Cissy saw his bloated, red-veined face and breathed in the whisky fumes on serving his lunch, and went straight down the stairs to give the information to Mrs Horlock.

‘He’s drunker than a Saturday night sailor! Bleeding old git!’

Mrs Horlock sighed. ‘Maybe the food’ll soak it up a bit.’ She didn’t hold out much hope. ‘Mr Dumas will be here soon anyway.’

She wiped her hands on a clean cloth and looked at the clock. It was just twelve. He was due at one and she’d made up her mind. Hadn’t she done enough to the Cavanagh family, what with Eileen and now Briony, without being part of murder as well? She was going to talk him out of the abortion.

Isabel, sitting outside her husband’s house in Ripple Road in a hired cab, was also waiting for him to arrive. Her hands were trembling at the thought of what she was going to do, but she took deep breaths and channelled her mind on to the job in hand. She was going to wait all day if necessary and then surprise him with her presence. She had convinced herself that by doing this, she could achieve some kind of power over him. Force him to give her a child. She had considered going to her father with her information and demanding he do something about it, but she knew it would be futile. He would never countenance a scandal of any kind. And a divorce? She laughed ruefully to herself. It would be unthinkable. His own sister had been married to a brute who had attacked her on more than one occasion. Isabel could remember, as a child, a badly beaten woman arriving in a governess cart of all things at nine in the morning, her face a bloody pulp. Her father had ordered a doctor, then given her aunt a dressing down for being a slovenly wife who had obviously asked for her husband’s hand and had got it.

No, she would have to deal with Henry himself, threaten him with her father. It was a threat that would frighten him out of his very wits. She knew her family’s social status gave her a small hold over him, and it was a thrilling feeling. If only she could control her own fear! With Henry, it did not do to let him know you were afraid of him, or indeed of anything. He hoarded that type of information away like a squirrel, dragging it out of its hiding place when the time was ripe. Oh, she’d learnt a lot from Henry Dumas. An awful lot.

She saw his cab arrive and braced herself. She would give him fifteen minutes before she entered the house.

Henry looked at the doctor in dismay. The man was drunk!

‘Shall we adjourn to the bedroom, Mr Dumas?’ Carlton’s voice was slurred.