‘Mags! Mags, please open the door. It’s all lies . . . lies. You have to believe me. Open this door before I have it broken down!’

Not even the sound of the door being felled got through to Mags. It was as if she had shut down. Oh, she knew what was happening, but she couldn’t react to it, didn’t want to. She wanted to stay cocooned in her own little world, where no one could hurt her ever again.

As she thought this, the residue of the emotional pain left her.

‘For God’s sake, Mags, what do you think you are doing? You haven’t eaten for days, or come out of this room. Have you even washed? I’ve sent for a doctor. Your father has had an attack of some sort. You should go to him. You’re being selfish, cooping yourself up in this room and not facing anything. You should listen to me, too. I didn’t do what that slut said I did. I didn’t.’

Harold sobbed as he slumped down on the side of the bed and buried his head in his hands. Wearily Mags sat up. ‘Father isn’t well? What’s wrong with him?’

Harold looked up at her. His sobs hadn’t produced any tears, and his voice held anger. ‘Shock, I shouldn’t wonder, at your behaviour. What kind of a woman are you? Running to your room at the first sign of a problem, instead of standing by your husband and sorting out the situation with dignity?’

‘Situation? You raped my very best friend. Oh, that is more than a “situation”, Harold. I want you to leave. I want a divorce. I—’

‘Shut up and I will tell you what is to happen. If you don’t believe me when I say that I didn’t rape Betsy, that is your problem. Let me tell you this: you will not get a divorce. I am not giving up all of this. You will act with dignity. You will put out a statement that the hussy you engaged as a housekeeper has confessed to telling lies. That you understand she was after money and staged the rape – which she did. And you will say that she has now left our employment and that you are standing by your husband.’

‘I will not!’

‘Very well. Then I will put my second plan into action.’

Harold leaned over and pulled the bell cord. His butler appeared at the door, with a man Mags had never seen before.

‘Thank you, Barnard. Please come in, Dr Jenkins.’

Mags looked at the swarthy gentleman who stepped into the room. Instantly disliking and mistrusting him, she instinctively drew herself up into a ball and clasped her knees, pulling her dressing gown around her as she did so.

‘A typical behaviour of mental disorder. The patient thinks, by making herself appear small, that she can combat whatever it is she fears.’

This astonished Mags. Mental disorder? What is this doctor talking about?

‘I have no need to examine her. She will be assigned to a psychiatrist at the asylum.’