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It was a good six hours later that a lone rider arrived at The Bell and Basket on the Cauldwell Road. After handing his steed to the stable-hands to rub down and feed, he strode through the snow toward the inn and hammered on the bolted door. The burly landlord took an involuntary step back when he saw the expression on the man’s face. “We’ve no private chambers free, my lord,” he said noting the stranger’s clothing which was expensive for all he was clad in conservative black. Oswald looked at him, and he fell back, hastily opening the door to admit him. Almost as soon as he was through the door, he spied his errant servant sat before the fire with the remains of a bowl of stew before him, supping a cup of ale. He was across the room before Meldon had even had chance to place his drink back on the table-top.

“Took yer time,” wheezed Meldon. “Thought I’d have to skulk down here all night waiting for you.”

Oswald eyed him grimly. “What the devil do you mean by encouraging your mistress on this mad scheme?” he demanded. “And leaving me a damned impudent message to meet you here?” The Landlord faded away, rubbing his hands on his apron. “And where the hells is she?”

“I’ll take ye up presently,” said Meldon. “She’s got that big black dog of hers, and her own private chamber. She’s settled in for the night.”

“Well, she can get unsettled,” snapped Oswald, seeing red. “I’m taking her straight back to Aphrany tonight.”

“Nay, ye won’t do that,” said Meldon, shaking his head. “Not in her condition.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked. “Something ails her?”

“Not her,” said Meldon. “She’s a very sensible lass, until she’s pushed past all bearing.”

Oswald fought back the impulse to cuff his impudent servant round the head. “What do you mean by ‘her condition’?” he asked, mustering reserves of patience he did not know he possessed.

“We-ell,” said Meldon sucking in his cheeks. “The sort of condition any wife gets in when she’s a husband always clamoring after her.” He eyed Oswald sagely. “Happen you’m more like your Father than I ever realized.”

“Kindly explain,” Oswald said in a clipped voice.

“And you’re supposed to be so sharp,” sighed Meldon. “It’s like this, Trudy, my god-daughter told me that Lady Vawdrey has never had recourse to use any rags since she’s been serving her, and that’s nigh on three months now.”

“Rags?”

“For her woman’s time,” stressed Meldon.

Oswald who had been shrugging off his cloak, froze. “What?” He stared at Meldon for a few heartbeats. “Impossible. She would have told me.”

“Happen the lass’ head’s been in such a spin, she ain’t never thought about it,” sniffed Meldon.

“And why is Trudy speaking to you about this, and not her mistress?”

“Well, she didn’t want to speak out of turn. But when the mistress she gets this notion to set off for the country without your say-so, well… Trudy thought she’d better let me know. ‘Uncle Walter, says she, you cannot let my mistress go haring off like this, not when she’s likely expecting.’” Meldon nodded. “So I left that message for you, and drove her here. Luckily the snow gave me an excuse to stop for the night. So here I sit.”

Oswald stood very still for a moment. Then his hand shot out to grip Meldon’s bony shoulder. “You’ll never abandon us, will you Meldon?” he asked quietly.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” said Meldon. “In fact, I got a fancy to grow old in that big town-house o’yours. Town living’s easier on old bones than country living. And if I’m in Aphrany, I can see Trudy’s young un’s grow up, as well as yours.” He took another sip of ale.

“I will accept no less,” vowed Oswald, dropping his hand. “Where will you sleep now, if we overnight in this place?” he asked, glancing around.

“There’s a shared chamber upstairs I can bunk in, or I can doze down here by the fire,” said Meldon looking unconcerned. “I’ll take you up to her, shall I? Then I can bring the dog down with me.”

Oswald followed behind as Meldon led him up the rickety stairs and along a corridor leading to a door which he knocked on. “Milady,” he called. “It’s me, Meldon.”

There was a silence on the other side of the door, and then Oswald heard bolts drawing back.

“What is it?” asked Fenella, peering round. Bors saw him and gave a small bark of welcome. “Oh,” said his wife, looking stunned at the very sight of him. “My lord, I did not… that is-”

Oswald turned to Meldon. “Thank you, Meldon,” he said, seizing Bors and steering his wagging body toward the manservant.

“I have him, my lord,” said Meldon. “Come here you daft brute.”

Oswald stepped into the bedchamber, shut the door behind him and bolted it. Then he turned to his wife warily. Fen had retreated back across the room and was stood by the fireplace. She had a woolen shawl wrapped around her shift and looked rather stricken. He discarded his cloak onto a chair by the door and then paused. “You are well?” he asked gruffly. She looked pale, but still beautiful. And still his.

She gave a start. “Yes. What are you doing here?” she asked faintly.