William was frowning. He looked at me sideways. “I do not suppose... Could there be any truth in it?”

“No,” I said sharply. “You have no reason to doubt your daughter-in-law and yet the moment some deranged person makes a wild accusation you are prepared to countenance it? Shame on you, William! Your son has better judgment than you do. He knows that Catherine is good and true.”

William looked ashamed and muttered an apology. I nodded curtly to acknowledge it, but I still felt angry, for if this terrible row became common knowledge there would be trouble. Servants would talk. More than one person, for the sake of gossip and spite, would note Thomas’s visits to Knightstone and check the dates and count the days and months against Robbie’s birth, and all of it based on nothing. Vile rumors always crept forth like the stench of a sewer.

“I am sorry,” my husband said again, “but it is true that the Treshams do have such striking green and blue eyes. Francis has them.”

“And Thomas does not,” I pointed out. “It is nothing but coincidence.”

“His father had them too,” William said, frowning.

I shrugged impatiently. “Thomas is coming,” I said. “For pity’s sake make none of your foolish observations in front of him.”

Thomas’s face was gray and drawn, his usual confidence lacking. “I am taking Muriel home,” he said. “She told me what happened. I do not wish to put Robert in the difficult position of having to ask us to leave.”

“Better that you had not brought her here at all,” I said bitterly.

“I did not know,” Thomas said. He was looking shaken. “I did not know how she felt or what she was thinking. I did not know she objected to my visits here, least of all that she imagined they were for Catherine’s sake. I thought...” He met my eyes and I read his mind:

“I thought that you were the one who wanted me gone from Knightstone...”

“You should have confided in her the real reason you visit here,” I said. “Instead of making obscure and foolish references to treasure gardens.”

Thomas’s face fell. William simply looked puzzled, glancing from his face to my stony one.

“It is too late to travel,” he said, looking at the sky. “You will have to bide the night at least, Thomas.”

“There is an inn in the village where we may stay,” Thomas said, “and be on our way at first light.” He looked at me and then back at my husband. He squared his shoulders.

“William,” he said, “I wonder whether I might have a word in private with Nan? About her sister?”

“There is nothing that you cannot say before my husband,” I said, but William obligingly, was already nodding.

“Of course,” he said. He touched Thomas’s shoulder. “I am sorry.”

Thomas nodded his acknowledgment.

“I am too cold to stand around out here any longer without a cloak,” I said. “You must excuse me, Thomas—”