It was enough. The world descended into hands grabbing, clawing, wrenching my arms behind my back as Morales shouted murder. I struggled and threw myself sideways, trying to see Elena. We locked eyes and I knew, in that moment, what she and her mother had agreed, without words.

I screamed at her, spittle flying from my mouth as I called her a lying bitch. It didn’t help my cause. One of the gentlemen hit me with his fist, a blow that folded me over in shock, made my eyes flood. A few drops of blood splattered from my nose on to my smock as they hauled me towards the stairs.

Morales was calling for help, calling for someone to fetch the guardia, to find Capitán Davila and tell him there had been a murder at the inn, tell him to bring men and a car to arrest the murderess.

Her voice slapped me into wakefulness. Capitán Davila – who came to the inn every month to inspect the premises and claim his ‘commission’. Capitán Davila who had known Morales for years, who at her word would throw me into a cell and shrug and call it a night’s work.

‘Elena,’ I choked, as they pulled me down the stairs. ‘It was her, he promised to take her away from here, he promised and she found out the lie—’

One of the gentlemen beside me faltered and glanced at the others. I recognized him from the night in the parlour. He was the one who had offered the Turkish Delight. ‘Please!’ I begged him. ‘Please, you know it’s true! Tell them!’

He flinched away, and I saw something in his eyes, a shred of belief. The Señor must have bragged of his nights with Elena, must have laughed over how he could make her do anything, for a handful of promises.

But the man was shaking his head, his grip weak. ‘I can’t have my name in this,’ he said breathlessly, ‘if my customers discovered, my wife—’

‘Does she know our names?’ Another man was interrupting, shaking me. ‘What if she talks?’

He was addressing Morales, who stood at the foot of the stairs. She looked at me, her eyes hard.

‘If she talks, who will listen?’

My strength faded when she said that. She was right. No one would listen. Bad blood, they would say, rotten whore, and they would be believed. The girls would be silent. Antonio the groom would be silent. Only Morales would speak out, to send me to be garrotted for murder in Elena’s place.

The thought made my head cloud, and I half fainted. They lifted me underneath each arm. My feet dragged uselessly, my hands brushing at my apron.

That was when I felt the weight of the knife.