Mama turned to Alexis and some silent communication passed between them, Rosa could see the flicker of it in their eyes. She turned away deliberately. Let them have their magical whispers. If they were too ashamed to say the words in front of her, she didn’t want to hear them anyway.

‘Rosa.’ Mama’s voice broke in on her thoughts. ‘We have not finished with this. For tonight you will go to bed without any supper. Tomorrow you will get up without any breakfast. However you will ride out, you will meet with and speak to Mr Knyvet and you will apologize to him for your disgraceful behaviour. Is that quite understood?’

‘But—’ Rosa began. Mama hissed the words of a spell and Rosa’s throat suddenly tightened and closed. The words she had been about to speak strangled before they reached her lips. Only when she tried again did two misshapen, mangled sounds come out: ‘Yes, Mama.’

‘Good.’ Mama’s lips smiled, but her eyes were still cold and angry. ‘Now, listen to me, Rosa. Sebastian has the power in the palm of his hand to repair our fortune, to secure Alexis’ future and to save your family home, and you throw all that away over a disobedient dog and your own love of histrionics. What do you think Papa would think of your abominable selfishness?’

Rosa shut her eyes. She would not cry. Not in front of Mama.

‘The mortgages are up on Matchenham in two months.’ Mama picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk and threw them at Rosa’s feet. ‘Two months. If you wish to see your father’s home sold to the highest bidder then you are going the right way about it. Now, go to your room. I do not wish to see you again tonight, do you understand?’

Any words of protest died in Rosa’s throat. Instead she just nodded. Then she turned and left, still holding Belle. As she climbed the stairs to her room she felt the first stirrings of hunger in the pit of her stomach.

It was nearly midnight before Luke finished grooming the horses and cleaning the tack. Late in the evening Alexis had sent word downstairs that he and Rosa would be riding again tomorrow, and that the horses were to be immaculate, and the tack and brasswork too.

When Luke finally made it up the stairs to his little room, he lay on the hard, narrow bed with his arm flung over his face as if to hide from the world. What had he been thinking, there in the stable? He’d risked everything – and for what? To comfort a girl who was his mortal enemy, who would be dead at his hand within a few days. And instead of plotting her death, he’d risked his job and his mission to comfort her over the death of a worthless pup.

For God’s sake, lad, what’s wrong with you?

It was John Leadingham’s accusing voice that rang in his ears. But it was William’s face he saw when he squeezed his lids tight shut – William’s face, filled with disgust and grief at his betrayal.

Suddenly he couldn’t bear his own thoughts any longer. He sat up and walked to the window, as if the cold night air could chase away his hot shame. He leant on the sill, resting his forehead against the breath-misted glass, and stared into the night. Knightsbridge was not like Spitalfields. Instead of the dark, crowded slums punctuated with burning street braziers, it was bright with gas street lights, there were candles at every window, stretching away and away into the distance, even the odd house that blazed with electric light. He looked up, above the roofs, hoping to see the stars. They at least would be proof that however far away home felt, he walked under the same skies as William and Minna and John and all the other friends he’d left behind. But the night was dark, with thick sooty clouds that shut out the sky.

He sighed and was about to turn to go to bed when a movement at the window across the yard caught his eye. A window was alight in the big house. It was lit with a single candle, and someone was sitting there, staring into the darkness. In the soft candlelight all he could see was a face and a flicker of white nightgown. But as the figure moved slightly he saw the blazing river of hair that fell to her waist, a stream of molten iron that caught the light of the frail candle flame and threw it back as fire.

Rosa.

No, God damn her, not Rosa. The witch. He must stop thinking of her as a girl, for she was not a girl. She was a witch – damned in the sight of God and condemned by man and by the word of the Bible. Condemned to—

The breath caught in his throat and he wrenched his gaze away from her and threw himself back into his hard narrow bed, his fists clenched in cold self-hatred.

She must die. That was all there was to it. He had pricked her name with his pin – fate had chosen her, not him. If he didn’t return of news of her death within the month then it would be his blood spilt, not hers.

Within the month. How long, exactly? Luke began to count back to the night in Fournier Street, and his heart became colder and colder with each backward step. It was more than a week ago, ten days, in fact. He had just eighteen days left. Eighteen days to kill her and return with the news to the Brotherhood.

But he didn’t need eighteen days. It only took a moment to kill – he just needed an opportunity. A plan that would not leave him swinging from the gallows or gutted by a spell.

And suddenly a way of doing it came into his head – and it was so simple he could have almost laughed. Only, it all depended on whether she would ride out tomorrow to meet Sebastian Knyvet. Would she?

Luke slept badly that night, torn between thinking of all the ways that his plan could go wrong and the chance that it would not happen at all. Would she really ride out to meet Knyvet, after all that had happened yesterday?

But the message came down after breakfast: Cherry and Brimstone to be saddled and ready in ten minutes, Mr Greenwood’s orders.

He took a deep breath and made his way out to the stables.

He’d only just finished saddling Brimstone when he heard the sound of boots on the cobbles and looked up to see Alexis striding across the yard, Rosa walking behind him, her face white and pale.

‘Is Brimstone ready?’ Alexis demanded. Luke nodded.

‘Yes, sir. But not Cherry, I’ve still got to saddle her up.’

‘Dammit, I said ten minutes. Seb’ll be waiting.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Luke tried to keep his face impassive. He bit back the words he really wanted to say: You try grooming and saddling two horses in ten minutes, you fat slob.

‘Well, I’m not waiting on the convenience of a lazy stable-hand.’ He swung his leg up and called, ‘Rosa, I’m heading out. Come and find me with the boy. I’ll be near the north end, I suppose. Don’t take all day.’

Rosa said nothing but only nodded.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Alexis said, and there was something unpleasant in his voice, a needling laugh.

Rosa looked up at him and her gold-brown eyes were suddenly dark with hatred, her lips pressed together until they were completely bloodless. Her whole face, white beneath the stark black hat, seemed nothing but blazing eyes, full of fury. But she said nothing, only jerked her head towards the gate.

‘See you in the Row,’ Alexis said. ‘I’ll leave you with the sot.’ And with that he yanked on Brimstone’s curb and nudged him into a canter out of the yard and down the mews.

As the sound of Brimstone’s hooves faded into the distance Rosa let out a shaky breath and seemed to find her voice.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was hoarse, as if she hadn’t spoken in a long time. ‘He shouldn’t be so rude to you – it’s unforgiveable.’

‘Me?’ Luke said surprised. ‘I don’t give a d—’ He stopped himself short, just in time and bit back the word. ‘I don’t mind what he chooses to call me,’ he finished gruffly.

She didn’t answer, but just sank on to a hay bale while he adjusted the buckles. His fingers were sweating and his heart was beating fast – this was the moment. If she looked up now, he was sunk. His fingers slipped on the cold metal of the buckle. But she didn’t. Her head was bowed between her knees, almost as if she were faint, and she was not looking at him or Cherry, but down at the voluminous folds of her jet-black habit.

It was done. He patted Cherry’s side, feeling his flesh prickle cold and hot with sweat. Then he turned to Rosa.

‘Ready, Miss Greenwood,’ he said. Then he stopped awkwardly. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I – I missed breakfast,’ she said wearily.

Luke looked down at himself, then brushed the straw from his britches.

‘Wait here.’

Becky was folding linen when Luke put his head cautiously round the kitchen door and whispered, ‘Hey. Hey – Becky.’

‘Oh!’ Becky jumped and dropped a pile of napkins and then swore crossly. ‘Oh, Luke Welling! You’ll be the death of me. What are you doing creeping round?’

‘I’m in me boots – I don’t want Mrs Ramsbottom to catch me. Listen, is there a piece of bread I can beg?’

‘So we’re not feeding you enough now, are we?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘A small vat of porridge and a piece of bread and butter the size of my head not good enough for you at breakfast?’

‘Not for me – for Miss Rosa.’

‘Miss Rosa?’ Her face was blank with astonishment. ‘Why are you begging food for her? Is she sickening for summat?’

‘No, but she missed breakfast.’

Becky frowned and began thoughtfully refolding the linen she’d dropped.

‘Now I come to think of it, she weren’t at dinner last night, neither. It’s no wonder she’s famished if she’s had nothing but tea and water since lunchtime yesterday. But what a ninny to refuse her meals and then beg scraps from the kitchen! Think she’s banting for her young man?’