‘Well, you can hardly disagree with the plan, especially now that Piers is in prison for far worse offences. Anyway, you haven’t any jewellery worth stealing so you’re quite safe. Come with me, Rosie.’

Rosalind followed her sister along the wide landing to another flight of stairs, which led to the second floor. Her room was at the back of the house with a view of the small garden and the backs of yet more terraced town houses. Smoke from hundreds of tall chimneys billowed up into the sky, forming dark clouds, and desultory pigeons perched on slate rooftops, fluffing out their feathers in an attempt to keep warm.

Rosalind’s luggage was piled up by the door and most of the valises and boxes had already been emptied. Tidy piles of garments were spread out on chairs and stools, and gowns were laid neatly on the bed, ready to be folded and placed in the mahogany clothes press. In the midst of this organised chaos stood a tall, thin woman with sharp angular features and an uncompromising expression. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing muscular forearms as if she had been used to manual labour in the past, and her iron-grey hair was ruthlessly confined in a bun at the back of her neck. The frilly white cap she wore was tilted slightly to one side, giving her an odd unbalanced appearance.

‘Rosie, this is Fletcher. She’s going to look after you while you’re in London.’ Patricia gave Rosalind a gentle shove. ‘If you have any particular instructions about how you want your clothing put away, you’d better say so now.’

‘No, really. It looks as though you have everything in hand, Fletcher.’

Fletcher sketched a curtsey, eyeing Rosalind beneath pale lashes as if weighing her up.

‘I’ll leave you to get changed then, Rosie. Come down to the drawing room when you’re ready.’ Patricia backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

‘If you don’t trust an old lag you’d best say so now, ma’am. But I ain’t going to pinch nothing off you. I learned me lesson in stir.’

‘Everyone deserves a second chance, Fletcher. As far as I can see you’re very efficient and I’ll be glad of your services.’

Fletcher nodded. ‘You look done in, ma’am. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll find something for you to wear? Although you haven’t much of a choice, if you want my opinion.’

‘I live in the country, Fletcher. It’s not so formal.’

‘It ain’t none of my business, anyway. But if I was you I’d get her ladyship to treat you to a few new duds.’

Rosalind stifled a giggle. ‘Thank you, Fletcher. Tell me, have you been a lady’s maid before?’

‘No, not me. I had a clothes stall in Rosemary Lane. I knows the difference between silk and shoddy.’