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I remembered McEwen’s story about her dancing naked in the wood. I had seen her in the wood myself. She hadn’t been naked but she had been dancing and chanting. Maybe McEwen had been right about her casting spells. Frankly, if she were casting spells to harm Sir Alastair, I’d dance around the wood with her. Naked.

Phillips removed our soup bowls and brought a casserole dish to the table.

“I hope you like coq au vin,” said Sir Alastair.

It was predictably delicious. Francois was a gem.

I was savoring the last few mouthfuls when I noticed Lady Justina had hardly touched her food. Sir Alastair noticed too.

“You’re not eating, my dear.”

“I am sorry I…” She began to cut her food. Her hands were shaking. She put a piece of chicken into her mouth.

“That’s a good girl,” said Sir Alastair apparently unaware that his wife was virtually gagging on the chicken.

It was all I could do not to smash the casserole dish over his head. I told myself that would achieve nothing. It might even ensure a beating for Lady Justina.

Somehow we got through the rest of the meal but it would take more than Francois’s excellent chocolate mousse to remove the bad taste Sir Alastair’s behavior had left in my mouth.

After dinner we returned to the drawing room for more tea. I had hoped Sir Alastair would honor the old-fashioned custom of sending the women to drink tea while the men stayed in the dining room drinking port. I should have known he would avoid leaving me alone with his wife.

Lady Justina sipped her tea in silence. She kept her eyes downcast as though she feared that sharing a glance with me would anger her husband.

He kept up a steady conversation with us, discussing Germany with Casper, who was very naughty and hinted he was related to some big shot German aristocrat, and US politics with me. Sir Alastair assumed, incorrectly, that because of my relationship to The Senator I was interested in such things. I let him think so and made the appropriate noises, but my mind was elsewhere.

Outside, the storm was still raging. As the hands of the clock moved toward eleven, I hoped Sir Alastair would offer us a bed for the night.

Casper seemed to catch my thoughts.

He said to our host, “We’re very grateful for your hospitality, Sir Alastair, but it’s getting late. We should be going. I wonder whether the storm has stopped. Shall we go outside and take a look?”

Sir Alastair was so relieved at the prospect of getting rid of us, he accompanied Casper to the front door, leaving me alone with Lady Justina.

There was no time for subtlety. I asked, “Is there anything you want to tell me?” No answer. “Anything I can do to help you?” No answer. “You don’t have to live like this.”

Lady Justina raised her eyes. “Thank you for your concern, but there is nothing…”

“There must be something.”

She shook her head. Tears beaded her lashes. She wiped them away and stared with a kind of wonder at the dampness on her hand.

“Tears,” she murmured. Then, as though suddenly remembering I was in the room, she got to her feet. Turning her back on me she walked to the window. She pulled aside the drapes and stared outside.

I was wasting time. This was a perfect opportunity to talk to her and I was blowing it. Noticing a book lying nearby, I asked, “Who is your favorite author?” You can learn a lot from a person’s reading preference.

“I like so many authors,” she said. It was a predictable answer from someone who had worked in a bookshop, but I sensed she was avoiding the question.

I tried a different angle. There were some magazines on a table—perhaps left to entertain guests while they waited for Sir Alastair. I picked up a copy of Vogue.

“Do you like reading magazines? Is this one of your favorites?”

She ran her finger underneath the bold letters on the cover.

“Magazine,” she said, like a child learning to read.

“Yes,” I said, testing the theory that had just popped into my mind. “It’s a magazine called Hello.”

“Hello,” she repeated. “Yes, I like reading Hello.”

A child with a basic knowledge of the alphabet would know that Vogue started