The maid placed another smaller glass next to Maria’s, this one holding what looked like thick yellow cream. Maria smiled her thanks, then sipped it, making a face. ‘Ethelred insists I drink a cup of this each hour. He and the others will be back soon. He will be so glad to see you.’

‘What is that stuff?’ For a second he wondered if Ethelred was tired of a disfigured wife and was slowly poisoning her.

‘Cream, beaten egg, honey and orange juice. It is truly disgusting, but it’s keeping me alive.’ She smiled at him ruefully and he realised how much Maria wished to shield him from this — not because her own life was ending, but in recognition of all that he had already lost. ‘Ethelred’s had the best surgeons give their opinions. One of them — Dr MacTavish — is so interested he is staying till the end.’ Maria meant until she died.

‘It seems that I have a nasal tumour. I’ve probably had it since I was a baby. It must have grown when my bones were still soft enough to change shape, then stopped growing for some reason. Some kinds of tumours spread to other parts of the body. I was lucky mine did not.’

Lucky? Clancy counted up the deeply fulfilled years his sister had enjoyed. Not enough, he thought. Not nearly enough.

‘But now it’s growing again. Not up into my brain, it seems — fortunately, for I’m not dizzy nor do I have trouble speaking or any tremor. I don’t think I could have borne losing my mind. But it is increasingly hard to swallow, so I live on soups, ice cream, negus and this quite disgusting mix.’ She sipped again. Clancy realised that sipping was all she was able to manage. ‘But Ethelred is right. I need to keep drinking it, for the tumour seems to take all the nourishment I absorb and more.’

He stared at her, unable to speak. At last he said, ‘Maria . . .’ He choked on the word, as if in sympathy with her poor blocked throat.

‘You want to know how long I have? Two or three months, perhaps. The growth in my throat is a nuisance, but it will be the blocking of the windpipe that will kill me. Probably.’ To his shock he found her smile was genuine. ‘I am glad I will live to know which it will be. Dr MacTavish is right — it is interesting. And I am glad he is here for Ethelred,’ she added, suddenly sombre. ‘This is so much harder for him than me.’

‘Why?’ For Ethelred Fitzharris could marry again. Maria could not have another life.