‘You’d better come, ma’am. Hester said not to wake you, but there’s a nasty man downstairs and he’s shouting at Hester. He says he won’t go until he’s spoken to you in person.’

Rosalind stifled a yawn. ‘Did this person have a name?’ She half expected Nancy to say it was Ralph Lambert. She was ready to do battle if he had come to make trouble.

‘He said his name is Trimble – like Tommy.’

Icy fingers of fear ran down Rosalind’s spine. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t Hodge, the chimney sweep?’

Nancy shook her head. ‘No, ma’am. It was Trimble and I think he wants to take Tommy away from us.’

‘Help me with my stays, Nancy, and pass me my print gown. No one is going to take Tommy from us. Where is he?’

‘Hester told Molly to take him to the kitchen. Cook has lots of knives – she won’t let anyone hurt Tommy.’

Rosalind struggled into her clothes with Nancy’s help and she hurried downstairs to Hester’s parlour. She stopped outside the door. ‘Go to the kitchen and ask Cook to give you and Tommy something to eat. Keep him there and don’t come above stairs until I send for you. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Rosalind brushed a stray curl back from her forehead and took a deep breath before entering the room. She was instantly aware of a large and very irate man who stood in the middle of the floor, glowering at Hester.

‘What is going on?’ Rosalind demanded coldly. ‘Who are you, sir?’

He turned on her, his face flushed and glistening with drops of perspiration. ‘I’ve come for me son. The one you took from his master, the sweep.’

‘Hodges sold Tommy to me for three guineas,’ Rosalind said calmly. ‘I believe you sold the boy to him.’

‘I never sold the brat. I paid his indenture. He was going to learn the trade.’

‘He was being beaten and burned by a sadistic man who should never be allowed to have young children under his control.’

‘I am the boy’s father. I want me son back. You can’t keep him.’

‘How do I know that he’s your son, sir? You were happy enough to sell him into a life of pain and suffering. I don’t think you are a fit parent.’

‘I’ll take you to court if I has to.’

‘Then prove to me that Tommy is your son. Maybe we can come to some arrangement that would suit us both.’

‘You live in a castle – you can afford to compensate me for losing a wage-earner.’

‘I’m not giving you a penny. I don’t believe that Tommy is your son.’

‘You want proof. I’ll get you it. Just you see.’ Trimble stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.