‘How can I? You don’t seem to realize that she isn’t well enough. There have been better reports these last two days about how well her treatment is going. I have been told that even to think of interrupting it could make her take a massive step backwards. I couldn’t bear that. I miss her so much. It tears me apart that I can’t even visit. Until Margaret realizes the truth of what took place, and learns to understand that I am not like my father, my presence will only upset her. I could kill that Bainwright woman. This is all her fault. She’s nothing but a whore, and by Friday the whole town will know that.’

‘Is that when the court case is?’

‘Yes. It can’t come soon enough for me. I’m living in hell. Well, just look at what she has caused.’

‘Quite. Now, let me examine Mr Witherbrook. By the way, I intend to visit Margaret tomorrow.’

‘Oh. Will you be allowed? Surely her care is now in the hands of Dr Jenkins?’

‘It is, but as her family doctor, I have the right to visit. No one has deregistered me as her practitioner.’

‘Well, I will do that, if you persist in interfering. In fact I’ll take Mr Witherbrook’s case to another local doctor, too. One who will assist him, in his hour of need, and will not allow him to linger on and on.’

‘Only Mr Witherbrook, and Margaret, can sack me as their physician, and I do not like the implications of your words, sir. Kindly retract them. You’re practically saying that I should end Mr Witherbrook’s life!’

‘I am not. I am saying that you should do more for him than allow him to vegetate, as he is doing. And as for him or my wife sacking you, neither of them are capable of making such decisions for themselves. I have power of attorney over both of them. And so I can make this decision for them – and I am doing so. Barnard will show you out. And I will instruct Dr Jenkins that you’re not to be given access to my wife, under any circumstances.’

Susan held her breath. Was there nothing Harold couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do?

Stepping away from the door, she went and sat on the chair by the window. The room that she was housed in held a double bed, a range of wardrobes, a sofa and a chair. She was comfortable and happy, because once more she was with her Harold. Although that happiness was marred not only by her heartache where her baby Sibbie was concerned, but by the sense of being a prisoner. She feared for Montel and what would happen to him, if Harold turned him in. She’d wished a thousand times that she hadn’t told Harold Montel’s story.

Montel had been judged a coward and a traitor, and had been sentenced to execution. He’d refused to lead his men into what he knew was a senseless battle and would have led to the deaths of them all. It had happened during the latter part of 1916, when many French soldiers were turning tail, and mutiny was the order of the day. Montel tried to keep his troops together but, being left with only ten men, the attack that he was meant to carry out would have been suicidal. Brought before a court martial, he was found guilty and the death sentence was passed, when really he was a hero. Thankfully, some of his men helped him to escape and, by a miracle, got him away from the coast of France in a fishing vessel. Once in England, Montel slept rough on the streets, using a crutch to disguise that he was able-bodied.