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‘Touché, darling,’ he congratulated with a sad grin. ‘But perhaps even you now know that when love arrives it weakens rather than strengthens one. It chooses you. When it’s real and heartfelt, you become its slave.’

She didn’t enjoy hearing the truth of his words and tried to shift the focus so the pain wasn’t echoing in her broken heart. ‘So are you a slave for James Feeney?’

He fixed her with a firm gaze. ‘I love him. What else is there to say? And now I shall go to prison because of how we feel about one another.’

Prison. It seemed unthinkable. ‘What about Feeney?’

‘They won’t find him. He’ll already be miles away from here. That at least does give me a sense of pleasure that he shall be free.’

The door was opened without any courteous knock and Alex began to feel the sense of authority over their home being stripped away by concerned parents. She hadn’t even heard her mother arrive but she glimpsed Minerva, pale-faced and looking traumatised, a second before Chetwin Britten-Jones filled the doorway; behind him stood an anxious Charles Frobisher.

‘Matthew, it’s time,’ he said.

‘Now, wait a minute!’ Alex demanded.

‘No, darling Alexandra, this is not within your control. I must now take charge of a situation I’ve allowed to run rampant for years. I was too weak, too blinded by family bonds to cut this cancer away, but I’m going to do that now for the good of all of us. I have written the petition and signed it before a magistrate outlining the circumstances of Matthew’s history of depravity . . . this sickness he lives with.’

‘Cancer . . . Sickness? Chetwin, listen to you – this is your son!’

‘No longer a son of mine until he’s cured.’

A stranger arrived, formidable in his height and long dark coat, his nose red from the cold.

‘Evening, sir, ladies. Forgive the intrusion. I’m Sergeant Dickson.’

Alex gave a low gasp.

‘I came in plain clothes for discretion,’ he explained. ‘Er, Mr Britten-Jones?’

Both men answered. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Matthew Britten-Jones and this is my house, Sergeant,’ he said, glaring at his father.

‘I realise that, sir. My daughter-in-law . . . well, she works up at Rowntree’s as a clerk and has seen you there.’ He cleared his throat, embarrassed. ‘Um, that’s why I thought it best that I come here rather than one of my constables. Can we rely on the staff of the house?’

‘Only Norma’s on tonight and she’ll take anything to the grave with her, Sergeant,’ Alex answered, cold and abrupt, but making a mental note to have a word with the housekeeper.

‘Thank you, Dickson,’ Chetwin answered. ‘I’m hoping we can keep this as quiet as possible.’

‘Of course, sir. Erm, the other gentleman is no longer at the lodgings we were sent to.’

Alex shot Matthew a glance of sympathy and he caught it with a look that only she could interpret as triumph. Meanwhile, Minerva had sidled up to take her daughter’s arm, for once with nothing to say. Alex squeezed her mother’s hand to show that she appreciated the support but words felt trapped in her throat as this situation spiralled beyond her control.

Charles spoke to the policeman. ‘Sergeant . . . er, John, this must be handled with care and subtlety. It can’t turn into a circus.’

John Dickson, who had known the Frobishers all of his professional life, looked towards Matthew with only appeal in his expression. He removed his coat and as promised he was plain-clothed, seemingly already prepared for a clandestine removal of Matthew to wherever he was destined. ‘Mr Britten-Jones, a magistrate has granted a Reception Order by Petition for the County Lunatic Asylum where you will be admitted for special consideration. I am here to escort you. I’m afraid I am required to handcuff you, sir – it’s er . . . well, it’s the rules.’ He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘We can travel in your carriage and it will look as though we’re simply companions, if that is all right with you, sir.’

Matthew nodded helplessly, suddenly mute. He hung his head.

‘You surely can’t be serious about taking my husband to Bootham?’ Alex found her voice.

Before the sergeant could answer, Charles put his arm around both his women. ‘Alexandra, darling, it’s my idea that we admit Matthew to Bootham Hospital.’

‘But Dad, the lunatic asylum?’ She swung around with contempt to berate her father but found only sympathy in his beloved face.

‘Darling, it’s for the best. And I’ve asked Giles Farthing to meet us there; we need a solicitor.’

‘Alex?’ It was Matthew.