‘He’s out, the master. Oh, Betsy lass, everything’s changed.’

The warmth of the kitchen tingled Betsy’s cold hands and face to life, and the familiar smell of cooking almost undid her, but hope entered her on hearing that Roford was out. ‘Where’s Mags . . . I mean, Mrs Roford? Can I see her? Is she in?’

‘Oh naw, haven’t you heard? He had her committed. Our lovely lass is in the asylum.’

‘What? That bastard! Eeh, I’m sorry for me language, but he’s a rotter. Why? Oh, Cook, please don’t tell me Mags went mad. Naw, not that . . . naw.’

‘I don’t think so. She was shocked and spent three days in her room. She didn’t eat and didn’t want anyone to visit her, not even him. She locked her door. He broke into her room eventually, but he’d already brought a doctor over. Next thing we knew, our lovely mistress was screaming, then all went quiet and she were being carted off.’

‘Eeh, naw . . . naw. I didn’t mean for all of this to happen.’

‘What d’you mean, lass? It weren’t your fault. Though he said as it were. None of us believed him.’

‘What did he say, Cook?’

‘He called us all into the hall and told us that you had asked him for money. He said you’d previously asked for a large sum from his wife, as you had a notion that your husband could be cured by an operation. He said that the mistress had refused you, so you tried to get money from him. That you offered your favours for it, but he was disgusted by you. Then he said you leapt at him, taking him by surprise and ripping his dressing gown from him, leaving him naked. That you scratched and kicked him, leaving him powerless to stop you, for fear of hurting you, which he didn’t want to do. He said you growled at him that either he gave you the money you wanted or you would ruin his life. When he still refused, you ripped your bodice, scratched your own face and body and pulled your hair out of its clips, before you opened the door, and then you . . . well, he said you dropped your undergarments.’

‘Oh God. I have to sit down, Cook.’ Pulling out one of the chairs from under the table where all the staff sat at mealtimes, Betsy lowered herself. Part of her flushed with the truth of half of Roford’s story, but another part of her wondered at him making up such a lie. So that was it! Both his story and her own were half-lie, half-truth, but she knew with a sinking heart who would be believed – by them that mattered, that was.

‘Look, lass, none of us believed him, nor could we understand why he even told us – I mean, it stinks. No one of the master’s standing would normally bother about what the servants knew or thought. It’s as if he’s trying to make a truth out of a lie and have us back him up. Besides, you told us all that the mistress was going to pay for the surgery on Bill, a long time ago. And we all knaw you. What he says you did, you’d never do in a million years. You only answered his bell and, before we all knew it, you were screaming the place down. What’s his game, eh?’