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It loomed in the distance, lit sufficiently that she could make out a hulking red-brick block of a building in the late Georgian style. The carriage swept into the main drive and at the entrance stood a bearded gentleman and two male porters plus a nurse.

Alex no longer cared about protocol; she leaned forward and took her husband’s hand. ‘Be brave, Matthew.’

‘I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t wish to hurt you.’

She nodded to reassure him that she understood this. It didn’t take away the pain of being so deliberately deceived but it eased it to hear his contrition. ‘I promise to get you out of here.’

He gave her a smile that said he knew she would try to yet there was a look in his eyes that told her it was hopeless.

‘You’ve got to stay strong,’ she urged as the men began to climb out of the carriage.

Sergeant Dickson kept a firm grip on Matthew’s arm. ‘Now, son, I said I was going to and I should have handcuffed you but I didn’t, out of respect for the Frobisher family and your father. Don’t let me down now.’

Matthew allowed himself to be meekly handed over to the two burly porters while a man wearing a tweed three-piece suit and puffing a pipe greeted the party.

‘Good evening, Matthew. You must be Mrs Britten-Jones?’

Alex gave a forced polite nod.

‘Come on in, folks. Feels as though we may get that sleet tonight.’ The words were friendly enough but the tone didn’t match – he sounded brittle, matter-of-fact. Ely turned away and led the unhappy group beneath the portico and into the main entrance.

Alex heard her heels click softly on the tessellated floor where she focused her concentration as her mind rambled through guilt, horror, shame. She could swear a distant ringing had begun in her ears – alarms urging her to flee – but her feet felt leaden against the busy mosaic pattern that reminded her of chocolate and caramel, punctuated by sapphire squares. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Matthew right now or she was sure she might break. How cruel this felt. And she was a part of it – helpless or not, she was one of the people here to commit her husband.

‘Dr Ely?’ She was surprised it was her voice that sounded first in the soaring atrium where they were standing.

He denied her to continue. ‘Mrs Britten-Jones, could I ask you to give me a moment?’ He didn’t wait for her answer and her upbringing didn’t allow her to be rude enough to defy him. ‘Miles, Andrew, please escort Mr Britten-Jones to the ward. Matthew? I shall be with you very shortly. Please don’t be worried.’

‘I’d like to say goodbye to my wife,’ he replied, ignoring the doctor and finally finding his spine. He denied Ely the chance of giving him permission and shook off the two porters. ‘Unhand me. I’m capable of walking without being wrangled like a common prisoner.’

The two men glanced at Ely, who gave a small nod. Alex was aware of both fathers taking a step back and standing with the solicitor.

Matthew opened his arms and she moved into his familiar embrace, except this time it felt more real than she could remember. ‘I’ve always loved you in my own way,’ he whispered between them. ‘You’re my favourite girl, always will be.’ And then in an even more hushed voice he spoke directly to her ear as he hugged her closer still. ‘Forgive me for loving someone more.’

The tears finally came, streaming down her cheeks to land on the shoulder of his coat, which was already damp from the snowfall. ‘I forgive you,’ she mouthed, unsure of how she meant that. Forgiving him what? His duplicity? His manipulations? His broken promises?

Matthew nodded once, then turned.

‘Matthew!’ He looked back. ‘We are not done here – be strong and I will get you out of this place.’

He blew her a kiss that nearly broke her heart before being escorted down the long corridor to where shadows finally claimed him and she could just make out the trio turning a corner. A distant door slammed.

Dr Ely cleared his throat. ‘Gentleman, we need to see to the formalities.’

Alex couldn’t care that she was being snubbed; all that mattered now was getting Matthew out of this heinous place. She looked up as a means to avoid eye contact with the men who shuffled uncomfortably around her.

‘Dr Ely?’ Her words echoed, bouncing off small squares of leadlight glass that made up myriad highly decorative banks of windows on each level of the atrium. The roof narrowed to a large cone of glass, so far above her that she could barely see the apex. Around each level moulded plasterwork added another layer of prettiness to a building that housed so much horror, if the stories she’d heard were true . . . and by the sounds of odd screams leaking from the back corridors, she suspected they were. She imagined that during the day the light coming through that cone and the tiny squares of pale multicoloured glass would be exquisite against the cool green paintwork. How strange that such dainty elegance smiled down into a pit of madness. She didn’t think she could bear to stand here another moment and imagine Matthew being swallowed up into the grim bowels of this asylum.

‘Mrs Britten-Jones?’ He sounded almost bored, like a housemaster welcoming his new charge and dealing with yet another anxious mother of a cosseted child.

She faced the hatefully obsequious Dr Ely. ‘Am I required for the admission?’

‘Matthew’s father and Sergeant Dickson can sign the necessary paperwork.’

‘Good, because I wouldn’t sign him over to you anyway.’

He drew a sighing breath that offended her.

‘Dr Ely, what exactly do you plan to do with Matthew?’