Mr Bishop and the Actress Page 21

  He answers with a smile that probably almost matches the one on my face, nods, and wrenches his hook out with a great splintering sound. ‘Come on out, then, lads. We’re discovered.’

  Harry

  It’s time.

  I have admired the new conservatory, made my farewells to the staff, and given instructions to the new steward. I advise him that any seamen seeking employment must be hired immediately even if they are bereft of skills or limbs, shake his hand, and wish him luck.

  I accept Shad’s invitation to dine with the family later that evening and return to the steward’s house. My replacement will probably not occupy the house for a few days, for I have some unfinished business before my departure for London.

  Molly, our milkmaid, passes me, a large bowl of cream balanced on her hip. She pauses to curtsy, her deference spoiled by a saucy wink.

  She knows.

  Outside the dairy the cats have gathered to lick up a patch of mingled butter and cream that bears footmarks and the imprint of a wooden leg.

  And so to the house, where the tick of the clock sounds louder than usual, the rays of the late afternoon sun slanting in through the mullioned windows.

  The bedchamber door is closed.

  I open it to find the room occupied entirely by one monstrous piece of furniture I know well. The bed is huge and ancient, its posts dark with age and carved with leaves and flowers, the hangings a dark red silk. A bed made for passion.

  The occupant of the bed, who mirrors in her state of undress the cavorting deities of the tester, smiles and holds out her hand to me.

  ‘Sir,’ Sophie says. ‘I must speak to you about my bed.’

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1 - 1814, Norfolk

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19