Rose had never felt so frightened in her life before. She had arrived with Humphrey. Dr McWhirter had met her and said he would take her upstairs to see his ‘patient’.

Rose had felt decidedly uneasy. There was the sound of someone sobbing. The stairs were thickly carpeted and the air smelt of cheap cooking and disinfectant. Her mother had said that a Mrs Prothero was an old friend. Still, better get it over with. She would only stay for a few minutes.

Dr McWhirter was joined on the first landing by a burly man in a white coat. ‘My assistant, Philips,’ he murmured.

He led the way on up and along a corridor at the top of the building and swung open a door. Rose walked into a barely furnished room. There was a narrow bed against one wall. A curtained recess by the window served as a wardrobe. The floor was covered in shiny dark green linoleum.

Rose swung round. Dr McWhirter was standing in the doorway with his powerful-looking assistant.

‘Where is Mrs Prothero?’ demanded Rose.

‘There is no Mrs Prothero. This is an asylum for ladies with fragile nerves. You will be kept here – on instructions from your parents – until we consider you are well again.’

‘This is an asylum! I am not mad!’

He wagged a playful finger at her. ‘Ah, the mad never know it themselves. But you are in good hands here. If you behave yourself, you will be allowed to join our other guests in the evenings for quiet recreation.’

Rose made a frantic dash for the door, but Dr McWhirter stepped aside and his assistant grabbed hold of Rose, pinned her arms and threw her on the bed. Then they both left, locking the door behind them.

Frightened as she was, Rose could not cry. She was too furious for that. What on earth had possessed her parents to do such a wicked thing? She had heard stories of families who committed their relatives, sometimes to get their hands on a particular relative’s money.

But in her case, why?

And then she suddenly thought it was all because she had rejected that proposal of marriage. She was sure her parents had simply meant to teach her a lesson. But she had heard that these places charged high fees. Dr McWhirter probably meant to keep her locked up for life.

The following morning, Harry drove Daisy out to Barnet and parked in front of The Grange.

‘Now, Daisy,’ he said, ‘don’t overact.’

‘What an awful-looking place,’ said Daisy.

‘I showed you that place out on the road under the trees. I shall wait there with Becket all today and all night if necessary. If you and Lady Rose are not out by the morning, then I will come in after you somehow. I want to avoid making a scene if possible in case someone calls the police and Lady Rose is embroiled in a scandal again. Good luck, Daisy.’