‘I shall open a window,’ I declare, picking over the detritus on the floor and pulling wide the shutters.

‘I think I am getting too old for all the dramatics of this town,’ says Aunt Jenever. She wears nothing but her nightgown and is putting fresh plaits in her silvery hair.

‘Here, let me,’ I tell her and lead her to the chair, where she sits quite meekly as I pick up the brush. I need to do something simple and human, like fix hair.

‘Is Cornelius all right?’ she asks. ‘For whatever passed last night, he is my best doorman and I do not want him out of the game.’

‘No one was harmed, except for the man who was causing trouble,’ I tell her. ‘And he will cause no further trouble.’

‘This is a harsh town,’ Aunt Jenever muses as I pin her two plaits over her head. ‘I dare say you are not staying here long.’

She is right. I need the Forth and calm, and my family.

‘I have one or two more things I must do, then I will be back home,’ I tell her. ‘But I have been touched by your generosity. You have saved me somehow, when I had nothing. Less than nothing. You picked me up and gave me somewhere to live and a chance.’

Aunt Jenever shrugs, for she is not a woman who likes too many compliments. Her plaits are tight now and pinned to her head. But her hair is so thin I can see her pink scalp through it, and I wonder at her fragility, despite her coarse voice and ways; and at the fragility of us all.

Then I powder my teeth and wash my face and hands with a bit of lavender soap and head out. If I catch him, Patrick Spencer will be opening up his perfume shop about now, and I want to have a nice scent about me.

Chapter Thirty-Three

It is eleven of the morning, and the wiggers and shoemakers are already doing a roaring trade. I stand in the street and let the crowds wash around me as I look through the emporium window.

The last time I saw Spencer was at the gallows when he was standing under a tree, the type of which I cannot recall, as I was too occupied with my own peril. Why would he come, when he could have spent that morning doing anything else? He risked being seen by Ma, Da and Joan.

I still wear his ring, silly fool that I am. It reminds me of glowing rush-light and whispered words, and discovering that my own body could experience blissful things. It reminds me of the intimacy of nakedness. It’s only glass, but it does twinkle in a world that has often been dark.