From experience, Matthew knew that the worst thing he could do was show any reaction, but this was not how things normally went. This was not the usual push him about a bit and tip the contents of his bag over the floor situation. He caught a whiff of alcohol. They’d clearly been drinking somewhere – the Pig’s Bar, probably – given themselves artificial courage, egged each other on – and here they were. He was going to have to defend himself and he was going to have to do it alone. Luke Parrish would be well entangled with his blonde by now and Lockland had been delayed by North and was somewhere behind him.

He shut his face down. No expression at all. He dropped his bag in front of him for the scant protection that would offer and put his back against the wall.

Slowly, they fanned out until he was completely surrounded.

Matthew Farrell had learned a lot from his early life. How to climb a chimney. How not to get stuck. How to avoid the worst blows. He had also learned not to run away. Dreadful things happened to apprentices who ran away from their masters. So following his instincts and experience, he stood his ground.

Grinning, someone produced a pair of scissors. ‘Grint said to get your hair cut.’

Shit. He had a choice: he could fight like a tiger and hope no one gashed his carotid by accident. Or blinded him. Or he could just let them get on with it and hope . . . No, he couldn’t. Matthew Farrell was his mother’s son. She never fought fair and neither did he.

He picked up his bag and threw it at the three nearest. At the same time, he danced sideways and kicked a shaven-headed grunt on the knee. There was a shout of pain.

Sadly, that was as far as his resistance went. Someone grabbed him from behind. The scissors flashed in front of his eyes.

‘Hold him still.’

He struggled as much as he was able. He could hear the scissors snipping away. Something light and tickly fell across his face. Hair.

It was at this point that Jane, entirely minding her own business, appeared around the corner and saw immediately what was happening.

Her first thought was that she wished she’d gone back to her room by another route. That she was there safely now. She liked her room. But she wasn’t in her room. She was here. And so was Matthew.

And then she saw the dark hair on the ground and genuine shock took over.

‘What? What are you doing? Leave him alone.’

One of the officers hanging around the back – one of the ones not quite brave enough to be actively involved, turned, saw who was standing there and sneered. ‘Push off, girlie. Unless you want us to do you, too.’