He walked around the back of the mansion house noticing the stonework and Victorian plumbing. Suddenly he saw a leg emerging from an upstairs window, then another leg, then a bottom all nicely compact in a pair of loose trousers. Staring up fascinated he saw a delicate hand then a head with tumbling red curls and another hand reaching out to grasp the down pipe next to the window. Not wishing to startle this agile woman he waited to see how she managed the climb down. She put one boot clad foot on the bracket attaching the pipe to the wall and then inched round to put her second foot on the bracket.

“Oooogh!”

She yelled as the bracket broke away from the wall and she fell backwards landing in Bertrand’s helpful arms causing him to fall backwards onto the grass. She found herself lying full stretch on his reclining body.

“Oh my God, Oh my God!” she gasped.

“Are you alright?”

As she scrambled onto her feet turning round to see who had cushioned her fall. She saw a winded young man who was gasping for breath.

He had dark blue black hair a thin olive skinned face and a long skinny body.

“Uum what can I do to help?” she asked, kneeling down and considering pressing down on his chest to revive him.

“No, no, no. Leave me be. I just need a minute to catch my breath.” And he looked up into her clear blue eyes and was smitten.

She gazed back into his large brown eyes.

“Well if you are alright I’ve got to run. Don’t tell anyone you saw me” and to his dismay she ran off.

“What the….?” He muttered thoroughly disturbed and also intrigued.

“If she was heavier, she could have killed me! He thought... Then he smiled remembered her slim body and delicate face.

“What a beauty!”

Bertrand was on an assignment to compile an inventory of the contents of the vast house for the auctioneer’s catalogue.

“Strange how families die out, he thought.

He worked out from the plans of the house the location of the room the red head had climbed out of.

He ascended the curving stairs his feet sinking into luxurious soft carpet, and entered the fourth room along the landing. He paused savouring the anticipation he always felt when entering a room that could be full of historic treasures for him to find.

The light streaming through the window showed a large desk covered in green leather. Next to it lying in a heap on the floor were a thick blanket, a hot water bottle and tweed trousers. She must be camping out in this room. What a cheek. But why had she chosen this room. He looked up at the books lining the walls of the study and saw a gap between two books on the history of fashion.

“A thief as well as a squatter!” he spluttered.

He looked back to the desk and saw the missing book opened out at illustrations of Edwardian costumes.

His foot bumped against a large portfolio. As he set it on the table it opened up to reveal exquisite drawings showing interpretations of the Edwardian style of clothes.

He could not help admiring her skill. She was obviously very talented.

Careful not to disturb her personal items he walked back down to the ground floor and methodically started recording all the items in each room.

That night he could not get the red head out of his mind.

He dreamed about her delicate faces, those green eyes full of fear.

He decided to return at the same time he saw her climbing out of the window the next day, telling himself he just wanted to find out why she was illegally living in the deceased home.

I don’t want to startle her by walking in through the door he thought as he drove down to Dorset. I’ll wait at the back.

Sure enough, just as the first sound of the down chorus started up the sash window was pulled up and once more a foot emerged seeking the down pipe bracket.

He scampered up the ladder he had thoughtfully brought with him and reached out to grip her waist.

“Let me help you,” he whispered.

Startled she let out a scream and lost her balanced, pulling away fell back into the room, with Bertrand on top of her.

“This isn’t what it looks like!” she gasped, in a shaky voice.

Her eyes filled with tears. I’m not a burglar. I’m just doing some research.”

“I know you are” sighed Bertrand as he stood up stretching his back to ease the pain of another fall.

“Please don’t be frightened. I’m not a policeman. I’m just working here for the auctioneers who are going to sell this estate.”

“But its my house! Beth moaned. “Well, it should be.”

Over the next forty minutes she explained whilst crying, pacing around the room 
and pounding her fist on the desk. Bertrand sat back on a green leather armchair listening, fascinated.

She had been orphaned when she was seven years old and was taken in by her father’s Aunt Eileen.

“I did not have anywhere to live after my Auntie died so I was taken in to work for a taylor. I was very lucky. They knew my aunt so I did not have to do backbreaking labour.

When I was eighteen the tailor gave me some documents my aunt had left in his keeping. I saw my mother’s birth certificate and I found out that I had a family. I found out that my mother had lost touch with the Brillinger family who had forbidden her to marry my father who was a musician, the son of immigrants."
 Bertrand enjoyed watching the changing expressions flitting across her beautiful find boned face as he listened.

“I managed to make my way down to Dorset from London but when I got here I found out my grandmother had died. Can you imagine that my mother lived in this huge beautiful house and she never mentioned it to me?” Bertrand shook his head. “She always said the past is unimportant and we should just look to the future.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“It’s a pity she could not predict the future because both her and my dad died in a train accident travelling to Rome for a concert my father was due to appear in. My beautiful Mother my funny Dad!”

Bertrand realised that he wanted to help her, and he could!

She sat cross legged on the floor and buried her face in her hands.

“They were in a world of their own. They did not need anyone else but themselves.

“Look,” Bertrand said leaning forward and putting a hand on her knee.

“I work for the administrator of your Grandmother's will. Let me see if I can help you to inherit at least a small part of what is rightfully yours.”

Her face lit up with a broad smile.

“Thank you so much. I am grateful you did not call the police and now you want to help me some more.”

“Hold on. I don’t even know your name.”

“It is Geraldine,” she told him shyly.

Bertrand left in her room and went back to systematically listing all the contents of the second ground floor reception room.

When he finished he went to look for her but she had disappeared.

Where on earth does she go to every day, he thought.

The next day he went into his workplace and looked at the family records and his heart missed a beat. Geraldine Gerard, daughter of Jemima Brillinger had died in 1909 from a broken neck.

“It can’t be the same person”, he yelled.

He went to the newspaper archives for 1909 and found a report in the Times On November 20th Geraldine Gerard fell from a 1st floor window and broke her neck.

"What sort of a trick is this," he moaned.