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and once the Constantia was finished more wine was brought in by the serving girl, Sadie, along with a huge platter of roast lamb cutlets, a whole trout in butter and parsley sauce and a dish of curried root vegetables. Richard emptied his glass thrice for each time Rachel emptied hers, and soon his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright, and his voice as he spoke grew blurry. He told her about his business, and how he hoped to grow it; how soon it would be before they were able to move to better accommodation; how their son would join him in the wine and spirits trade, and their daughter would marry a baronet.
    ‘I fear that you may find our rooms somewhat . . . less than you are used to,’ he said at one point. ‘I hope you will not be disappointed.’
    ‘What right have I to be disappointed?’ said Rachel. ‘I who have near nothing, save the clothes I stand up in? Hartford Hall was not my home, and my family home was lost to me years ago. All that you have you have worked for, and got for yourself, and that is far more than I can claim. And you would share it all with me . . . I shall not be disappointed.’
    ‘And yet, in truth, you are accustomed to fine surroundings, fine food and the company of well-mannered people . . .’
    ‘I am accustomed to the company of bad-tempered children,’ she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. ‘That was not the life I wanted. This is.’ She smiled. Love , whispered the echo in her head. Love is what’s needed, and what you should become accustomed to. So love him.
    Richard kissed her hand, all pleased and relieved, and Rachel wondered at a strange feeling of detachment that grew in her as the evening progressed.
    She felt slightly as though she was watching a scene in which she had no part; watching things that were happening to another person altogether. Some important part of her had slipped away, and gone in search of other things. It was the same odd numbness that had begun with the first death in her family and grown through each one that came after, and she had hoped that the way Richard had touched her heart when he proposed had marked the beginning of its end. At length Rachel pushed her glass away from her, and held her hand over it when the girl came to fill it. A few drops of wine splashed from the jug onto her fingers, and she looked up to remonstrate with Sadie only to find that it wasn’t the dark-haired girl who poured it, but a red-head. A pretty girl with elongated, broad-set eyes that looked clever and too knowing. She had a short nose, tilted up at its tip; brown eyes and a wide mouth shaped by a lazy curve. Her hair was a coppery colour, like autumn leaves, and long strands of it hung down from her cap. She had halted in the act of pouring the wine, and stood quite still, staring most peculiarly; her gaze seemed to pass right through Rachel, and settle on some other place or time entirely.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ said Rachel, her own tongue loosened by the wine she’d drunk. The serving girl blinked; shut her mouth with an audible click of her teeth.
    ‘Beg pardon, ma’am,’ she said, in a low voice.
    ‘Your cloth, please, to dry my hand.’ Rachel held out her hand for the dish rag hanging over the girl’s shoulder.
    ‘I’ll take some more.’ Richard pushed his glass towards the girl, and looked up. He too seemed to notice that this was not their normal server, but he said nothing. He only watched the girl guardedly, and for a moment all three were locked in mute immobility.
    ‘Your cloth, if you please,’ Rachel said again.
    ‘Beg pardon,’ the girl repeated. She set down the jug with a thump, turned abruptly and left the room.
    ‘Well! What on earth got into her, I wonder?’ said Rachel, but Richard didn’t answer her. He picked up his glass to drink, found it empty, and put it back down irritably.
    ‘Sadie!’ he bellowed towards the open doorway, and moments later Sadie reappeared to take up the wine jug. Rachel kept an