When they had gone to their usual duties only Polly remained, and moving about economically, placed more logs on the blaze. Surreptitiously, she eyed the woman Mr Luke had referred to as Mrs Rosevear, where she reclined a few feet away on a sofa, which had been pushed up close to the huge stone fireplace. Cushions had been placed behind her head and shoulders and under her feet. The men had laid their coats over her, but still she shivered. There were no apparent wounds on her person but she rubbed at her right arm as if it troubled her.

‘I’ll fetch some blankets for the lady, sir.’

Jack stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped behind him, until the heat was too fierce for his scorched flesh to bear. His moderate, rather narrow face wore an expression of trepidation. He and Alicia being here was not sensible. Her presence should be kept low-key.

‘Perhaps I should take Alicia away with me now, Luke.’

Helping himself to wine, Luke gave a shrug.

‘Whose is this house, Jack? Luke?’ Alicia whispered, incapable of a higher tone, for the harrowing episodes of the last week and more had sapped her strength.

‘We’re in my father’s house, Pengarron Manor,’ Luke replied soothingly. ‘Jack will take you to your new home shortly. It’s small and barely adequate compared to what you are used to, but I’ll arrange to have every comfort put in place without delay.’

‘You are too kind, Luke. You also, Jack. I can never repay you both for all you’ve done for me. All you tried to do for Alex,’ her voice faltered and Luke shied away, grim faced.

Polly came back with soft wool blankets and traded them for the men’s coats. She detected the smell of smoke on them. Mrs Rosevear was wearing a plain dress and a brown cloak. The hood was pushed back and her hair, shining honey-gold in the flame light, was breaking free from a neckerchief Polly recognized as one of Jack’s. Her shoes were at odds with her clothes, made from some fragile gold-coloured stuff and high-heeled, more suitable for a smart social occasion. Her face, half hidden by a delicately shaped raised hand, appeared neither commonplace nor noble. She appeared to be on the early side of twenty. Who was she with? Both Mr Luke and Jack seemed familiar with her.

‘Will Mrs Rosevear require anything, sir? Nightclothes? Help in retiring?’

‘Clothing, yes. See to it personally, please, Polly.’ Luke’s severe bearing forbade further probing.

Polly left again and Luke swore profanely at another knock on the door. Esther King carried in Beatrice’s box of medicines and the old woman followed eventually, puffing and blowing and complaining, ‘All this biznuzz will be the end of me.’