“In that case, by all means, we’ll go,” Rutledge assured her.

She seemed relieved, but said only, “Then come into the sitting room and we’ll have our tea in comfort, before it’s time to dress. I’ve something to show you-”

Henrietta, the spaniel, had just presented Elizabeth with puppies, five of them, still blind and squirming and noisy. They lay in a box near the hearth, and Henrietta rose to greet Rutledge before warily allowing him to admire her family. Elizabeth was on the floor beside the box, clearly entranced, giving him the name of each tiny ball of fur.

He could hardly tell one from another, except by the liver-colored spots, but dutifully gave his attention to each in turn, while Henrietta licked his hand and watched attentively as Elizabeth lifted her brood one by one and held the newborns up for his inspection. He found himself thinking that Elizabeth herself would have made a wonderful mother, but there had never been any children in her marriage. Richard had been philosophical about it. “Early days,” he’d said. But time had run out.

When the maid brought tea, Elizabeth went to wash her hands and Henrietta climbed gratefully back into her box, nosing each of her treasures, as if to reassure herself that none had gone missing. Rutledge leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Hamish, in the back of his mind, was saying something about Richard. He ignored it, and tried to put London and the Yard out of his thoughts for the evening. It would not do to drag the Shaws into Elizabeth’s uncomplicated world, and yet Rutledge found himself wishing he could talk to her as he would have done to her husband. A barrister, Richard would have understood Rutledge’s dilemma and heard the story out without criticism or comment. Elizabeth would worry over Ben Shaw’s innocence as well as his guilt, and leave the subject more tangled than it was…