‘Thank you, miss.’ Minna smiled, the skin stretched tight over her bones. When had she last eaten a hot meal?

Behind Rosa’s back Luke shook his head, willing Minna with his eyes not to take the card, not to get mixed up in this, with Knyvet, with everything else. But Minna bobbed a curtsey and put the card in her pocket.

‘Did you want something, miss?’ Luke said, his voice expressionless, but trying to tell Rosa without words that she was not wanted here, that this was not her place, but his.

‘I . . .’ For the first time she faltered. ‘I – I just wanted to see Cherry.’

‘She’s fine, miss. No need for you to worry. I looked her over after yesterday and you wouldn’t know anything had happened.’

‘It wasn’t . . .’ She stopped and then seemed to fold, turning her face away so that he could not see her expression. ‘Thank you. Never mind.’

As she turned to go back into the house she looked very small and Luke had the strangest impression that she was steeling herself to go back in.

After she’d gone he turned back to Minna.

‘Don’t go to the factory, Minna.’

‘What? Why ever not?’

‘Because . . .’

Because Knyvet was a bastard – and a man he wouldn’t trust with a dog, let alone a friend. Because he was a witch.

‘I can’t explain. But you don’t want to be mixed up with Knyvet. He’s a bad lot.’

‘Who cares about his morals?’ Her face was blank with astonishment. ‘Lord’s sakes, Luke, it’s not like he’ll be hanging round the place, is it? And if it’s a job – well . . .’

‘I came to give you this.’ He pulled the sovereigns out of his pocket and held them out. But Minna was shaking her head before she’d even seen the coins.

‘No. No, Luke. I can’t take it. I won’t.’

‘Minna, take the money.’

‘Jesus, Luke! It’s two sovereigns. Where d’ya get these?’

‘Just take them.’

‘How will I pay you back?’

‘I don’t care about that. Get Bess better and then pay me back. Or, if you have to, sell her, buy a donkey, and pay me back out of the spare. Anything’s better than letting her waste away and losing your job.’

‘I . . .’ Her hand hovered over the coins and he could see she was wavering.

‘Take it. Please. I don’t care how long you take to pay me back.’ She never would, he knew that, but the pretence was the only thing that would allow her to accept his charity.

‘Oh, Luke. Thank you.’ She took the coins and flung up her arms to kiss him, and he kissed her back, her cheek too thin and gaunt beneath his lips. There was something strange on her breath and he pulled back.

‘Minna, have you been on the laudanum again?’

‘No,’ she snapped. But he knew by her face that she was lying.

‘Stop it, Minna,’ he said warningly. ‘Stop it now while you still can.’

‘I’ll stop it when me bleeding tooth stops hurting! Don’t be such a fussy old woman.’ She shoved the coins in her pocket, all her smiles turned sour from his scolding.

‘Minna—’

‘What’s all this?’ A voice boomed out behind them both, making Luke turn sharply and Minna jump like a cat.

It was Mr James, standing in the stable yard, his arms folded.

‘What’s all this?’ He spoke to Luke rather than Minna, jerking his thumb at her as if she were no better than she should be. ‘I will not have loose women hanging around the stable yard in full daylight, Luke Welling.’

‘Full daylight – so would it be all right at midnight?’ Minna said pertly, recovered from her fright. ‘And who’s Luke Welling when he’s at home?’ She shot Luke a look that said, I’ll have this out of you later. Luke glared back, fury in every nerve and bone, willing her to shut her smart-alec mouth before she got herself a clip round the head and him fired.

‘Be quiet!’ thundered Mr James. ‘And get out of my yard, young woman.’

‘Try to stop me,’ Minna shot back. She turned on her heel. ‘Bye, Luke.’

He didn’t return the farewell, didn’t say anything, just stood with his neck bowed and the fury and fear running through his veins like acid.

‘Good riddance!’ Mr James bellowed, and clapped the gate to the mews shut with a sound like thunder. Then he turned to Luke. ‘What in God’s name is going on out here? Consorting with women in full view of the house? What were you thinking?’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Luke kept his voice as even as he could, kept his eyes on his boots, kept his fists clenched. ‘She just came in off the street. I’ve no idea who she is. Was.’

‘Hmph.’ Mr James looked at him from beneath glowering black brows, still suspicious. ‘How did she know your name then?’

‘She didn’t, did she?’ Inspiration flushed over him. ‘She said, “Who’s Luke Welling when he’s at home?”’ Thank God for Minna and her smart mouth.

‘She said goodbye to you,’ James countered.

‘Only after you said my name. She must have heard you. It was just sauce.’

‘Well then, what were you giving her when I came across the yard? I saw you put something into her hand.’

‘It was a bit of lucky heather.’ He’d never thought of himself as a good liar; usually he stammered and tied himself in knots. Now it made him sick, how easily the lies came. He was growing used to deception. It was living side by side with the vile witches, their deceit rubbing off on him. ‘She tried to make me buy it. I said no. I was giving it back.’

Mr James said nothing, only stood with his arms folded across his waistcoat. Then he seemed to make up his mind.

‘Very well, Luke Welling. But if I see her around here again, I’ll give you notice. Now, get yourself upstairs and get packing for the hunting party. I want you ready for the train at six tomorrow. Understood?’

‘Understood,’ Luke said, and then added bitterly, ‘sir.’

12

The trunks stacked in the hall were painted with GREENWOOD in white capital letters, and the labels said Southing. The horses had already left. James was out in the road, blowing the whistle for a hansom cab. Rosa stood in the hallway, buttoning her gloves, and thinking of Cherry shut into the narrow railway carriage, tossing her head nervously as the engine whistled and the speed picked up. She hoped Luke would remember her nosebag and give her a sugar lump when the train started off.

Just then Ellen came down the stairs, her face even grimmer than usual. She was not wearing her coat.

‘What’s the matter? Why aren’t you dressed? We’ll miss our train,’ Rosa said. ‘Where’s Mama and Alexis?’

‘Your brother’s ready. He’s in the library finishing his business.’ Finishing his brandy was what Ellen meant, and they both knew it. ‘But your Mama . . .’ She paused.

‘What?’ Rosa asked.

‘Your Mama’s not coming.’

‘What?’

‘You’d best go up and see her. She’s in bed.’

Rosa didn’t wait. She picked up her skirts and took the stairs two at a time.

Mama was in bed with a cold flannel on her forehead and her eyes closed, but she opened them as Rosa came in.

‘Mama? What’s going on?’

‘I’m unwell.’ She looked it – her face in the dim light was blanched and drawn. ‘I cannot travel.’

‘What? But – but . . .’ Rosa was lost for words. She clenched her hands, feeling the kid strain across her knuckles. ‘How can I go to Southing unchaperoned?’

‘You’ll have Alexis. He will have to do.’

‘And my dress,’ Rosa cried. ‘What about my dress, Mama?’

‘I’m sure you can think of something,’ Mama said faintly. Rosa drew a breath, trying to keep calm, trying not to give way to the fury with angry words.

‘How, precisely, Mama? It’s one thing to take out a stain or change the colour of a skirt. It’s quite another to magic myself up a dress out of thin air. I couldn’t do it any more than I could sew one! And even if I could, you know what Sebastian would think if he saw me at his ball in a dress spun from charms and air. Do you want me to advertise the fact that we are too poor to afford a real ball gown? Because—’

‘Rosamund, that is enough.’ Mama sat up, her face suddenly angry. ‘I have had enough of your selfishness. Now – all this arguing is making my headache worse. Go. And make sure Alexis doesn’t miss the train.’

It was dark when the train drew into Southing station.

‘Southing!’ bellowed the stationmaster. ‘Anyone for Southing alight here.’

‘Wake up!’ Rosa shook Alex’s shoulder and they stumbled out of the first-class carriage and on to the station platform. For a moment Rosa could see nothing but steam and smoke, just lights twinkling through the white drifting clouds. Then the train gave a wheesh and a whistle and was off, and the platform began to clear.

‘Mr and Miss Greenwood?’ enquired a voice from behind them and Rosa swung round. A groom in neat livery was standing beside the exit, a porter next to him, with their trunks piled on his trolley.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Come this way, please – miss, sir. My name is Cummings. Mr Sebastian regrets he couldn’t come himself, but asked me to convey his warmest welcome.’

Outside the carriage stood a boy holding the horses’ heads. The groom handed them up, tipped a coin to the boy and the porter, and then clicked to the horses. At last, with a jerk and a clatter of hooves, they were off.

Rosa sank into the velvet-upholstered cushions and looked about her at the polished walnut gleaming in the light from the carriage lamps, the silk drapes, the hot bricks at her feet. Then she looked down at her skirts, so drab against the raspberry-coloured velvet of the seat. Alexis was not too bad, at least not in the low lamplight of the carriage interior. His boots were irreproachable, his coat well cut and not too worn, and his top hat was new. But his clothes had always been the first priority and he had been full grown when Papa died.