At the close of breakfast, maids whisked away the Dutch china and jam, and Winfield retreated to his study, leaving me with the Sutherland women in the sunlit parlour. Bridget, Lydia and Mrs Sutherland had installed themselves on the brocade couch, while I perched on the edge of a green velvet chaise, pretending to gaze at an oil portrait of the family when in truth I was calculating the best way to make my escape. My last paltry feeding seemed a distant memory, and the sweet symphony of beating hearts in this grand mansion was becoming difficult to resist.

During the meal, I’d tried several times to free myself from the Sutherlands’ presence, with the aim of slipping out of a window or escaping through the servants’ quarters. But as though my intentions were written plainly across my forehead, I was unable to shake my company for even two minutes. When I’d excused myself to the facility, the butler had insisted on escorting me. When I mentioned I’d enjoy lying down in my room, Mrs Sutherland had pointed out that the couch in the parlour was the perfect place for a repose. I knew that they were grateful to me for returning Bridget to them, but I couldn’t explain their acceptance of me into their home. Especially given the state I was in when I first entered it: dirty, torn clothes, dishevelled and bloody.

‘Mr Stefan,’ Margaret said, leaning against the column that separated the parlour from the foyer. ‘Are you entirely all right?’

‘Fine, fine,’ I said. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You’re shaking your leg so hard you’re rattling the chair.’

I pressed my hand to my knee to steady my leg. ‘I usually start my morning with a walk,’ I lied, pushing myself to standing. ‘In fact, if I may excuse myself, I think I’ll take a stroll around the park.’

Margaret raised a perfectly arched brow. ‘You certainly seem to spend a lot of time in the park.’

‘I consider it my second home,’ I said with a wry smile, picturing my cave with its cadre of statues. ‘I’ve always found nature comforting.’