The man and the ox were on the inner side of the stair. They were only heads, but the lion had a mane flowing down over the newel at the bottom, and the eagle was a whole eagle with folded wings and great horny talons on the left-hand side at the top. At intervals there were portraits let into the panelling, some on the inner side of the stairway, and some in the hall below. In a half light there was an effect of people waiting in the shadows. When he was a little boy it had frightened him.

In his dream he went on up the stairs. So far it was always the same. It was after he got to the top that it began to be different. Since his recollection ceased with the dream, he had no means of knowing what the difference was. He only knew each dream whilst he was dreaming it. When he was awake all that remained was the three steps up out of the street, the door, the shadowy hall with the stair going up, and the sense of coming home.

On this Christmas night, with his body lying crowded in between other bodies filthier than his own, he himself sprang up the three steps and came into the hall. He came out of the dark street into warmth and light. The curtains were drawn over a window on either side of the door and all the lights were on. A powdered wig emerged from the gloom of one portrait, the sweep of a faded rose-coloured dress and a child’s white muslin frock from another. The lion and the ox at the stair foot were crowned with holly, and over the stair head there hung a great pale bunch of mistletoe. An extraordinary rush of happiness came over him. It was so strong that it fairly swept him up the stairs. No time to look at old dead and gone relations in the shadows, no eyes for anything except the one who was waiting for him on the top step – between the eagle and the man – under the mistletoe.

Chapter One

Brett Eversley was reading a letter which he had already read quite a number of times.