‘You are the product of sin,’ he said. ‘You should never have been born. God blesses no child that’s born through sin.’ When Annette simply stared up at him, hatred in her eyes, he went on, ‘You are a child of the devil, sent to tempt good Christian men like me. You are a snare, sent to lure men away from the paths of righteousness. You deserve the treatment you receive and I am the instrument of God’s punishment.’ He got slowly to his feet and, picking up the lamp again, raised it high so that he could see her face clearly.

‘Understand this, spawn of the devil: if you ever speak of what goes on between us, you will burn in the fires of hell for all eternity.’ With that he retrieved the robe he’d discarded and turned to the door. As he reached it he turned once more and whispered, ‘The fires of hell.’

And so it began. He did not come to her every night, but the fear was always there. In the daytime he continued to treat her as he always had, snapping out orders and expecting her to jump to his bidding. Most of the time she did so, but if she was too slow, or showed any sign of rebellion, he would grip her by the shoulder, his bony fingers biting into her flesh, and catching her by the hair, jerk it hard and painfully, his eyes promising further punishment… later. After that first night, he never slapped her round the face again. His attacks could be vicious, but nothing ever showed; there was never a visible mark on her. No caller at the house, or visitor come to discuss parish affairs with the priest, would ever suspect the cruelty that lived within it. And fearing the eternal fires of hell, Annette spoke to no one.

Once, when she was certain that Father Thomas would be safely saying Mass in the church, Agathe went back to the Clergy House to visit Annette. She was shocked at the sight of the girl she had lived with and come to love. She could see the pale face and drooping shoulders of a deeply unhappy child, for she still considered Annette a child despite her probable eighteen years.

‘Annette!’ she cried. ‘Are you ill?’

Annette shook her head. ‘No, madame,’ she replied, mustering a weak smile and leading the way into the familiar kitchen. ‘It’s hard work on my own, but apart from that, everything is fine.’ There was absolutely no question of Annette confiding her nightmare life to Madame Sauze. Father Thomas’s threats of the fires of hell kept her silent, but Madame Sauze looked at her askance, not believing her.

‘Annette,’ she said, ‘if there’s something wrong, you can tell me.’

‘No, madame,’ Annette replied vehemently, before saying more quietly, ‘no, madame, there is nothing wrong.’ She started as she heard the grandfather clock in the hall begin to chime. ‘Please, madame, please go, I need to start on the midday meal.’