She could hardly remember the journey home in the hansom because, the moment the carriage jolted forward, a hundred jumbled thoughts had sprung to mind. By the time they’d reached the front door she had a blinding headache and, after murmuring apologies to her mother, she had dashed upstairs. Since then, she’d lain on her bed with her head swimming and a red zigzag line dancing at the edge of her vision. She must have slept, for when she opened her eyes the pain had gone, though her troubled thoughts remained. Well, two troubled thoughts, really. Where had Patrick been for seven years and why hadn’t he come back to her? During the drive home her euphoria at finding him alive had given way to bewilderment. Of course, she told herself, there had to be some perfectly reasonable explanation. It could be any number of things. After all, sailors were often stranded on the other side of the world for months before securing a berth home . . . but seven years! She was truly thankful that he was alive, and quite willing to accept that circumstance had kept him from returning to her, but she felt that the least she was entitled to expect would be a proper explanation of where he had been for all this time. There was a faint knock on the door and, before she could answer, it creaked open to allow Ellen in. ‘Are you any better, my love?’ she asked. ‘A little,’ Josie replied.
