I stood, careful not to let the chair squeak on the tiles. There was a knife on the table, the long serrated one for cutting bread, crumbs clinging to the blade. It would have to do. I crept to the back door, keeping to the shadows. The torchlight was nearer now, and I could hear footsteps, the thrash of wet leaves on fabric. When it was within spitting distance I couldn’t stand it any more. I shoved the door wide open, the knife clenched in my hand.

‘Who’s there?’ I yelled, as harshly as I could.

The torchlight stopped, not eight feet away. In the rain, I could see a shimmer of drenched fabric, a pair of dark, wet shoes. Whoever held the torch was keeping it away from their face.

‘Who’s there?’ I called again, shifting my grip on the knife. ‘If you don’t—’

Torchlight dazzled me, shining straight into my eyes; feet were rushing forwards. I yelled and struck out with the knife.

‘Del Potro, it’s me! It’s me, damn you!’

Wet fingers were gripping my wrist. I blinked hard.

‘Monsieur?’

With a rush of breath, Langham released me. ‘Who else? Put that knife away, for god’s sake.’

Stunned, I backed into the kitchen and placed it on the counter. Langham was drenched, not only with rain. As he walked across the kitchen, he left traces of wet sand on the tiles. I had never seen him so dishevelled. He leaned against the kitchen table, his jaw tight, his shining hair matted.

‘Monsieur,’ I asked, stepping closer, ‘are you all right?’

He didn’t answer. I saw then that one hand was clasped around his sleeve, blood oozing through his fingers. I made a noise and reached out, but he jerked away.

‘Is Hilde in?’ His voice was taut.

‘No. She is out with Mademoiselle Alisée.’

‘Good.’ He released a breath. ‘That’s good.’

‘Monsieur,’ I said, for he was pushing himself away from the table, walking towards the door, ‘shall I call someone? Bouzid, or a doctor?’

‘No. No doctors. And Bouzid will not be able to come, he is with the boat.’ He paused and looked to where I stood. ‘You can help me, del Potro.’

The danger had passed, so why wasn’t my heart slowing down?

‘Of course.’

‘There’s a medicine chest beneath the sink. Bring it up, with a bottle of brandy.’ His eyes flicked to the darkness outside. ‘And lock that door.’

It should have only taken me moments to grab the medicine chest, with its painted red cross, and a bottle of brandy from the pantry, but my hands seemed incapable of doing anything properly. I kept fumbling things. Finally, I made it to the top of the stairs.