Dowland's Mill

by Elizabeth Jeffrey

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

The evening Rose Bentley takes a short-cut home across the marsh proves a fateful one. Panicked by the rising tide and struggling on a sprained ankle, it is no wonder she imagines seeing a dead body in a mud-drowned gully. Her rescuer Michael Dowland, the brusque but attractive son of the mill owner, assures her there is nothing there. In the cosy warmth of the kitchen at Dowland's Mill, visions of dead bodies do seem far-fetched, and soon Rose begins to fall in love with both man and house. Once installed in the Mill as Michael's wife, Rose sees a different picture. Despite her gentle manner, Mrs Dowland rules her family with a rod of iron. More worrying to Rose is the change in Michael who is no longer the loving man she married. But Rose is only beginning to discover the truth about the family at Dowland's Mill . . .

Release date: August 7, 2014

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 368

Sample

It was a beautiful evening in early April in the year 1910. The sun was just beginning to dip behind the trees on the far side of the River Rowell, sending a shimmering red gold shaft of light across the water towards a heron, standing still at the edge of the incoming tide. Rose Bentley paused for a minute to savour the warm, salty air before resuming her dawdling pace. It was ridiculous of her mother to forbid her and her sisters to walk home from Granny’s along the sea wall. It was far prettier than going by the dusty road, even though it was a bit further. Anyway, tonight she was in no hurry, with any luck by the time she reached home the milking would all be done.

A fishing boat came chugging up the river, accompanied by the usual complement of screaming gulls and she stood and watched it pass, waving back to the man on deck. Then she wandered on, stopping now and then to examine a flower or watch the solitary heron. She came to a tiny shingle beach and went to the water’s edge to pick up a smooth pebble and skim it over the water. She smiled to herself as the pebble bounced over the water four, five, six times. She hadn’t done that since she was a child and she glanced round to make sure no one had seen her, a grown woman of twenty-two, playing ducks and drakes. Satisfied there was nobody about she selected another stone and did it again.

Then she continued happily on her way, busy with her thoughts. Granny was making over a costume of Aunt Madge’s for her and she had been for a fitting. Granny was very clever with her needle and Aunt Madge always had nice things so Rose was delighted with the costume, especially as it was green, which suited her colouring. She had a pale, creamy complexion with the faintest dusting of freckles on her nose, deep brown eyes and hair that was long and thick and the colour of ripe chestnuts. The costume would look nice with a high-necked cream blouse, she mused. And she would need a hat, too. Perhaps her mother would let her have some of the egg money to buy one or the other. Probably the blouse. She could always trim up her black hat …

She had been so intent on mentally refurbishing her wardrobe that she hadn’t noticed the gathering dusk. Now, quite suddenly she realised that the sun had gone and that the light was fading fast. In the growing darkness the river bank began to take on an eerie emptiness, there was not a soul in sight now, it was nearly ten minutes since she had passed a man going the other way walking his dog. To her right the river stretched, grey and uninviting now that the sun had set and to her left the saltings, criss-crossed by the cracks and fissures worn into them by tide and weather till they resembled a giant ill-fitting jigsaw puzzle, looked suddenly hostile and menacing in the damp mist that was beginning to rise. The cry of a lone curlew only served to emphasise the emptiness and desolation.

Rose began to hurry. Now she understood the wisdom of her mother’s warning and she remembered with a shudder of fear all the ghostly tales of strange lights and shadowy figures on the marshes that she and her sisters loved to frighten each other with as they all sat together in the warm comforting circle of lamplight in the big farm kitchen.

She looked over her shoulder in the forlorn hope that the man walking his dog might be returning, but there was not a soul in sight. The river bank and the marsh were empty as far as the eye could see, except for a few gulls pacing around in the mud and a cormorant sitting on a broken spar. She was completely alone in the falling darkness and there was still nearly a mile to go before she reached the road. She quickened her pace, then, as a gull wheeled close by making her start, she picked up her skirts and began to run.

She ran on and on, holding on to her hat, until at last the stitch in her side forced her to stop. Then, taking stock, she noticed that the path she was on followed the river in a wide curve, and she realised that she would reach the road much more quickly if she were to leave it and cut straight across the marshes. She was desperate now to get back to some kind of civilisation, away from the same river bank that only a short time ago she had seen as such a haven of beauty and solitude. She veered off the path and began to run across the saltings, jumping over the gaps and gullies that were gradually filling as the tide rose, giving a cry of fear when a gull rose white and ghostly from near her feet. She began to run faster, lost her footing and slid into the soft, wet mud of a shallow gully. Her hat fell off as she clambered out but she didn’t stop to retrieve it; her one thought was to get to the road before it became too dark to find it and she had nightmare visions of being trapped on the marsh all night, going round in circles because she couldn’t see which way to go. The curlew gave its eerie cry and the humps and mounds of marsh grass took on ghostly shapes in the rising mist. A sob rose in her throat and she tried to run faster still, but she was hampered by her skirts clinging wetly round her legs, muddied when she fell. It was rapidly getting darker now and she had to tread carefully so that she didn’t fall again; some of the holes were quite deep and she was terrified she might get stuck in the mud. She hurried on as fast as she dared until she came to a long wide gully, more like the bed of a stream. She hesitated for a second, then gathered her skirts and took a desperate flying leap, landing heavily on the uneven ground on the other side to sprawl full length as a searing pain struck her ankle.

She lay where she had fallen for several minutes, sobbing with a mixture of pain and relief. She had hurt her foot, but at least she had cleared the gully! She sat up, shivering and began to rub her ankle, trying to regain her self control. It was stupid to panic like that, she told herself sternly, there was nobody else on the marsh so there was nothing to fear. All she had to do was to keep the river behind her and she would eventually reach the road. Pulling herself together she got up and tried to walk, but it was no use, the injured foot wouldn’t bear her weight.

‘Help!’ she called, her voice rising in desperation, but the only sound that came back was the chugging of a boat on the river, muffled by the mist and too far away to hear her. She stood shivering with cold and fright in the damp evening air, balancing on one leg and trying to think clearly, to decide what she should do.

The nearest house was Dowlands’ Mill at the head of Stavely Creek. It couldn’t be very far away, in fact as she peered through the mist and gloom she was sure she could see the dim outline of the white weatherboarded mill in the distance. She knew that the Dowland family were known to be strange people who kept themselves to themselves and only communicated with the outside world as it was necessary for their business, but surely they would help her if only she could get to them. Slowly, painfully, she began to make her way towards the pale outline, hopping on one foot until she couldn’t hop any further and then getting down on all fours and crawling. Twice she tried the injured foot on the ground but the pain was so bad that the second time she nearly fainted, so thought it best not to try again.

Her progress was agonisingly slow, especially as now she could no longer jump the rills and gullies but had to make a detour until they were narrow enough to manage. The tide was rising fast now, snaking through the gullies over the mud and flotsam left from previous tides, turning bits of wood or old cans into grotesque shapes in the dim light. Rose remembered that sometimes, at very high tides, the whole of the marsh flooded and she prayed that tonight’s tide wouldn’t be such a one. She didn’t want to drown. Oh, please God, she prayed, don’t let me drown. She came to a particularly deep gully and was about to turn away to find a way round it when she saw a strange muddy shape in the water. It looked just like a man lying there, she could even see the shape of an outstretched hand. It was a body! A dead body, half covered in mud!

She screamed and began to crawl away as fast as she could, whimpering with terror and not knowing which way she was going except that it was away from that awful thing she had seen. Somehow, she never knew how, she reached the safety of the sea wall bordering Stavely Creek and began to crawl along it in the direction of Dowlands’ Mill. If only she could get there this nightmare would be over. She vowed that she would never, ever again set foot on this accursed sea wall.

‘Bloody hell! What the devil’s going on here?’ Suddenly, a man’s voice cut into the silence. ‘Good God, it’s a woman!’

Rose cringed away, petrified with fright. She had been so intent on getting to safety that she hadn’t noticed him approaching.

‘Oh, it’s all right. You needn’t be afraid. I shan’t hurt you,’ he said impatiently, ‘But what in tarnation’s name are you doing, crawling along on your hands and knees at this time of night? You lost something? It’s a sure thing you won’t find it here in the dark.’

‘No. I haven’t lost anything …’ She sank into a heap and began to cry, managing to say between huge sobs, ‘But I’ve seen … Out there, in the mud … a body … a dead body …’

‘A dead body! Of course you haven’t seen a dead body. Oh, my God, whatever next!’ His voice was rough with irritation.

‘I tell you I did. I saw it lying there. In the ditch.’

‘Don’t be so bloody daft, you silly little bitch. I never heard such a load of clap-trap in all my life.’

‘But I did, I tell you. It was in a gully, lying there with its hand stretched out.’ She shuddered. ‘It was horrible.’

‘Listen. The river washes all manner of muck up into those gullies,’ he said more kindly. ‘When you’re scared your imagination can play tricks on you. And I can see you’re frightened half to death.’ He got down on his hunkers and Rose recognised that the man was Michael Dowland, one of the three brothers who ran the mill. ‘But what were you doing out here in the first place? That’s what I’d like to know.’

She took a deep breath and said unsteadily, ‘I was on my way home to Stavely village. I live at Crick’s Farm. I’d been to see my granny out at Bramfield and I thought I’d go home along by the river because it was such a lovely evening. But then it began to get dark so I cut across the marshes and I fell and hurt my ankle so I couldn’t walk and had to crawl on my hands and knees. And I got more and more frightened when the mist came down and then I saw … it, back there in one of the gullies.’ She shuddered again at the memory.

He gave a gasp of exasperation. ‘You mean you imagined you did.’

‘No, I did. I really did. It was horrible.’

He stood up and helped her to her feet. ‘I think you’d better come home with me. Might get some sense into you there.’ He stared at her. ‘Good God, you’re in a mess. Look at you, you’re covered in mud.’

‘I know. I fell in one of the gullies. I was so frightened …’ She tried to stand alone and nearly fell.

He caught her and said more gently, ‘Well, you’re all right now. You don’t need to worry any more, I’ll look after you. Hold tight, I’m going to pick you up and carry you. And don’t go screaming or making a fuss else I shall leave you here to fend for yourself.’ As he spoke he swung her up in strong arms and strode sure-footedly back along the sea wall in the direction of Dowlands’ Mill.

With her ordeal on the marsh behind her and the comfort of Michael Dowland’s arms round her, Rose had an almost uncontrollable urge to giggle at the thought of being carried through the gloom in the arms of this tall, dark man whom she hardly knew and when she stole a glance up at his shadowy profile and saw the stern, set jaw she began to shake with hysterical laughter that was in fact very near to tears.

‘There’s no need to be frightened. I told you, you’re quite safe now,’ he said soothingly, misinterpreting the cause of her trembling, and she felt his arms tighten comfortingly round her.

She rested her head on his shoulder, calmer now. ‘I don’t know what I’d hev done if you hadn’t come along,’ she said in a small voice. ‘It looked that real … I was quite sure …’

‘Well, don’t think about it any more,’ he said, talking to her as if she were a child. ‘It’s all over now. Look, we’re nearly there.’

The moon was up by the time they reached the mill and she could see the big water wheel outlined blackly against the end of the white weatherboarded building and the faint gleam of water on the mill pool to the left of it. But Michael Dowland strode on, over the bridge that spanned the mill stream and across the mill yard, never slackening his pace, to the dark, square bulk of the mill house. Ignoring the front door set between large bay windows he went round to the back of the house, where a shaft of light shone from the window across a cobbled yard and kicked open the door.

Rose blinked, immediately conscious of light and warmth as he carried her across the big kitchen and laid her carefully on the cushioned settle that stood adjacent to the big range.

A small, dainty-looking woman with an old-fashioned lace cap perched on her grey hair was sitting at the long refectory table which took up most of the space in the middle of the room. She put down the intricate embroidery she was doing by the light of the oil lamp and looked up over her pince nez.

‘Good gracious, Michael, who have you got there?’ she asked, pinching them off as she got up from her chair. ‘And why are you both covered in mud? Just look at my cushions!’

‘She’s one of the girls from Crick’s Farm, but I dunno what her name is, I never thought to ask,’ he said over his shoulder as he straightened up. ‘I was too surprised at finding her crawling across the wall on her hands and knees. Look, she’s hurt her foot.’ He smiled down at Rose. ‘You’ll be all right now, Miss. My mother will look after you. I’ll see you later.’ He turned back to the door. ‘I must go and see to …’

‘Not until you’ve cleaned yourself up a bit and had your meal,’ the little woman, clearly his mother, said sharply. ‘It’ll spoil if you don’t eat it because Lissa’s kept it hot over a saucepan for you.’

‘I really haven’t got time now. I’ll eat when I get back.’ He was clearly impatient to be gone.

‘Then you must make time. It’s all ready.’ She turned to a girl sitting at the other end of the table where the light of the lamp didn’t quite reach. Rose could see that she was a thin, pale girl, rather plain, with fair hair that was scragged back and tied with a rag. ‘Lissa, dear, get Michael’s dinner for him.’

The girl immediately put down the sock she was darning and fetched a knife and fork from a drawer in the dresser behind her then scurried to the stove for the plate of meat and vegetables keeping hot there. Then she sat down and resumed her darning.

With an exasperated sigh Michael went over to the sink and washed his hands. ‘You’ve forgotten the salt and pepper,’ he said as he dried them and sat down. ‘And I’ll have a drop o’ beer, too, while you’re about it.’

Lissa put down her darning again and hurried to get him what he had asked for.

The older woman had watched all this without speaking. When she was satisfied that Lissa had supplied her son with everything he needed she turned to Rose. ‘Now, my dear,’ she said with a smile, ‘let’s have a look at this ankle of yours.’ She came over to the settle. ‘My goodness, you are in a mess,’ she said with a frown. ‘Lissa, dear, get some hot water and wash some of this mud away,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Quickly, now.’ Then in a softer voice, ‘Whatever have you been doing, my dear?’

Rose told her story whilst Lissa cleaned her up as best she could and bathed her foot, which was now badly swollen.

‘I see. So you’re Rose Bentley from Crick’s Farm,’ Mrs Dowland said when she had finished, nodding her head. ‘Ah, yes, we have dealings with your father from time to time.’ Her expression conveyed that those dealings were not always satisfactory as far as she was concerned. She leaned forward and prodded the foot, which made Rose wince. ‘I don’t much like the look of this. I think we should call Dr Holmes.’

‘Oh, no. I don’t want that! I think I oughta go home. Me mum’ll be worried. I oughta been home hours ago,’ Rose said anxiously, very conscious of her Suffolk drawl, very much at odds with Mrs Dowland’s clear, precise way of speaking.

Mrs Dowland took no notice. She turned to her son. ‘Have you finished your meal, Michael? Then perhaps you’ll be good enough to get on your bicycle and go and fetch Dr Holmes. And you’d better call in at Crick’s Farm on the way and tell the girl’s parents that she’s safe.’ She turned back and gave Rose’s ankle another painful prod. ‘Tell them she’ll be staying here overnight.’

‘Why can’t Lissa go? I’ve got to shut the chickens up and finish off over at the mill. We’re short-handed with George and Dan both away.’ Michael pushed his empty plate away as he spoke.

‘You know very well Lissa can’t go,’ Mrs Dowland said with a trace of impatience. ‘It shouldn’t take you long. You can be there and back while you’re arguing about it.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Michael shrugged his coat on again and went off, slamming the door behind him. Mrs Dowland replaced her pince nez and picked up her embroidery again, whilst Lissa made Rose a cup of tea and then went to make up the spare bed and put a hot brick in it.

Rose drank the tea and leaned drowsily against the cushions of the settle. She was very comfortable except for the throbbing of her ankle, and even that was more bearable now that her shoe was off and it was resting on a pillow. Looking round she noticed that the big kitchen was well furnished. The long refectory table on which the lamp stood was scrubbed white and a tall oak dresser reached along the whole length of one wall. There was not a thing out of place in the kitchen. The dresser held a whole dinner service in white, with an ivy-leaf decoration round the rim, and shining copper jelly moulds on the top shelf reflected the light from the lamp, as did the copper saucepans hanging graded for size on the wall by the stove. Everything shone, even the black-leaded range and the stone flagged floor was well scrubbed. Conscious of her own muddy appearance, Rose couldn’t help contrasting this kitchen with the one at home at Crick’s Farm, which was just as big as this but always cluttered and untidy, the floor filthy from the muddy yard and the table usually strewn with crockery that nobody had had time to wash up after the last meal – or the one before it.

‘You have brothers and sisters?’ Mrs Dowland’s voice roused Rose from her reverie.

‘Three sisters. One older than me and two younger.’ Rose yawned, the warmth of the kitchen making her sleepy. ‘I’m sorry. It’s the warmth …’

‘And I daresay you’re hungry, too.’ She turned to the girl at the table. ‘Lissa, dear, cut some bread and butter for our guest.’

Lissa put down her darning once again and scuttled to the bread crock where she took out the remains of a loaf. The bread and butter she gave to Rose was wafer thin and spread with real butter, not the margarine she was used to at home. And it was neatly and carefully laid out on the plate; obviously Mrs Dowland had taught her little servant well. Rose ate with relish, she hadn’t realised that she was so hungry. Indeed, she could have eaten twice as much, but didn’t like to say so.

After she had eaten she dozed off to sleep. She dreamed she was back on the marsh again and that the body in the gully sat up as she got to it. She woke with a scream.

Mrs Dowland was at her side immediately, soothing her and asking her what was wrong.

‘It was that body. That body I saw on the marsh.’ She was shaking uncontrollably.

‘Body? What body? Whatever are you talking about, child?’ Mrs Dowland asked, puzzled.

Rose told her, finishing, ‘That man … your son … he said it was my imagination. He said all sorts of funny things get washed up into them gullies. But I was certain sure … I saw its hand,’ she whispered.

Mrs Dowland looked at her suspiciously. ‘But I thought you said it was dark,’ she said.

‘It was dark. Leastways it was nearly dark.’ Rose put her head in her hands. ‘Oh, I dunno whether it was dark or not. But I know I saw something horrible and it looked like … what I said,’ she shuddered.

Mrs Dowland patted her shoulder. ‘Well, try not to think about it any more now. I’m quite sure you must have been mistaken, but it might be as well to investigate the matter. When Michael gets back we’ll send him out with a lantern.’ She glanced up at the clock. ‘He seems to have been gone a very long time. I don’t know what should have taken him so long. Ah, this must be him now.’

There was a clatter of horse’s hooves on the cobbles and then the door was flung open and Dr Holmes strode in, followed by Michael, who looked dishevelled and distinctly put out.

‘You were gone a very long time, Michael,’ his mother said, while the doctor was examining Rose’s ankle.

‘So would you have been if you’d had to walk best part of the way,’ he snapped. ‘I got a b… a puncture before I was at the end of the lane. And Crick’s Farm is right at the other end of the village. I’d still be walking if the doctor hadn’t given me a lift in his trap.’

‘But you told my mum I was all right, didn’t you?’ Rose said anxiously. ‘And you never told her where you found me?’

‘Yes, I did. I told her the truth, that you’d fallen on the marsh and hurt your foot and that you’d be staying here the night.’

‘Oh, dear, she won’t half be cross. I wasn’t supposed to come that way.’

‘Well, I could hardly lie to her now, could I?’ Michael shrugged his shoulders and picked up his cap. ‘Anyway, your father is bringing a cart to fetch you tomorrow.’

‘That’s good.’ Mrs Dowland nodded approvingly. Then she frowned at her son. ‘But where are you going now, Michael?’

‘I told you before, Mother, I’ve got things to do. With George and Dan both being away we can’t expect poor old Jacob to do it all.’

‘Well, before you go anywhere else I really think you should take a look on the marsh. If this young lady did see a corpse …’

Dr Holmes straightened up, suddenly losing interest in Rose’s foot. ‘A corpse? Where?’

‘Of course she didn’t see a corpse,’ Michael said impatiently. ‘It was her imagination. You know what it’s like out there when the light fades. You can imagine all manner of things.’

‘All the same, I agree with your mother, Dowland. I think we should take a look,’ the doctor said, rubbing his hands together with what in other circumstances might have looked like glee. ‘You never know, it could be a body washed up from the wreck of that coal barge. You know, the one that sank in the estuary. One of those bodies never was found.’

‘Oh, I hardly think so,’ Mrs Dowland said doubtfully. ‘That storm was a couple of months ago.’

‘Ah, but these things take time to get washed ashore, what with wind and tide,’ the doctor said sagely.

‘It’d need more than wind and tide to wash a body into Stavely Creek from that wreck,’ Michael said. ‘The way the tides run round here it’d more likely fetch up round Shotley Point.’ He nodded. ‘All the same, I expect you’re right. We’d better take a look, if only to set the young lady’s mind at rest. I’ll have a word with Jacob and then I’ll fetch a lantern.’

The doctor shrugged back into his overcoat. ‘The ankle will be all right,’ he said as he buttoned it across his ample stomach. ‘It’s just a bad sprain. Rest it for a few days and it’ll be as good as new.’ There were obviously more pressing matters on his mind now.

The two men were gone a very long time. They came back filthy and dishevelled and the doctor was not in the best of humours. ‘That bloody marsh is a place not fit to turn a dog out on,’ he said, then remembering Mrs Dowland, nodded in her direction, ‘Begging your pardon, Ma’am.’

She inclined her head. ‘No offence taken Doctor. But did you find anything?’

‘Look at me, mud up to my knees where I fell in,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Where’s the brandy you promised me, Dowland? I think I deserve something to warm these old bones before I get on my way home.’

Michael produced a small cask of brandy and two tumblers. ‘No, of course we didn’t find anything,’ he said in answer to his mother’s question. ‘Never thought we would. And we combed that marsh, didn’t we, Sir?’

‘We certainly did.’ The doctor took the brandy and drank it with relish. ‘The only thing we found that could possibly have been mistaken for a body was a bundle of old rags that had been caught up in a branch in one of the gullies. I guess to anybody with an over-active imagination it might have looked a bit like a body.’

Rose let out a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, thank goodness for that. I must admit I never stopped to look too hard at it. I was too scared. All I wanted was to get away.’

The doctor held his glass out for more brandy. ‘Yes, it can be a bit eerie out there when the light begins to fade. But no doubt that’s what it was that frightened you, my dear.’ He downed the second glass. ‘That was a drop of good stuff, Dowland. A keg of that would grace my cellar.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Is there more where that came from?’

Michael raised his eyebrows and nodded. ‘Could be, Doctor. Could be.’

‘Good.’ He turned to Mrs Dowland. ‘I must be on my way. What the young lady needs is a couple of aspirin to calm her down and help her sleep. She’ll feel better in the morning.’

After the doctor had gone Michael turned to Rose. ‘Well, there you are,’ he said, and she wasn’t quite sure whether or not he was laughing at her, ‘are you satisfied now?’

‘Yes,’ she said sheepishly. ‘you must think I was daft to make sech a fuss. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s understandable,’ Mrs Dowland said gently. ‘You had a very bad fright, my dear. But as the doctor said, you’ll feel better after a good night’s rest, I’m sure. Now let me see. You’ll need some sort of a crutch or you’ll never manage to get up the stairs. Ah, the broom.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Fetch the broom, Lissa, dear.’

‘That’s all right. She doesn’t need the broom. I’ll carry her.’ Michael came across and swung her up into his arms as if she were no weight at all. ‘I reckon if I managed to carry you home from the marsh I can manage a few stairs, don’t you?’ he said, smiling down at her. As she smiled back at him she noticed how dark, almost velvet black, his eyes were and her heart gave a little skip.

Lissa came and helped Rose to undress and put on the snowy white cotton night-gown that she had already laid out for her. Then she left Rose in the warm, comfortable feather bed to savour her surroundings by the light of the candle on the table beside the bed.

For Rose, it was the height of luxury to have a bed all to herself, let alone a bedroom. And a feather bed, at that. At home she shared a lumpy flock mattress with her sister Grace, who was two years older, whilst Millie and Babs, their two younger sisters shared a bed at the other end of the room. She turned her head on the soft, down pillow and gazed around. The bedroom suite was heavy and dark, with a huge mirrored wardrobe and a matching dressing table on which stood little rose-patterned china jars and dishes that matched the basin and ewer on the wash stand. Everything gleamed and there was even a carpet on the floor. Rose had never known such luxury.

She leaned over and blew out the candle, noticing that the china candlestick was also rose-patterned, and snuggled down into the soft warmth. Thinking about it now, in the safety and warmth of a comfortable bed, she realised how stupid she’d been to panic and imagine she’d seen a body out there on the marsh tonight. She felt a pang of guilt at the thought of Dr Holmes and Michael Dowland combing the marsh in the dark, knowing they wouldn’t find anything. Tomorrow she must be sure and apologise to Michael. He had been very nice to her, considering the trouble she had caused him. She felt a sudden warm glow as she remembered the way he had looked at her and the feel of his arms round her as he had carried her up to bed. He must be very strong, she thought admiringly, being able to carry her like that without even getting out of breath. And he was very handsome with those deep set dark eyes and firm jaw. A masterful man, she decided. She sighed. It was a pity she had to go home tomorrow.

She slept soundly and didn’t wake until Lissa tapped on her door, bringing her a cup of tea and a jug of water for her toilet. She also had Rose’s skirt over her arm.

‘I cleaned it as best as I could, Miss,’ she said. ‘And dried it off in front of the kitchen fire. I took the liberty of washing your stockings, too, and cleaning your shoes. They’re still downstairs, stuffed with newspaper so they don’t lose their shape.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ Rose said, surprised. ‘But you shouldn’t hev bothered. I’m not used t