She’d tossed and turned only to fall into horrid dreams in which she ran along the landing of Dovecote’s house, throwing open doors in search of her sister. Behind each she found Fortuna lewdly posed, or else entwined in the arms of a faceless man. Yet she would gladly have endured a thousand nightmares in exchange for one single reassurance that her sister was safe. It was just shy of four o’ clock when the sounded of urgent banging jogged her nodding head upright. Alicia squinted at the small mantle clock in her room. It was still too early for even the servants to be abroad, and they were always unerringly quiet, whereas the current noise seemed to make the very floor vibrate. Swathed in a billowing nightgown and Fortuna’s best shawl, with which she’d been sleeping, she scurried down the stairs. Her father’s valet stood yawning in the hall as he brushed the snow from a recently shrugged off coat. “Pearce?” she asked. He nodded towards the study, where a faint glow of light spilled from beneath the door.
