A great clatter and rumble of wheels on the cobbles outside the window made her turn in surprise.

“Is that a carriage? Here?” he asked.

She said nothing, but stood listening, blank-faced, as a carriage rolled noisily up the cobbled quay to the warehouse and stopped outside the front door which gave on to the street.

“A gentleman’s carriage?” he asked incredulously. “Here?”

They heard the clatter of the hooves as the horses were pulled up, and then the footman jumped down from the back, opened the carriage door, and turned to hammer on the front door of the warehouse.

Swiftly, Alys went past him, across the room, and lifted the bottom of the blind so that she could peep out onto the quay. She could only see the open door of the carriage, a billowing dark silk skirt, a tiny silk shoe with a black rose pinned on the toe. Then they heard the maid, stamping up the hall to open the shabby front door and recoil at the magnificence of the footman from the carriage.

“The Nobildonna,” he announced, and Alys watched the hem of the gown sweep down the carriage steps, across the cobbles, and into the hall. Behind the rich gown came a plain hem, a maid of some sort, and Alys turned to James Avery.

“You have to go,” she said rapidly. “I was not expecting… You will have to…”

“I’m not going without an answer.”

“You have to!” She started towards him as if she would physically push him through the narrow doorway, but it was too late. The stunned housemaid had already thrown open the parlor door, there was a rustle of silk, and the veiled stranger had entered the room, paused on the threshold, taking in the wealthy gentleman and the plainly dressed woman in one swift glance. She crossed the room and took Alys in her arms and kissed her on both cheeks.

“You allow me? You forgive me? But I had nowhere else to come!” she said swiftly in a ripple of speech with an Italian accent.

James saw Alys, so furiously icy just a moment before, flush brightly, her blush staining her neck and her cheeks, saw her eyes fill with tears, as she said: “Of course you should have come! I didn’t think…”

“And this is my baby,” the lady said simply, beckoning to the maid behind her who carried a sleeping baby draped in the finest Venetian lace. “This is his son. This is your nephew. We called him Matteo.”

Alys gave a little cry and held out her arms for the baby, looking down into the perfect face, tears coming to her eyes.

“Your nephew?” James Avery said, stepping forward to see the little face framed in ribboned lace. “Then this is Rob’s boy?”

A furious glance from Alys did not prevent the lady from sweeping him a curtsey and throwing her dark veil back to show a vivacious beautiful face, her lips rosy with rouge, enhanced with a dark crescent patch beside her mouth.

“I’m honored, Lady…?”

Alys did not volunteer the lady’s name, nor did she mention his. She stood, awkward and angry, looking at them both, as if she could deny the courtesy of an introduction and ensure that they would never meet.

“I am Sir James Avery, of Northside Manor, Northallerton in Yorkshire.” James bowed over the lady’s hand.

“Nobildonna da Ricci,” she replied. And then she turned to Alys. “That is how you say it? Da Ricci? I am right?”

“I suppose so,” Alys said. “But you must be very tired.” She glanced out of the window. “The carriage?”

“Ah, it is rented. They will unload my trunks, if you would pay them?”

Alys looked horrified. “I don’t know if I have—”

“Please allow me,” Sir James interrupted smoothly. “As a friend of the family.”

“I shall pay them!” Alys insisted. “I can find it.” She flung open the door and shouted an order to the maid and turned to the widow, who had followed every word of this exchange. “You’ll want to rest. Let me show you upstairs and I’ll get some tea.”

“Allora! It is always tea with the English!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “But I am not tired, and I don’t want tea. And I am afraid I am interrupting you. Were you here on business, Sir James? Please stay! Please continue!”

“You are not interrupting, and he is going,” Alys said firmly.

“I will come back tomorrow, when you have had time to think,” Sir James said quickly. He turned to the lady: “Is Robert with you, Lady da Ricci? I should so like to see him again. He was my pupil and…”

The shocked look on both their faces told him that he had said something terrible. Alys shook her head as if she wished she had not heard the words and something in her face told James that the ostentatious mourning wear of the Italian lady was for Rob, little Rob Reekie who twenty-one years ago had been a brilliant boy of twelve and now was gone.

The widow’s mouth quivered; she dropped into a seat and covered her face with her black-mittened hands.

“I am so sorry, so sorry.” He was horrified at his blunder. He bowed to the lady. He turned to Alys. “I am sorry for your loss. I had no idea. If you had told me, I would not have been so clumsy. I am so sorry, Alys, Mrs. Stoney.”

She held the baby, the fatherless boy, in her arms. “Why should I tell you anything?” she demanded fiercely. “Just go! And don’t come back.”

But the lady, with her face hidden, blindly stretched out her hand to him, as if for comfort. He could not help but take the warm hand in the tight black lace mitten.

“But he spoke of you!” she whispered. “I remember now. I know who you are. You were his tutor and he said you taught him Latin and were patient with him when he was just a little boy. He was grateful to you for that. He told me so.”

James patted her hand. “I am so sorry for your loss,” he said. “Forgive my clumsiness.”

Mistily, she smiled up at him, blinking away tears from her dark eyes. “Forgiven,” she said. “And forgotten at once. How should you guess such a tragedy? But call on me when you come again, and you can tell me what he was like when he was a boy. You must tell me all about his childhood. Promise me that you will?”

“I will,” James said quickly before Alys could retract the invitation. “I will come tomorrow, after breakfast. And I’ll leave you now.” He bowed to both the women and nodded to the nursemaid and went quickly from the room before Alys could say another word. They heard him ask the maid for his horse and then they heard the front door slam. They sat in silence as they heard the horse coming around from the yard and stand, as he mounted up, and then clattered away.

“I thought his name was something else,” the widow remarked.

“It was then.”

“I did not know that he was a nobleman?”

“He was not, then.”

“And wealthy?”

“Now, I suppose so.”

“Ah,” the lady considered her sister-in-law. “Is it all right that I came? Roberto told me to come to you if anything ever… if anything ever… if anything ever happened to him.” Her face was tearstained and flushed. She took out a tiny handkerchief trimmed with black ribbon and put it to her eyes.

“Of course,” Alys said. “Of course. And this is your home for as long as you want to stay.”