Harold looked in the direction from which it had come, leaning over the banister to gaze along the hall. ‘I won’t be a moment, darling. I think someone deserves a lashing of my tongue.’

‘No, Harold, don’t! I’ll sort it out, as that’s the proper way to manage it.’

‘Of course, darling, but see that you do.’

Mags had an uncanny sense that Harold wanted a chance to be alone with Betsy – and not just to tell her off. Oh, why am I dogged by such uncertainty? Why do I feel so insecure? But then she knew why: Flors. Flors’s warning about her brother’s character was playing on her mind. I don’t want it to. I don’t.

And neither did she want to take Harold to her room now. The magic had gone. ‘I’m sorry, Harold darling, but I have a headache. Forgive me, but . . .’

He stared at her. His anger showed in his eyes, and a nerve twitched next to his lips. ‘That was very sudden.’ As he said this, he stood as if unsure what to do.

‘Well, we women have our crosses to bear; it will be the onset of . . . well, you know. It is my time of the month very soon.’

This he couldn’t argue with, and she was glad to see some tenderness come back into him. ‘Oh, sorry, old thing. I do understand, though I’m not happy. When we are married and can openly share the same bed, we’ll get round that one. Night-night.’

His peck on the cheek sickened her. Get round it? Am I nothing but a piece of meat for his pleasure?

Betsy donned her coat, once the household had settled down. She was glad to have heard Mags refusing to take that husband-to-be of hers to her bed. How all that had come about, she could only wonder at. Mags was a lady, and she shouldn’t be used in that way. From what she’d seen, it was as if that man had a hold of some sort over her.

As she went towards the door, a bell rang. Looking up, Betsy saw that the bell came from Mr Roford’s bedroom. Eeh, what does he want? Don’t let it be to bawl me out.

As she thought this, the door to the kitchen opened and Millie, the live-in maid, came through from the hallway. ‘He wants cocoa bringing to his room. And he wants it hot and served with a brandy an’ all. And he says as you’re to take it up.’

‘But I’m just off. You do it, Millie lass, there’s a good ’un.’

‘I can’t, lass. I only just made it up the stairs to answer his call – me back’s at breaking point. I’ll make cocoa, eh?’

Annoyed at this, Betsy had a less-than-kind thought. Millie should be pensioned off; she is ancient and not up to the job. Eeh, what am I thinking? ‘Oh, all right. Eeh, my Bill will be wondering where I am, at this rate.’