Hephzibah was pottering in the front garden, adding some bulbs to one of the freshly planted beds, when she looked up and spotted a dark-haired lad over by the fountain. He was sitting on the grass looking at something on the ground. She hauled herself to her feet and went to speak to him.

The old woman wasn’t alone; several of her feline friends were lazing nearby. She’d lost count long ago of how many cats lived at Caledonia Manor, although with the teaching college about to open, she thought it might be time to find new homes for most of her furry companions.

Hephzibah was wearing light khaki trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt and a wide-brimmed hat to protect her face. Since meeting Alice-Miranda earlier in the year she no longer dressed from head to toe in black and had abandoned the veil that once covered her face.

‘Hello there,’ the old woman called as she walked across the lawn towards the boy. ‘Can I help you?’

As she approached him, Hephzibah could see a cat rubbing against the lad’s back. He didn’t seem to have noticed it, so mesmerised was he by whatever was in front of him. Perhaps it was a tortoise, Hephzibah thought hopefully. It would be lovely to have some more wildlife in the garden.

The boy didn’t seem to hear her and Hephzibah wondered if he might be deaf.

‘Excuse me, are you all right?’ she asked, as she drew closer.

The boy moved his head sideways and looked at her. He had the most extraordinary amber-coloured eyes. Just like a cat, she thought to herself.

Hephzibah could now see that he was looking at a collection of badges, neatly lined up in rows.

She tried again to get his attention. ‘My name is Hephzibah and this is my home.’ She wondered if this was the boy Alice-Miranda and Millie had told her about yesterday. ‘Are you Tarquin?’

The boy looked up again. He didn’t smile but there was a lightness about his eyes.

He nodded but then his face fell.

‘What’s the matter?’ Hephzibah asked.

Tarquin stood up, then slowly pointed at her face. He reached up. Hephzibah stood perfectly still as the boy touched her scarred cheek.

‘What’s that?’ he asked seriously.

‘A scar.’ Hephzibah smiled at him. ‘It doesn’t hurt.’

He looked back at her. Hephzibah wondered if something had happened to Tarquin, whether he had been born this way or, perhaps like her, there had been an accident. But her scars were only superficial; whatever was different about Tarquin affected him much more deeply.

‘Do you like cats?’ Hephzibah asked, watching as the tabby smooched up against the boy’s leg.

He nodded and reached down to give the creature a rub on the top of its head. Then he launched into a monologue about cats, their history and what they eat and just about anything else you might care to know about the animals.

‘My goodness,’ Hephzibah interrupted him. ‘You’re very well informed about cats. Do you know about lots of creatures?’

Tarquin nodded.

‘You must have walked a long way,’ Hephzibah said, remembering that Millie and Alice-Miranda said that the camp was over at Gertrude’s Grove.

The boy shrugged. ‘I’m lost. Pete told me to get lost and so I am.’

Oh dear, Hephzibah thought. It would be best to take him up to the house and see if Mr Weatherly could come over from the school and drive him back to the Grove. It was a long way on foot and she certainly couldn’t manage it herself.

‘Would you like something to eat?’ Hephzibah asked the boy. ‘I have some cake.’

At the mention of the word, the boy’s eyes lit up and he nodded.

‘I like cake,’ he said.

‘Well then, dear, come with me.’

Hephzibah watched as he packed his badges away. One by one, he polished each of them with a handkerchief, then placed them into the plastic bag. She waited for him to finish, then led the way back to the house with the young lad and several cats following.

As always, more cats were asleep in various sunny spots along the path and the veranda. Tarquin stopped and patted each and every one of them.

‘I hope you like chocolate cake,’ said Hephzibah as they reached the kitchen door. He crossed the threshold and she motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table, which he studied intently.

Henrietta had gone to her room for a rest, so it was just the old woman and the young boy. Hephzibah lifted the large glass dome from the cake stand and cut a generous slice, which she slid onto a plate and placed in front of the lad.

‘What do you think?’ she said, hoping that he would look up.

Tarquin’s eyes flickered but without so much as a glance her way he shovelled the chocolate confection into his mouth, hoovering up all the crumbs.

Hephzibah smiled at the performance. ‘Goodness, you must be hungry.’

He didn’t reply. Tarquin’s tongue probed the edges of his mouth to make sure that he’d got every last morsel.

‘Would you like some more?’ she asked.

He nodded, and then, as if remembering that he’d forgotten something important, he said, ‘Please.’

Hephzibah delivered another piece of cake and watched him consume it at a similar speed to the first. She then gave him a tall glass of milk. Surely that and the two slices of cake would see him full.

Tarquin gulped the chilled white liquid and finished with a loud ‘ahhh’.

‘Now, my dear boy, I’m going to call a friend and see if he can drive you back to your camp site,’ Hephzibah explained. ‘I don’t think you should try to walk back. It will be dark soon and I’d hate for you to get lost in the woods overnight.’

The old woman walked over to the telephone and pressed 6. Alice-Miranda and Millie had set up speed dial for everyone at the school and all of the other numbers she might need.

‘Hello Mr Weatherly, it’s Hephzibah Fayle,’ she spoke into the receiver. ‘I have a favour to ask.’