I’d hidden my secret from these lads so well that now I was too feartie to open my gob and speak up for Louisa. As if she’d never sat between me and an enemy pilot with a gun, whispering warmth into my ear and holding my cold hands until they stopped shaking. She was brave enough to do all that, and I couldn’t say one word among friends for her!

My own mammy would be ashamed of me. Ashamed.

Louisa kept one hand on the piano keys as if that steadied her. She wore the wee frown that turned her bonny face into a pinched heart.

Then Jamie’s friend Silver, all dark eyes and film-star good looks, spoke up for her. “You’re maybe thinking of the law in Texas, Chippo. The law here is different.”

They sometimes took the mick with Silver, too, because of him being Jewish. That didn’t stop him speaking up; I suppose it is easier if you are an officer and a gentleman.

“Here it’s a free country,” added Derfel, the Welsh lad. “We even let filthy English in the place.”

Everybody laughed.

“Louisa is here to assist my aunt Jane,” said Nan. “That’s Mrs. Warner to you lads.”

“Lay off Nancy’s guests, Tex,” said Jamie.

You know, he is a wisp of a man, so short and slight and fair. And that boys’ school accent, as toffee-nosed as Robert Ethan’s. But Jamie is no coward. I have seen him fight with the steely purpose of a gamekeeper going after a poacher. His face closed up as he turned to Chip—lost the sunny smile, as if the effort of giving a command exhausted him, so different to his usual self before he’d gone up to Shetland.

But he added in a friendly way, “Nice to meet you, Louisa.”

“Nice to have someone at the piano, too!” Silver put in.

I pulled up a chair by Jane. “Come along, lasses, safety in numbers,” I said, and I beckoned to Louisa. I still felt guilty for not saying anything myself, but at least I could make her welcome.

So me and Phyllis and Louisa and Jane settled in around the table by the fire. As I tucked in my chair I gave Louisa a quick pat on the knee. She was trembling with holding in her anger.

“Don’t let it fash you,” I whispered. “You’re British and he isn’t.”

Phyllis leaned over to shake her hand. “Hello, Louisa. Hello, Mrs. Warner! I’m Phyllis Pennyworth—I’ll be staying here as well.”

Jane was like an excited kiddie at a pantomime, leaning forward, her pale blue eyes wide and alight. “Tell us who’s who,” she said to me.