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decided he was waiting politely for me to dust off the last crumbs. In an effort to speed up the process, I asked, ‘How is your little girl?’
    He seemed taken aback by the question and, for a moment, quite confused. Surely he had not forgotten that she was my reason for being here. Recovering, he sighed. With a sad shake of his head, he said, ‘She has disturbed nights but Collins reported that she slept well last night. Collins is her nurse and very reliable,’ he added, tugging at the bell pull, at which the immediate appearance of a tall, thin woman of about forty, with tight pulled-back hair and a forbidding expression, suggested she had been either stationed outside the door or had slid down the banisters from the bedrooms upstairs.
    ‘Ah, Collins, this is Mrs McQuinn.’
    We shook hands and I learnt a lot from that first encounter. My powers of observation and deduction, inherited from Pappa, interpreted a brooding, naked glance in Hubert’s direction, suggesting that my presence troubled her. They were not good actors and the atmosphere between them, despite the public show of formality, hinted that Collins was much more than a nurse and ‘very reliable’ in more intimate matters.
    I was intrigued by the absence of a first name. What did hecall her when they were alone with the bedroom door shut? Surely not Collins, the surname a formal address for upper-class servants.
    Her anxious reception of me, which I suspected would be the fate of any young woman who crossed the threshold, hinted that whatever commitment she hoped for was not yet forthcoming.
    What was the impediment?
    Hubert was a widower. But as her shrewd appraisal summed me up as a possible rival, I could have put her mind at rest. Later, however, that would not be so easy as matters developed between her master and myself.
    As I watched, she regained her role as nurse and was assuring Hubert in the polite tones of a paid employee that Miss Kate was awake, had breakfasted, and was ready to see Roswal.
    She looked towards me dismissively, but that was not to be. Hubert smiled and said, ‘Mrs McQuinn must come along. Kate will wish to know all about Roswal’s amazing adventures all this time away from us in Edinburgh. Is that not so, Collins?’
    I got the impression that Collins was completely indifferent to such fascinating information and as Thane stood up she backed away from him hastily.
    She was afraid of dogs, but Thane knew his place, always remembered his manners. Polite to strangers who he guessed might be intimidated by his size, he never bounded forward to leap and greet but waited patiently, allowing them to make the first move.
    There was none but as we climbed the stairs he remained at my side, with the other two in the lead, and I was in for yet another surprise.
    Having expected to see a frail, childlike creature, I was astonished to find that the girl sitting by the bay window was a beautiful, exquisite young woman with long, pale gold hair and enormous, deep blue eyes. Seventeen years old, she could have passed for twenty-five. Although fragile as Venetian glass, she certainly did not have the look of near-death from a long and terminal illness.
    Anxiously I awaited Thane’s reaction. He remained at my side, but when the girl put out her hand and said, ‘Roswal’, he glanced at me apologetically, a look of understanding passed between us and, tail wagging gently, he went over to her and sat at her side.
    Again I was relieved, for there was no rapturous reunion here, nothing more than his usual acceptance of any stranger visiting me in Solomon’s Tower.
    Kate looked up from rather timorously patting his head and Hubert, hovering close by, said heartily, ‘You remember Roswal, my dear?’
    An odd question, since he had been brought to Staines on the grounds that she yearned for the deerhound as her dying wish.
    Without looking up, she whispered, ‘He is lovely. I remember that, but he is – so big.’ Sighing, she frowned.