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then, equipped with one of the housekeeper's keys, she ventured up to the nursery floor.

The two infants seemed happily engaged in making mess with their breakfasts. The Steen's three older children, however - Eleanor, Sarah, and Lord Harber - were looking disconsolately out at the dismal weather. She heard the older girl say, "I hate Yorkshire," before they became aware of her and gave flustered curtsies and a bow.

She smiled. "Bad weather is a horrible burden, isn't it? And I foolishly didn't make provision. However, I once had toys and I have hopes that some are still in the storerooms at the end of this floor. Would you care to come and explore with me?"

With gleeful smiles, the three ran to the door and Diana followed, her own smile doubtless as bright. She'd not thought of her toys for years, but there had been some splendid ones. She led the way toward a door at the end of the corridor, unlocked it, and pushed it open. She had to admit to some disappointment. Though she'd known the place would be kept clean, a part of her had hoped for mystery.

"Alas," she remarked, "no gloomy corners or moldering corpses."

Rewarded with giggles, she led the children to one large armoire and opened a drawer. "Clothes. You could play dress-up."

They smiled politely, but it was clear this was not their idea of prime adventure. She turned to the boxes stacked nearby, each neatly labeled. "Gloves?" she asked.

The three shook their heads.

She peered at the next. "Artificial flowers?"

Three more shakes, but a glimmer of excitement starting. They had realized she was teasing.

She moved to a larger box. "Winter stockings..."

"Lady Arradale!" Eleanor complained, laughing.

"Oh, you think there might be toys here somewhere. very well, come with me." She opened a door to reveal another well-lit room, many more boxes, and a number of large, shrouded objects.

"I give you permission to uncover one each," she said. "But be gentle. They might be breakable."

The three moved forward, clearly deliberating as to which was most likely to be exciting.

Sarah declared that as eldest, she should choose first, and lifted off one heavy cloth. "A rocking horse!" she exclaimed. "A splendid one!"

The other two turned to gather around Bella, and Diana stroked the real white mane on the dappled horse she'd enjoyed so much as a child. The scarlet leather saddle and reins were still in excellent condition, still hung with silver bells that tinkled as Sarah made it rock a little.

"May I ride it, my lady?"

Diana made sure the rockers were free of other objects, then said, "Certainly. You may all have a turn."

Sarah mounted neatly, arranging her full skirts, and set the horse into jingling motion.

"What is it?" Charlie asked.

She turned to see that he and his sister were unwrapping his choice. Sarah slid off her horse and came over to look at the wooden cabinet on legs.

"It's a magical picture box." Diana went forward and opened the doors to show the tube. "You look down this."

Charlie put his eyes somewhat tentatively to it, but said, "I don't see anything."

"You need both light and something to see." She opened a drawer, took out one of the disks, and slid it into place. Then she wheeled the box next to the window. "It's best with a candle, but if you look through the glass and turn the handle, you will see pictures of people moving."

The boy put his face to the view piece again and began to turn the handle. "It is! It does!" He stepped back. "Try it, Nell."

His sister, teeth sunk in lower lip, eagerly pressed her face to the viewer and turned the handle. "Those people look as if they're moving!"

After a while, the lad said, "If you don't give me another chance, Nell, I'm going to make your choice for you."

The girl leaped back. "Don't you dare!" She hurried over to her shape - and began to pull at the covering cloth.

"Gently, Eleanor," Diana reminded her.

The girl obeyed, and worked the sheet off more carefully. "It's a doll," she said. "A large doll." A life-size boy of about five stood against a rock, a drum around his neck, sticks in his raised hands. "His hair's real, Charlie," Eleanor said, touching the blond curls gently. "And his clothes." She turned to Diana. "What is he?"

The girl sounded a little uneasy, and Diana felt the same way. She'd assumed this item had been disposed of decades ago, for her mother had never liked it. When the