She’d retired an hour before, after seeing Sir Paul and Amelia to the front door and promising Amelia that she’d call on her soon. How she would do that she had no notion. She needed to rid the house of the inconveniences that plagued it before she could think of setting foot outside her boundaries. She spent her time making a list of things her patient might need. Anyone finding it might think it was an ordinary household list, and the aide-memoire helped her to steady her thoughts. Her covert guest must be starving by now. She hadn’t thought of providing food or asking the Georges to do so, but Tony was a strapping man, and he’d need sustenance to aid his recovery. Once she’d washed, braided her hair, and donned her night rail and robe, she took her candlestick and crept downstairs. The house was quiet now, the fires banked down, doors and windows firmly closed. Most nights she liked to check the fires were safe and the windows properly bolted.
