Daniel checked the pocket of the dressing gown, feeling the hard lump of a loaded pistol. His truncheon dangled by a loop from his wrist. “We should get into our places. He could come at any time.” He checked the prime on the pistol, keeping his finger away from the trigger. He hoped he would not need it, but in case he did, he must be ready.

Sir Bertrand disappeared through the doorway, and Juliette went to the bed, punching up the pillow and turning back the sheet. “I shall signal if I see him coming.”

Daniel climbed into the bed, turning onto his side with his back to the door and pulling the sheet up to his chin. “Will this do?” He put the pistol alongside his leg beneath the blankets, where he could reach it easily.

“Yes. In the darkened room, it’s impossible to tell you from Mr. Coombe, especially with that bandage on your head.”

There were six beds in the ward. Three were empty and unmade, and two others had pillows lined up under the blankets to appear occupied. Juliette went to the table at the end of the ward opposite the door and slumped into the chair, sprawling her arms across the table and laying her head on the wood.

She took on the appearance of every night nurse Daniel had ever encountered. Nurses were not highly regarded, being mostly poor women with few skills. They were to empty the slops, mop the floors, and keep the fires burning. Hospitals paid very little, and half of their salary was given in ale or gin. Most nurses were drunks with no medical knowledge.

A sleeping night nurse would arouse no suspicion in their quarry.

Silence descended on the room, and Daniel waited. Juliette kept still, and Sir Bertrand, wherever he had hidden himself, made no sound.

With all his clothes and the dressing gown and the sheet, Daniel was warm. Lethargy seeped into his aching limbs, and his lids began to close.

Snapping awake, he chided himself. He was waiting for a killer. How could he fall asleep?

Concentrate, man. Focus.

He bit the inside of his lip and clenched his fingernails into his palms, hoping the pain would keep him alert. He blinked hard and stared into the darkness. Faint light came from the tall windows, and the small candle burning on Juliette’s table created a halo of gold that did not penetrate far.

Juliette. He had met her in the War Room this morning, uncertain of his reception. The kiss they had shared hung between them. Would she mention it? Should he?

In the end, neither had. He didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved.