XIV

I am atop the wheeled step-ladder his lordship needs to reach the top shelf of books. If I stretch, I can reach them all with the feather duster. I do all I can, then go down, move the steps, and then go up again. But I do not like being so high. The steps wobble as I shift my weight. I must not look down.

The task takes far longer than Mrs Baird said it should. I dare not hurry, lest I poke the books with the long cane and tear the ancient binding. But I am developing a rhythm, and there are only two bays to finish.

The last! But the floor is uneven, and the wheels seem to be slipping.

The door opens.

His lordship!

I should not be here.

But far from shouting at me he smiles. I hear the rich fabric of his dressing-down whisper as he walks towards me.

‘Poor little woman,’ he says. ‘Up so very high. Here. Let me jump you down.’ He holds his arms up. The steps lurch. I am falling.

I cannot leave his arms. I must run but I am powerless. Suddenly I am pinned against the bookcase, and he is pulling aside his nightshirt.

There is pain inside me. It goes on. And on. And on. Worse with each thrust. And the next.

The library is empty. I feel blood running. I see it on my shift.

I must run to Mrs Baird. To Nurse. To anyone.

But my legs will not work and I crawl every inch of the way to the back stairs. The pain takes me away.