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remembered. Out of that revolting syphon of Cousin Samuel’s. And hadn’t he helped her when she had to…surely she would not have imagined those sort of things! Not being able to pay the doctor’s bill would be a small embarrassment compared to this.
    ‘Hullo, Agnes.’ She smiled as Mrs Barlow looked up. ‘Have you been there long?’
    Caught off-guard, Mrs Barlow replied, ‘An hour or so, dearie. How do you feel? Doctor said as how you’d pull up quick once you turned the corner.’
    Meg thought that she still felt fairly gruesome, weak and achey. But at least her wits were her own again. And her head didn’t feel as though a blacksmith had set up business in it. Nor was her throat still sore. That was something. No doubt she could get up later and do her packing. It would not do to keep Mrs Garsby waiting too long for her nursery governess or she might decide to offer someone else the position.
    Then her gaze lit on that beastly syphon, lying beside the bottom half of the veilleuse on the nightstand. Her eyes widened. Oh, dear! Maybe she hadn’t been dreaming after all! But who…?
    Nervously she cleared her throat and asked, ‘Agnes, who looked after me while I was sick? Was it you?’
    Agnes Barlow shook her head reluctantly and Meg realised from her demeanour that something odd wasgoing on. A deep and mortified blush swept over the pale face and throat.
    ‘Agnes! Who was it?’ Meg’s voice came out as a startled squeak.
    ‘His lordship,’ said Agnes. ‘I’m that sorry, Miss Meg, but I was sick too. Not like you was, but I wouldn’t have been much good to you. Barlow looked after me and I’ll tell you one thing.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It may not have been what you call proper, but Barlow told me his lordship was that careful with you. And he insisted on paying for the doctor to come out. Cross as anything he was that we hadn’t told him sooner.’
    ‘His lordship?’ echoed Meg. ‘I don’t know any lordships!’ Let alone one she called Marc and who claimed to be a friend.
    Agnes elaborated. ‘Lord Rutherford, dearie. Turned up t’other night. Right put about he was when Barlow told him about you…’
    Meg stared in horror. She had fully intended to be out of the house before Cousin Samuel’s horrid heir arrived! And she would have been if the Barlows hadn’t practically forced her into bed and told her to stay there. She had heard all about the Earl of Rutherford and he hadn’t sounded at all the sort of person she wanted to know…or, for that matter, the sort of person to nurse a stranger through an attack of influenza. Especially a girl with her history.
    All she could find to say was, ‘Did someone send over to Mrs Garsby? She…she was expecting me.’
    Agnes pursed her lips in evident disapproval. She had voiced her opinion of Miss Meg’s proposed employment at Burvale House often enough for Meg to have it by heart. Despite all the gossip and nastiness of some people who called themselves ladies, Miss Meg was ayoung lady and ought not to be cast out on the world like an unwanted kitten, and so on, and so on.
    She opened her mouth, clearly intending to say it all again, but Meg said, ‘Oh, Agnes, please don’t! I have to live after all. What else can I do? I can’t remain here any longer. Was a message sent?’ There was real fear in her voice.
    Agnes nodded with obvious disapproval. ‘Aye. Barlow sent a message, sayin’ you was took sick.’
    Relief flooded through Meg. It would never do to lose her situation before she had even started. She was determined never to ask for charity or assistance again in her life. She would starve rather than ever be someone’s poor relation again. She reflected that, after Cousin Samuel’s pointed lessons in economy, she would be able to save a great deal for her old age out of the twenty pounds per annum that her prospective employer had offered.
    To Meg, who had never had any money of her own, it seemed a fortune, but she was wise