‘Stop!’ Annette was startled by the sound of her own voice. ‘I will not cry! Calm down, stupid girl, and think!’

He’s locked you in. The doors are locked and you’re inside, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get out. Think!

She went into the sitting room and looked at the French windows that opened into the garden. But the garden was protected by a high wall with no gate to the road. She returned to the hall, which had a narrow window beside the front door. She could look out to the street but it was far too small for her to squeeze through. The only room with windows large enough was Father Thomas’s study.

Dare she go in there? Of course. She had to.

Annette pushed at the study door, praying it wouldn’t be locked. It was not. Father Thomas never dreamed that she would have the temerity to go into his room uninvited or in his absence.

The room had dual-aspect windows, one giving onto the street, the other opening to the back lane. Ignoring the front window, she crossed to the one on the side and peered out. It was a double casement, rising from a low sill almost to the ceiling. The window looked towards the blank wall of the building across the lane. As far as she could tell there was no one about to see her climb out, but that was a risk she’d have to take. She undid the catch and tried to pull the window open. It was old, heavy and stiff from lack of usage. Neither Father Lenoir nor Father Thomas had ever opened it, fearing contagion from the city air. Desperation gave her strength and Annette pulled with all her might. There was an ominous creaking until, with an unexpected release, the casements parted so suddenly that she staggered backwards. Her way out was before her. After one cautious look along the lane, mercifully empty, she picked up her bundle and slipped out. She did not turn into the main street but took to her heels, following the lane’s twisting way between high walls until it emerged into the tangle of streets far beyond the Clergy House.

Annette had no idea of where she was going, but she knew she had to be well away before Father Thomas got home again and perhaps sent a hue and cry after her. She and her baby had escaped, but from now on it would be up to her to keep them both alive.

*

Father Thomas had not had his mind on the Mass that morning. He, too, had lain awake for some time the previous night, considering his options, and his thoughts continued to roam even as he recited the prayers and distributed the wafers among his tiny congregation of elderly men and black-clad widows. He was faced with a dilemma. Obviously no whiff of scandal must attach to him, so the girl had to go, but if he got rid of Annette immediately, it would leave him in the difficult position of having no one to look after him. He had been too hasty, he realised, threatening to send her to St Luke’s straight away. He must pretend to have relented and keep Annette on while he found her replacement. Then, and with righteous indignation, he could ‘discover’ her situation and turn her out. Otherwise who would cook and clean for him? Wash his clothes? Starch his surplices? The answer came to him as he was giving communion to a grey-haired dame in her sixties, a woman who looked uncannily like his mother’s importunate cousin, Lena.