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‘I don’t need the doctor, I promise.’ She shrugged. ‘I doubt any of us slept much last night.’

‘Well, Giles is offering some hope.’

‘Giles,’ she said, ‘tell me.’

The solicitor took a deep breath. ‘I’ve always admired this room,’ he remarked, inhaling. ‘Gentlemen’s studies aren’t always this light.’

She gave another soft smile that was only out of politeness for this kind man. ‘Matthew and I have agreed on most things in our marriage – this house, in particular, which does allow so much natural light in, especially the morning sun.’ She was impressed she was capable of this small talk when inside it felt as though every fibre was leaking pain.

He continued and she tried not to shriek. ‘I heard Mr Blakeney’s gone. Is that right?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, he’s getting married and had to dash south. Couldn’t keep his bride waiting any longer.’ How convincingly normal she sounded.

‘Pity. I wanted to thank him properly.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Well, actually, he came up with the plan, to be honest with you.’

She frowned. ‘What plan?’

Norma was back. She had the good grace to lay out the items on her tray with speed. ‘Shall I leave you to serve, madam?’

Alex nodded. When the door closed she immediately stood and poured the steaming coffee. She handed a cup to the solicitor first. ‘Do go on, please, Giles.’

He sipped, swallowed and sighed with pleasure, by which time she’d already handed the second cup to her father. ‘It was Blakeney who suggested we angle for the County Asylum and have your husband judged as a moral imbecile.’

Alex flinched as she finished pouring her own coffee.

‘I know that sounds harsh, Alex,’ her solicitor assured, ‘but it’s actually a cunning and inspired way to handle this.’

‘Why? I mean, I understand that it prevents Matthew going to prison, which would have been intolerably humiliating for all of us, but how does his being incarcerated in the County Lunatic Asylum help us?’

‘Well, firstly, prison may not have ended with a simple jailing.’ Giles cleared his throat. ‘They’ve hanged men for this crime.’

Alex blanched, thinking Matthew had been exaggerating the previous evening. ‘You see, your friend Mr Blakeney had thought it all through, and lightning-fast, I might add – he’d make a good legal counsel,’ Giles remarked with a rueful twitch of a smile. When his companions didn’t share the amusement, he proceeded. ‘What will happen now is that Matthew will be tested by a doctor to ascertain his psychiatric state. He can’t avoid being called morally debase because there is too much historical evidence. His father has paid an inordinate sum of money to the director of the asylum to keep Matthew incarcerated.’

Alex tried to drink her coffee but her throat felt as though it were closing. She put the cup down. ‘Chetwin paid?’

‘Darling, in his defence, even Chetwin knew if Matthew was imprisoned he would suffer far more. He was actually protecting his son. I know you think he hates him but sadly for us, only now learning the truth, this has been a long pathway of disappointment that Matthew has been walking. It isn’t the first, second or even third time he’s defied the law in this regard.’ Charles looked desperately uncomfortable as he tried to talk his way around using the word homosexual.

Alex wanted to say it for them, get it out and bouncing around Matthew’s study, off his leather-bound books and walnut desk that to all purposes spoke of him as a seriously minded, wealthy husband ripe for his moment to begin his life as a family man. How wrong they all were. Nevertheless, her single task now was to find a way to ease his life and she’d be damned if she’d leave him to rot in the local lunatic asylum even though overnight she realised a decision was being made at the back of her mind that she fully intended to divorce him. That was going to be a messy business for both families, but especially her parents. She imagined her mother reading the divorce notice in the newspaper, Lambton close by with the smelling salts and fan, the howl of Minerva echoing through Tilsden. Alex shuddered.

‘All right, but I still cannot see how Mr Blakeney fits in with his cunning plan, Giles?’ She glanced between the two men.

The solicitor deferred to his client. ‘Well, darling, it’s Blakeney’s contention that if you exert your influence with the Rowntree family, you can probably get Matthew moved to the Quaker facility on the fringe of town . . . they won’t deny you, especially as you personally donated all your salary to it.’

‘York Retreat?’ she said slowly and in wonder, as though sunlight had just angled through the dark-skied morning to open up a way clear for them. ‘Oh, my heavens. Of course, of course!’

Giles looked chuffed at her response. ‘No manacles, no straitjackets, no electro-shock therapy, no hot and cold hydrotherapy, no drug-induced purges, no vicious-looking nurses or burly men to hold one down,’ he said, lifting a finger to claim each on his list. ‘While we were all at Bootham, Blakeney had apparently already taken steps and paved the way. I thought he might have told you all of this?’ He frowned at her but her silence prompted him to continue. ‘Moral imbecile or not, I do believe the York Retreat will gladly accept Matthew. Blakeney has negotiated hard, which no doubt included a handsome personal donation to the hospital, for your husband to enjoy remarkable freedom to wander the property and its beautiful gardens, and generally get himself straight, with regular discussions and a peaceful few months as his only therapy. When I say negotiated, it all does depend on you, rather . . .’

Alex’s heart felt as though it were beating at half its normal rhythm. Her thoughts seemed sluggish, as if the entire world had just slowed to a crawl. Giles’s voice sounded distant while alarms in her mind were jangling shrilly like station whistles – whistles that were blown last night to signal Harry’s departure from York to London and on to Sussex to marry Bethany, with only Alex’s despair and accusations riding alongside him, rather than her love and hope for his happiness.

All the time that she’d been building walls of rage around his name, he’d been tearing down walls that would imprison Matthew, finding a clever way to respect his rights, give him freedom, show sympathy for his actions, empathy for his carnal inclinations.

‘Harry did this for us?’ she said, certain that her voice was a drawl.

Father and solicitor smiled. ‘He’s a damned good friend,’ Giles replied.