‘I’m sure when he does turn up he’ll just say that she’s come down with a chill,’ Sunday placated her but Lavinia didn’t even appear to hear her as she paced restlessly about like a caged animal.

Tom was sitting smoking his pipe and trying to read the newspaper in one of the comfortable wing chairs that stood at either side of the fireplace; his stockinged feet were stretched out to the fire that was roaring up the chimney. This was his favourite room in the house, one of the very few forbidden to the children. Elegant, heavily fringed pelmets framed the deep-red velvet curtains that hung at the long windows overlooking the garden, and Turkish carpets were scattered about the polished parquet floor, giving it a cosy feel. Gold damask wallpaper gleamed on the walls. Sunday had chosen every single thing in this room shortly after she had come to live at Treetops Manor, and Tom knew that she loved it too, although today her thoughts were too full of Zillah to notice it. But then that was women for you – they always seemed to be worrying about something or another whereas he was very calm and tended to let the world go by. All Tom wanted was a quiet life and he was sure that Zillah would be all right. His wife and mother-in-law were just getting themselves into a flummox over nothing.

‘He’s here!’ Lavinia’s voice interrupted his thoughts as she saw Doctor Cushion’s pony and trap coming down the drive. She raced for the door with Sunday close behind her, leaving him to read his newspaper in peace.

When Sunday came back into the room an hour or so later, one glance at her face told him that something was seriously amiss. She was as white as a ghost.

‘The doctor thinks that Zillah may have pneumonia,’ she told him croakily and he was shocked. He hadn’t realised how ill she was.

‘Are they moving her to the hospital?’ he enquired.

Sunday’s head wagged from side to side. ‘No, he thinks it’s too cold to move her. She’s better here, he reckons, and there are enough of us to look after her.’

‘Of course.’ Tom stood and took his wife in his arms and gave her a gentle hug. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Not really. My mother will be doing most of the nursing. She insists on it, and the doctor is going to call by every day.’

‘Strangely enough, I was just reading in the newspaper that Queen Victoria is ill as well. She’s at Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, but then she is eighty-one years old. I’m surprised she’s lasted this long without Prince Albert. Did you know it’s almost forty years since he died?’ He was trying to take Sunday’s mind off Zillah’s situation but it wasn’t working, and soon enough she was off again to see if there was anything that Zillah needed.

Peering from the window, Tom was just in time to see the doctor climbing into the trap, holding his medical bag, and for a few seconds he watched the children, who were all warmly wrapped up, playing out in the snow. They had built an enormous snowman and the boys were having a snowball fight, oblivious to how poorly Zillah was. I shall have to get them to keep the noise down when they come inside, he thought, then quietly left the room to go about his chores. It would be time to call the children in for their midday meal soon and no doubt a little help wouldn’t come amiss in the kitchen. He wondered then if he should speak to Sunday about cancelling the big party they had planned for New Year’s Eve, but then he thought perhaps he should look on the bright side. It was still a few days away and Zillah could well be on the mend by then.