Sir William smiled and patted his tummy, almost with pride, it seemed to Jane.

‘There is but one person to blame,’ he said, ‘and that is Mrs Morrissey.’

‘Mrs Morrissey? Oh, I am astonished! Have you been gluttoning on scones and cream?’

‘No, no. I told you in one of my letters, dear Mrs Morrissey confects the most marvellous pies and kidney puddings for our lunches. Doctor Ross and I have become quite addicted to suet and gravy.’

‘Well, so I see,’ said Jane.

‘And pastry,’ added Sir William.

‘Yes, I declare I can see the pastry, too! But never mind. It only means there is more of you to cherish.’

Sir William led Jane up the stairs, while the maidservant, Becky followed with her suitcases, now freighted with acquisitions made in Paris, several of which Jane knew would have to be placed securely out of sight.

When Jane reached her bedroom and looked in, noting at once that a little vase of primroses had been put on her dressing table, her first thought was how small the room seemed, compared to the one she’d occupied in Tite Street. The bed, too, appeared very narrow, almost like the bed of a child, and her heart, which had been lightened by her reunion with her father, now faltered at the idea of the constraints that would be placed upon her life as soon as she resumed her role as a nurse in Bath.

She knew better, however, than to let Sir William pick up any hint of this sudden dismay. She ran to the primroses and lifted up the vase and breathed in their soft perfume.

‘How beautiful!’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen a single flower since I left. There are none in London.’

‘Oh,’ said Sir William, ‘I surely remember that Emmeline’s house has a garden …’

‘Yes. A garden. But it’s full of brambles. It is how she likes things to be: wild and unruly. She admires Nature’s thorns.’

If Jane had immediately noticed a change in Sir William, he in turn was now struck by some differences in Jane. He was unable to describe these with any precision. It just seemed to him that Jane had become more than ever Jane, as though she had stepped out of a shadowed place into a blinding light. Her colour was high, her eyes very large and bright, and her hair shiny and coiled into a bold coiffure, kept in place by a comb of mother-of-pearl. She held herself with even more grace and panache than he remembered.

‘You look well,’ he said, ashamed at the inadequacy of his comment, but finding no other at present.

Jane had chosen Sunday as the day of her return in the expectation that Valentine Ross would not be at Henrietta Street. She wanted to spend the time quietly with her father, hoping that his dear presence would reconcile her to finding herself back in Bath.

At first, she had not been reconciled. As the coach had brought her from the station and she’d seen the familiar, well-ordered streets of the town rise up around her, she’d had a strong inclination to get out of the carriage, remove her luggage and take the next available train back to London. But she had resisted. She felt that her father’s need of her had to be honoured – at least for a time. She told herself that she would ‘try on’ her old life and see what happened to her.