‘You called me just in time, madam, the girl was about to miscarry. I can’t guarantee she won’t lose the child, the next couple of days will be crucial, but if she keeps taking the draught I’ve prescribed and sleeps as much as possible, she may give it a chance of survival. She must not be distressed under any circumstances. At this stage it’s crucial she rests in bed. I can’t emphasise strongly enough, madam, the need for peace and quiet.’

He looked at the old woman as he gave his speech. Always a lover of drama, he injected it into his work as often as possible. He was nonplussed at the old woman’s look of utter astonishment.

‘How old is the girl, by the way?’ he asked in a whisper. He could smell a rat before it was stinking, he prided himself on that. It hadn’t occurred to him at first that the patient was a young girl, he didn’t really take much notice of women as a rule, but something in the housekeeper’s face alerted him.

‘She’s just twelve, sir. We thought it was her periods like.’

Twelve! He had put her at about fourteen or fifteen.

‘Only twelve, you say? Where’s her mother and father?’

Mrs Horlock bit her lip and thought for a second before she spoke.

‘Cissy, go down and make up the fire in the morning room. Dr Carlton, can I get you a hot drink or a whisky?’

He sniffed loudly.

‘A scotch would be agreeable, madam.’

‘Then follow me, sir.’ Cissy was already down the stairs and rekindling the fire with the poker when they came in.

‘Make me a pot of tea, Cissy, and bring it through here. Please sit down, Doctor.’

Mrs Horlock poured him a large scotch. The redness of his nose and the broken veins on his cheeks told her he liked his whisky and when he swigged it back in one go she replenished his glass without a word.

‘I look after the girl, sir, for my employer. She’s a distant relative of his, you understand, and her mother was just a bit beyond the pale. From a very good family, mind, but she run away when young and the child was the result of an unhappy union.’

She once more refilled the doctor’s glass. ‘I don’t know how this could have happened. As for Mr Dumas - well, he’ll be broken-hearted.’

At the mention of Henry’s name the doctor’s eyebrows rose. So, he thought, the child was his. Henry Dumas was married to a peer’s daughter and was respected in the local community, indeed in the whole of London. He was wealthy, from an impeccable family, and would be able to pay well. Extremely well.