‘I . . . I have borne you a son.’ I quaked as the words left my mouth. My nose and eyes streamed. ‘I did not know myself to be with child until after you quit Orchard Cottage . . . I . . . could not bring myself to tell you of it earlier . . . You claimed . . . you claimed you had not the means to support . . .’ I sniffed and then collected myself. ‘At the time of his birth, I lived as the mistress of Mr John St John of Park Street. The child is George Allen St John. I was several months gone when Mr St John took me in. He believed the boy to be his and has acknowledged him as his heir. Young Georgie is to be raised with his cousins, and is currently with Lord Bolingbroke’s children in Wiltshire. That was the last I had heard as I have had no word of . . . our son since I took my leave of England.’ I swallowed and then ventured to meet Allenham’s gaze. I was most anxious about what I would find there, but in his eyes there was only mildness, a gentle look of surprise and then a smile. He drew me to him and crowned my head with slow, pensive kisses, hushing me.

‘It shall be made well. All shall be made well. Soon. One day, soon,’ were the only words he spoke, until silenced by the meeting of our lips.

Caresses followed embraces followed more kisses until we could no longer tolerate the space between our limbs, and retired to the thin, unsteady bed. There we lay in the lap of delight for a good many hours, until the streaks of light which came through the shutters had faded. Later, the girl from the Trois Pièces returned and left for us a pitcher of cider, a cold roasted chicken and a carp in sauce. It seemed to me the greatest feast of which I had ever partaken. It was in the course of our supper that Allenham revealed to me that the master of the Trois Pièces was a fervent counter-revolutionary, who assisted in the smuggling of letters, gold and all manner of things to Coblenz and abroad.

‘He makes a business of procuring false passports.’ Allenham looked at me. ‘Hetty, you know you cannot remain here; it is not safe for you. As you have been accused once, so shall you ever remain suspect. The guards will not cease to trouble you and . . .’ He paused, his expression turning quite grave. ‘. . . there is talk that Orléans is to be arrested.’

My heart dropped at hearing this.

‘I fear it is but the beginning. There is not one among Orléans’s associates who will not be considered suspect.’

‘Madame de Buffon . . . what will become of her?’ I whispered in horror.

My beloved returned my look.

‘I cannot say . . . I do not know . . .’

‘But certainly it is possible to—’