“I don't know,” Genevieve confessed. “But I'm afraid of it. I feel terribly alone without Angus. You see, he understood me. He knew where I came from, and he didn't mind my occasional mistakes . . . .”

A whole vision of fear and humiliation opened up in front of Hester. With a breathtaking vividness she perceived what it would be like for Genevieve at Ravensbrook House night and day, watched at every meal, observed and quite soon criticized. Not only would Ravensbrook himself notice all the tiny errors in even the most carefully produced etiquette or grammar, but perhaps even worse, so would the staff, the careful butler, the supercilious housekeeper, the giggling maids. Only possibly Enid would not care.

“Of course,” she said with intense feeling. “You must keep your own home.

Mr.-' She was interrupted by a brisk knock at the door and the housekeeper walking in, her face grim, the keys at her belt jangling.

“There is a person to see you, Miss Latterly,” she announced. “You had better use the butler's pantry. Mr. Dolman says as he doesn't mind. Begging your pardon, Mrs. Stonefield.”

“What kind of a person?” Hester asked.

The housekeeper's face did not change in the slightest, not a flicker of her expression moved.

“A male person, Miss Latterly. More than that you will have to find out for yourself. Please be advised we do not allow the female staff to have followers, and that also applies to you while you are resident here, whatever your purpose.' Hester was stunned.

But Genevieve felt no such restrictions.

“Miss Latterly is not a servant, Mrs. Gibbons,” she said smartly. “She is a professional person who has given her time freely out of regard for Lady Ravensbrook, who might well have died if it had not been for her treatment!”

“If you can call nursing a profession,” Mrs. Gibbons retorted with a sniff.

“And it is the good Lord who heals the sick, not any of us, Mrs.

Stonefield. As a Christian woman, I'm sure you know that.”

Thoughts flashed across Hester's mind about the virtues of Christian women, beginning with charity, but this was not the time to enter into an argument she could not win.

“Thank you for bringing me the message, Mrs. Gibbons,” she said, baring her teeth in a gesture that bore little resemblance to a smile. “How kind of you.” And with a nod to Genevieve, she rose to her feet and left the room.

The butler's pantry was two doors along the passage, and she went in without knocking.

She was startled to see Monk standing there looking almost haggard. His face was pale and there were lines of strain unlike anything she had seen in him since the Grey case.

“What is it?” she asked, closing the door behind her, her stomach sinking with dread. “It can't be Stonefield, can it? It . . . it's not Callandra.”

Pain almost dizzied her. “Has something happened to Callandra?”