The countess drily told him, ‘They are fools if they believe that it is not already in the wind. Faith, it does seem from the reports we hear that half the court of Saint-Germain are Queen Anne’s spies.’

‘Aye, very likely. Which is doubtless why your brother thought to send his message using this’—he tapped his head— ‘and not a pen and paper.’

‘And what is his message?’

Through this last exchange Sophia had been listening with only half an ear, so great had been her feeling of relief to hear that Moray had not been these months in danger on the battlefield as she had feared, but safe somewhere in Paris. Not, she thought, that he’d be happy to be once again confined to what would seem, to him, a soft-barred prison, but at least she knew for certain he was well, and still alive.

No other news but that had seemed important. Only now she sensed the shift of expectation in the room, and brought her own attention back to what the colonel was about to say, because she realized suddenly it might be what they’d hoped to hear these many weeks.

It was.

‘I’m sent to tell ye to expect a frigate out of Dunkirk that will soon arrive to signal all is set for the invasion to begin.’

The countess clapped her hands together like a girl. ‘Oh, Patrick! When? How soon?’

‘Your brother thinks the time is measured now in days, and that you should be ready. They’ll be sending Charles Fleming as the messenger. Ye mind young Fleming?’

‘Yes, I do remember him,’ the countess said.

‘A good man,’ Colonel Graeme called him. ‘He’s to carry with him your instructions from the king, who will be following not long behind.’

Sophia’s mind withdrew again, and let the others carry on their animated talk. She turned her head towards the great bow window and the sea beyond, and found in all that endless view of water nothing to contain her swelling happiness. The time is measured now in days…The words played like a melody repeating in a joyful round that drowned all other noises.

She was not aware of anybody seeking her attention till she felt the tiny nudge against her side. She shook her daydream off and looked round in apology, but nobody was there. The earl, the colonel and the countess were still sitting in their chairs as they had been before, in lively conversation. Again she felt that small sensation, not against her side this time but deeper in her belly, and she realized what it was. Her child was quickening.

This first faint contact with the life inside her left her filled with wonder. Even though she knew it was coincidence that it had happened now, for Kirsty’s sister had been telling her for weeks now she might feel it any moment, still she could not help but let herself believe it was a sign of good to come, as if the child, too, was rejoicing at the news that Moray soon would be returned to them.

The countess started laughing at a comment Colonel Graeme had just made, and to Sophia’s ears the outburst caught the spirit of her mood, and she laughed, too.

The colonel’s lean face turned to hers, appreciative. ‘Now, there’s a bonny sound.’

‘And one we have not often heard, of late,’ the countess said, recovering her breath and looking fondly at Sophia. ‘Patrick, I do see that we shall have to keep you with us yet awhile, for as you see we sorely need amusement.’

The colonel settled in his chair and smiled. ‘I’m happy to supply it,’ he assured her, ‘while the whisky lasts.’

Jimmy, on my doorstep, held a covered dish in both hands like a Wise Man bearing precious gifts. ‘I telt ma freens at the St Olaf Hotel aboot yer fa doon Ward Hill, quinie, and they thocht ye micht need this.’

I stood aside to let him in. I still felt a little groggy from my writing, having surfaced at his knocking, and the darkness he stepped out of was my only way to judge the time. He’d clearly been up to the hotel himself—his eyes were shining happily and Scotch was on his breath, but it could not be all that late, or a gentleman like Jimmy Keith would not have even thought of coming round to call.

‘Ye should be sittin doon,’ he told me, nodding at my bandaged ankle, and he freed one hand to help me hobble to the nearest chair. A richly warm, brown-sugared smell was rising from the bowl he held.

‘What is that, Jimmy?’

‘Just a wee treat. Ye’ll be needin a fork and a spoon,’ he decided, and fetched them, then set the bowl down on the table beside me and took off the cover to show me a huge chunk of caramel-brown cake sweetly sinking in a pool of cream. ‘That’s sticky toffee poodin, and ye’ll nivver taste better than fit they mak at the St Olaf Hotel.’

After the first heavy forkful I had to agree it was almost worth spraining my ankle for.

Jimmy shrugged my thanks aside. ‘Nae bother. I was on ma wye up, onywye, tae empty oot yer meter.’

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I told him, quickly. ‘I’ve still got coins left.’ I didn’t especially want to get either of his sons into trouble, and I was pretty sure that, if he got a good look at the meter, he would know the needle wasn’t resting where it ought to be. I was relieved when he accepted what I’d said without a comment and directed his attention to the Aga in the kitchen.

‘And yer a’richt fer coal, are ye?’ He had the door open, assessing the fire.

‘Yes, thanks. Stuart stoked it up for me.’

‘Oh aye, I see.’ His tone was dry. ‘He could nae build a fire worth a damn.’ He took the poker, prodding round the coals until their new position suited him. ‘Mind, it’s rare ye’ll see Stuie dee onything fer onybody but his ain sel. Ye’ve fairly inspired the loon.’