Philomena’s feet slipped on the damp streets and black mud clung to her boots as she stumbled across the road. She passed a public house. Ugh! It stank of beer and tobacco. Raucous laughter spilled out as the door swung open. On an impulse, Philomena looked up at the sign over the door. The White Hart.

No. Surely not. She was back in the one part of town she needed, above all, to avoid. Joseph had frequented this same public house. Philomena shuddered, kept her eyes on the ground and started to run.

A couple of youths tumbled into her path. “’Ere,” said one to the other, clutching him by the shoulder. “Look what we’ve found.” Boozy with drink, neither was quick enough to stop Philomena as she pushed past, the shawl hiding her face.

A third youth lurched into the street, singing tunelessly. “Dear ol’ Bessie, don’t you leave me now,” he bawled. Thin and scrawny, he was barely able to walk for the drink. “Why, that’s a nice piece of arse!”

Philomena, her heart sinking, knew that voice at once. She’d heard it many a time as Joseph rolled home late at night. No, it can’t be.

There was no mistake. “Oi, you,” Joseph shouted again. “Get back ’ere, you, if you know what’s good for you.”

One of his mates pitched forward and spewed the contents of his stomach into the gutter, spraying Joseph’s boots liberally with vomit. Cursing, Joseph grabbed the culprit’s jacket, and Philomena seized her chance, running as fast as a pair of tired feet would carry her, successfully putting a street between them. Even as she stumbled round a corner, out of sight, Joseph shouted again. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Philomena’s chest heaved with sobs, her face soaked with tears of fear and horror. Did Joseph truly know where to find her? What would become of her, if he did?

If only she could run to Hugh and throw herself on his mercy. But she dare not. He had loved her once, enough to offer marriage, but he had not forgiven her. Selena had made it clear. Hugh had dismissed Philomena as a simple, foolish female. She had entranced the Master of the Hall for a while with lies and falsehoods, at a time when there were few other ladies around to take an eligible aristocrat’s eye, but now he was done with her.

All Philomena’s fear of Joseph returned, as vivid as though the wonderful Christmas interlude at Thatcham Hall had never happened. Who could help her? Was she quite alone? Perhaps she could ask Selena for help?