Susan came home, breathless and excited, Vivian’s crisis making even her slothful sister act out of character. ‘I saw the girl he is to marry,’ she gabbled, once their mother was out of earshot.

‘What is she like?’

‘The plump, appealing sort.’

‘Blond?’

‘No, dark. A mop of soft curls.’ Vivian could hear admiration in her sister’s voice. ‘Nothing like you.’ She skipped away down the passage towards the kitchen. Vivian wanted to bite her cheek.

Inexplicably, once she was sure there wasn’t going to be a baby, Vivian became more hysterical and tearful than when she had feared there might be. Nanny mumbled that she was grieving for what might have been. Mrs Foster looked as though she wanted to fire Nanny on the spot, and possibly would have, but Nanny knew too much.

‘It’s purely a physical reaction, nothing we should concern ourselves with. Nothing we should speak of,’ snapped Mrs Foster.

Vivian thought that maybe she was right. After all, she didn’t feel the hysteria and tears in her heart. That was numb. She felt a fraud and a fool. She almost wished she did feel more. She wanted it to be so important that it might be for ever. If not this, then what was? But largely she felt blank. Bleak. Any pain she did feel came from her knowledge that whilst she was not yet nineteen years old, it was all finished for her. Specifically, what she had hoped for, planned, expected would never be. She must let that go.

The house was in mourning. It seemed as though the very walls, chimney, roof and floors grieved. The servants had caught the gossip, or at least the mood, and talked in whispers, moving quietly and carefully as they lugged coal, chopped vegetables and scrubbed the steps. Her younger siblings knew she was disappointed but not that she was disgraced. Sweetly, they tried to comfort her. Babe brought a bunch of white waxflowers, picked from the garden, and Toby offered an ounce of his sugared almonds, an enormous self-sacrifice. Vivian tried to smile, to show her appreciation, but Mrs Foster scolded the little children for daring to venture down from the nursery and sent them packing. She didn’t want them tainted with all this. Best keep them away as much as possible at the moment. Such a delicate time. She was scared that Vivian’s insolence and irresponsibility might be catching; that she might infect the girls. Vivian pitied Susan and Babe; she had brought her mother’s wrath down on them. They would never enjoy the freedom she’d briefly had. They’d be locked up, Rapunzels. Regrettably, rather than open doors for them, she had walled them in. As much as she pitied them, however, she pitied herself oh so much more.

They were searching for a husband for her. A make-do husband. Her mother was frantic, all too aware that time was of the essence, but it was paramount that no one sniffed panic, as they would guess at scandal. Rumour spread so quickly. Like a gas it crept everywhere, under closed doors, over high fences. Vivian had to be seen to be indifferent towards Nathaniel; somehow they had to convince the world that she had never had any particular affection for him, and certainly no affection that she’d acted upon. It was a big task unpicking what they’d worked so hard to achieve. Vivian had wanted him to feel particular. She’d wanted the world to know.