humphrey lurking outside the dining room and thought you might like a quiet breakfast on your balcony.”

Eva smiled and opened her door fully. “I’d love it, and thank you, you really don’t need the extra work. I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

“Rosemary Handcock, although I prefer Rose. And the guests will be gone soon enough, we’ll be back to our quiet ways before the day is out.”

Strange, she said that as if Eva wasn’t a guest.

Rose crossed the room and Eva jerked into movement. “Let me get that door for you.”

“Thank you, be careful of the right one, it tends to stick, then bounce open.”

It did, but they both made it outside, with the breakfast tray, without accidents. Rose laid the table, smiled again, and was gone before Eva could do more than thank her.

At ten, a gong was struck, summoning the house’s guests to the library, where fifteen or so chairs had been set out in three neat rows, facing a heavy, carved desk.

Ignoring Humphrey’s leer and suggestive pat of the seat beside him, Eva sat next to her father, at the end of the second row of chairs.

Once everyone was settled, Mr Harrison entered the room. He was Great Aunt Muriel’s lawyer. Mr Rawlins, from the front stairs the day before, was Fairfield Manor’s butler and followed Mr Harrison in, closing the door behind them, then standing beside a wide table under one window.

Mr Harrison pulled a sheaf of papers from the leather folder he carried and placed them on the desk, before sitting.

He looked sternly over the group before him. “These are the final wishes, and orders, of Lady Muriel Aberswyth. Once the reading is complete, and distribution of any bequests completed, lunch will be served, then you will leave. Lord Christopher has been happy to indulge his late step-grandmother in hosting this gathering, but he is a busy man and a full house is hindering his ability to conduct business.”

Humphrey put up his hand. “Who’s Lord Christopher?”

A few people sniggered, Mr Harrison stared them to silence, then replied. “He’s the Lord and owner of Fairfield Manor and its estate – the grandson of Lady Muriel’s second husband from his first marriage.”

There was silence as the group processed the connection, then Uncle Dominic said. “So the old lady doesn’t actually own the place.”

Mr Harrison’s smile was polite and icy. “No, she merely owns two buildings in London – one commercial, one residential – share holdings amounting to significant influence in voting rights for a number of large corporations, and a handbag and jewellery collection the V&A Museum has asked to be allowed to display.”

This time the silence was eager and greedy. Eva wondered why she was even there.

Mr Harrison waited for a moment, then picked up the papers, cleared his throat and began to read.

“To my siblings, who have plenty but always want more, I leave a framed, signed photograph of your favourite sister.”

Mr Rawlins gathered a short pile of small, shallow boxes and handed one to each of the five oldest members of the group. One opened her box, laughing delightedly at the picture inside. The others looked sour.

Mr Harrison continued. “To all those who called me ‘aunt’ or tried to be over-familiar with ‘aunty’ or even ‘Muriel’, I leave a choice. You can have a mug, or a tote bag.”

The butler held up a cheap white mug with printing on it, Eva couldn’t make out the words. He replaced it, then displayed a plain canvas bag. The words on that were visible across the room.

MY AUNT MURIEL DIED AND ALL SHE LEFT ME WAS THIS LOUSY TOTE.

Eva’s mother looked shocked; her father spluttered into laughter.

Mr Harrison smiled minutely. “There is a footnote. It says ‘Yes, Roger, you can have it on a t-shirt, Rawlins has organised it’.”

“Thank you, Mr Rawlins, will treasure it.” Eva’s father was still chuckling.

The lawyer resumed his poker face and went on. “To give you a little time over such an important decision, you may collect your preferred item from Rawlins at the end of this performance.”

He looked up. “Her words, not mine.”

His eyes flicked back down again, and he kept reading. “To the youngest generation, those who may actually benefit from the little odds and ends I’ve collected over my life, I have more personal bequests.

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