‘This is what you’ll be wanting.’

Lou left the stables and made directly for her room where she sat on the very edge of the bed. After handing the envelope to her, Elliot had apprised her of additional, important details. George Caxton was in debt. Huge debt. According to Elliot, he was attempting to gamble his way out of it, playing cards with men who he assumed he could beat. He thought he could outwit the simple men from the pub but hadn’t banked on their combined skills and tenacity. Having failed to fleece them, he had borrowed considerable sums of money from men in Northampton, loaned on the strength of anticipated dividends from an investment in a diamond mine in South Africa. As evidence of this investment, George had produced a certificate, which Elliot knew to be falsified, since the mine was entirely fictitious. If the men in Northampton realised they would not see a penny of the money owed to them, they would extract recompense in other ways. There had been no need for Elliot to elaborate. His meaning came across loud and clear. How he knew all this, Lou couldn’t be sure, but it was no doubt true. George had form.

Lou eased a sheet of paper from the envelope. It was a statement, written in a neat, careful hand, from a witness prepared to come forward and give any evidence required of George Caxton’s behaviour and debts. It was signed, Matthew Elliot.

She had banked on Elliot’s loyalty to the Mandevilles, and it had paid off. Now what? She was playing with Elliot’s life. If it went horribly wrong, he would be left to face the wrath of George Caxton. She had an escape route. One wrong move might push Elliot and the Mandevilles into a fate even worse than that which had already played out.

Lou folded the sheet of paper and slipped it back inside the envelope. She had to put some distance between herself and this place: to clear her head and plot her next move. To plot any move. She placed the envelope in the drawer beside the bed, locked it, and slipped the key into.

Creeping down the stairs, Lou passed the morning room, where Mrs Hart was still entertaining the other women over tea, and slipped out through the conservatory. She skirted the drive, taking a detour through the trees to avoid being spotted from the house. As she walked along the line of the wall, her thoughts turned to Mrs Hart. Even in the midst of all those women in the morning room, Mrs Hart carried the sadness at never knowing what had become of her best friend, Elizabeth.

Before she could think about where she was heading, Lou was halfway through the gates. Her leg still on the drive was draped in a burgundy tweed skirt, while her leg out on the pavement wore her old jeans. She managed to smile at the impossibility of it all. She would never tire of the craziness of this awesome sight.