The dining room was more like a smoke-filled baronial hall. ‘The wind’s in the wrong direction,’ said Aunt Elizabeth as another cloud of smoke belched out of the enormous fireplace.

Tattered banners hung from the ceiling and dingy suits of armour lined the walls. There was a large landscape painting over the fireplace but it was so black with smoke that it was hard to make out what landscape it was supposed to be portraying.

There was an elderly gentleman in knee breeches sitting on a stool by the fireplace, his white head resting uncomfortably on a caryatid.

‘Who is that gentleman?’ asked Rose.

‘That’s Angus,’ said Aunt Elizabeth. ‘He was my butler for many years. He doesn’t want to be pensioned off and feel useless, so he prefers to remain on duty.’

‘Are you finished with your soup yet?’ demanded a highland footman looming over Rose.

‘Yes,’ said Rose, startled, not yet being used to the democratic freedom of speech of highland servants.

‘When you get the warm weather,’ said Madame Bailloux hopefully, ‘perhaps the fire will not be necessary.’ She was sure her gowns would reek of smoke for months to come.

‘We sometimes get a few warm days,’ said Aunt Elizabeth, ‘but not often.’

Madame Bailloux suddenly thought longingly of Paris. The sun would be shining and people would be sitting on the terraces, chatting and drinking coffee. Living in London had been relatively pleasant, but she did not know how long she could take being a guest in this smoky castle.

She sighed with relief when they moved to a drawing room where the fire was modest and did not smoke. The furniture was heavy and Victorian. There were many stuffed birds in glass cases, a grand piano draped in what looked like a Persian carpet, and little tables laden down with framed photographs.

Aunt Elizabeth demanded to be entertained, so Rose sat down at the piano and did her best, although a few of the yellowing keys seemed to be stuck down with damp.

Then the cards were brought out and they played whist for pennies, Aunt Elizabeth gleefully winning every hand.

At last it was time for bed. They collected their bed candles from a table in the hall and walked up the stone stairs to their rooms.

Rose was undressed by Hunter and then climbed into an enormous four-poster bed. It was covered with two large quilts, but the sheets were damp. Rose’s last waking thought was that she must get the maids to air them in the morning.

In the following two weeks, while they awaited the arrival of Harry with Becket and Daisy – he had telegrammed to say that he had decided to wait for them – the weather turned fine. Rose, accompanied by Madame Bailloux, went for long walks along the cliffs, fascinated by the many seabirds and the rise and swell of the waves as they crashed at the foot of the cliffs.

She found herself thinking more and more about Harry, wondering if he loved her and wondering if she really loved him. Fear of her assailant had almost disappeared as one sunny day followed another.