Lydia had returned to poetry and was scratching away in all her spare moments when the children weren’t making demands. Wilde had spent some time thinking through a vague idea for a new book on the lives of the Roman Catholic priests in the late sixteenth century. How they survived on the run, hiding in the houses and estates of the faithful. The inspiration behind the idea was obvious, of course. As Lydia herself had said, ‘Sometimes it feels as if we’re stuck in a bloody priest hole, Tom.’

Wilde was at his desk in his rooms jotting down a rough synopsis when he heard Eaton making his way up the stairs. The clicking of his walking stick on stone was unmistakable. Wilde held the door open for him.

‘Welcome – and a very merry Christmas, Eaton.’

‘And you, Wilde. How’s the back?’

‘Pretty bloody awful if I’m honest.’

‘Well, be sure to get it seen to if there’s any sign of infection.’

‘Don’t worry. I’m well looked after.’

‘Of course you are. Now then, let’s talk. First of all, there’s the question of Young – or Jung, as he prefers to be called.’

‘Are you telling me he’s still alive?’

‘Very much so. In better condition than you probably. Flesh wound to the upper arm from Mrs Vickery’s bullet. Cuts and some very nasty bruises from your manhandling.’

‘Plenty of pain, I trust.’

‘Not as much as you endured. Anyway, he’s in Five’s tender care and so far he seems to be co-operating, which could be to Klara Rieger’s advantage – and yours.’

Bobby, his college servant, was away for Christmas, so Wilde had made a pot of tea. He poured two cups and proffered one to Eaton.

‘Thanks.’

‘Sugar?’

‘No, just like this.’

‘How so then? How could Young’s co-operation help us?’

‘Well, first off he’s well aware that if he doesn’t help us, he’s for the long drop. Whatever else he may be, he’s not thick. He’s been charged with high treason, the murders of his parents in Sevenoaks, Rosamund Kemp at the safe house, Sigrun Somerfeld at Girton, an officer at the home of Mrs Felicity Vickery, who is also now deceased, woundings, kidnapping, possession of a banned weapon, car theft, grievous bodily harm and false imprisonment of yourself. Oh, and entering the country as the agent of a hostile power. I’ve probably missed out a couple there. Ah yes, sexual molestation was another. The maidservant in Sevenoaks.’

‘So the future doesn’t look too bright for Charlie Young.’

‘Indeed not. He’s never going to be let out of clink. But he could just save his miserable skin by working on our behalf.’

‘Explain.’