“I think I will find Aunt Mattie,” Victoria agreed, and the three of them walked out of the room in an icy mutual silence interrupted only by rustling skirts.

In the hallway, Victoria put a hand to Fen’s arm. “Are you all right?”

“I could hardly expect her to take my side,” Fen said. “But I might go and hide somewhere now.”

“Very wise,” Victoria said. “I’ll find Preston, I think.”

Pat slipped her arm through Fen’s as they made their way through the dark corridors. Fen leaned into her with a sigh. “I’m awfully glad you’re here. I’m not glad we’re here, but I’m glad you are.”

“I’m glad I am too.” Pat could by now have throttled the entire Yoxall family without compunction. Fen deserved so much better. “Do you think we might hide somewhere until dinner?”

“Let’s. I honestly don’t know how much more I can bear of other people; I was so looking forward to getting away from here.”

“At least you know that you haven’t done anything wrong,” Pat said. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, which is more than one can say for others in this house.”

Fen snuggled closer, her fingers seeking Pat’s, and Pat held them with a bubble of joy rising despite the circumstances. It was grossly unfair that Fen should be in this rotten place, but at least Pat could be here with her, and if Maurice blasted Haworth had one word to say, she fully intended to drop all convention and let him have it with both barrels. “Let’s find somewhere quiet to lurk until the coast is clear.”

They headed for the East Wing once more. Pat had intended to try the room she’d sat in earlier, but Fen led the way up the stairs, shooting Pat a glittering look, and Pat followed. She’d have followed her anywhere.

They walked silently, almost tiptoeing. It was so much like playing truant at school that Pat felt a giggle rising. At the top of the stairs she considered her options and decided on the study rather than the empty room she’d seen before. After all, the study had a couch. She tugged Fen in that direction, received an excited nod, and twisted the door handle. It stuck, then clicked, and she threw open the door.

There was someone on the sofa. Someone naked—an expanse of pale skin, far too many limbs for one person, all scrabbling in hurried motion, and then the bewildering image resolved itself and Pat stood and stared at her brother and Jimmy Yoxall, bare and entwined on the sofa, staring back at her with expressions of pure horror.

“Oh,” Fen said from beside her.

“Uh,” Bill said.

“I’m awfully sorry,” Pat said. “We should have knocked.”