She could hear an edge of desperation beneath his quiet tone and could see it lurking behind his eyes. Eustace wanted her to believe him. But her mind went to the wild way he had looked at her in the quiet of the dark walk earlier, the bruises he had already bestowed upon her skin, the vicious hatred with which he had hissed that word: bitch! And she believed the fortune upon the plums, both his and hers. It had been a mistake to lock up the ravens, she saw that now, but it was a mistake that she would soon undo.

She stood up. It seemed like everyone was waiting to see what she would say. Perhaps they expected her to rage at Eustace, or to call for the police, or to seek sanctuary at someone else’s house. Instead she ignored them all, looked right at her husband and said, ‘Let’s go home.’

‘Home?’ He stared at her for a moment, as if unable to believe what she had just said. ‘You mean … you will return to Raven Hall?’

‘Of course. I am its duchess, am I not?’

She headed towards the gate, leaving Eustace to hurry in her wake. When they reached their carriage, she ignored the hand he offered and climbed up on her own. She heard him tell their driver to take them home and then he joined her in the velvet interior and took the seat opposite. It was small enough inside that their knees lightly touched, but Rosa had learned to suppress her shudders long ago.

A strange heavy silence descended upon them as the carriage made its way down the drive. Rosa could tell that Eustace wanted to say something, but seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

‘I am so glad,’ he finally said, ‘that you have the good sense to recognise those ridiculous plums for the parlour trick they are.’

Rosa shook her head. ‘Nothing in Beatrice’s garden is a parlour trick. It is real magic.’

Eustace frowned. ‘But then—’

‘I believe every word written upon that plum.’

Eustace’s face was grey in the shaft of moonlight shining through their frozen window. ‘But you cannot,’ he finally said. ‘I tell you it is not true. It isn’t.’

Rosa said nothing. She had no interest in arguing with him about it. What was the point? As each moment went on, she felt colder and sadder as the words on the plum sank in.

Noticing her shiver, Eustace said, ‘Here, have my cloak.’

His fingers fumbled to unbutton the clasp at his throat, but Rosa shook her head. ‘Keep it, your grace,’ she said, without heat. ‘I want nothing from you.’