The first part of her ritual mortification over with, Ellini called at the Faculty, to find Sarah in a state of grim excitement. There was blood on her long, starched apron. Ellini felt panic grip her by the throat.

"Oh, Miss – dear Miss Syal – I can't stop now. There's been a cart turned over in the Broad, and a man crushed underneath it! The doctor's-"

At this, Dr Petrescu's voice called up the stairs from the basement, as though he'd heard himself being talked about.

"Sarah, brandy and bandages now! And I want your sewing kit – all the little needles."

Sarah gave Ellini a dark look, as though this was not the first time her good needles had been put to such a distasteful purpose. But she moved quickly, leaving the door open for Ellini.

"Please come in and wait, Miss. I'll be better able to talk when 'e's got 'is wretched needles."

Ellini stood in the hall and looked apprehensively at the grand oak staircase. She remembered its creaks and moans, like a dramatic accompaniment to every little conversation. She remembered how oppressed she had been in this place, and thought it would only take the appearance of Alice Darwin, treadling those floor-boards like the pedals of some great, gothic organ, to make her collapse on the spot.

Sarah came back up the stairs from the basement with even more blood on her apron. "I don't know how long 'e'll be, Miss, but you're welcome to wait. I'll get you some tea."

"Did you tell him I was here?" said Ellini, as Sarah helped her off with her bonnet and coat.

"No, I-" Sarah paused, as though wondering how to put this delicately. "I thought it might distract 'im. But it won't be a shock. Mr Cade told us you was alive and, for my own part, I couldn't be more delighted."

Ellini thought this was an odd way of phrasing it, but didn't press her. "Can I do anything to help?" she asked. "I'm good with a needle."

To her absolute mortification, Sarah looked pointedly at her dress. "Don't trouble yourself, Miss. I don't think 'e'll be long. To be honest, it looked like a hopeless case to me. The doctor says we might 'ave to take 'is leg off. But I told 'im, I said, if 'e was thinking of doing anything like that, 'e could bloomin' well get 'imself a proper assistant. I'm a parlour-maid, not a lumberjack."

"I don't mind the sight of blood," Ellini volunteered, though she was not quite sure about this.

"Best you stay 'ere, Miss. I'll get you that tea."

Ellini turned back to the overbearing staircase, feeling wretched. It was bad enough that she had to be confronted with all the people she'd hurt, without being useless to them.

Sarah came back with the tea and ushered her into a seat in the shadow of the staircase. She found, as they chatted, that Sarah was cautiously pleased to see her – that is, she was happy enough on her own account, but a little worried about the effect Ellini's appearance would have on her 'gentlemen'.

And yes, it was 'gentlemen'. Jack was living there as well as Dr Petrescu – just a temporary measure, while he worked things out with the new lady in charge of his Academy. And Mrs Darwin was 'gone to Cambridge'. There was a hint of distaste in Sarah's voice as she said this, as though going to Cambridge was the same as going to the devil. The competition between Oxford and Cambridge could be even stronger among the college servants than it was among the students and fellows.

After this, there was more shouting from downstairs, and Sarah got called away to be an extra pair of hands in the operating theatre.

Ellini waited in the hall, dreading every moment that Jack would come in, stamping the snow from his boots, to find that she had invaded his home. But another worry displaced this one as the minutes – and then the hours – ticked by. The snow was falling thickly outside. She could see it gathering in the corners of the windowpane, making the daylight dim. Already, on the way here, the cabs had been refusing passengers, saying that the roads were impassable to the east. If she stayed here much longer, she might not be able to get to the Academy that night.

And then where would she go? It was a punishing trek to the nearest hotel, and the impassable roads might mean that they were all full anyway. Would Dr Petrescu ask her to spend the night here? He probably would, out of common courtesy, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. Would it be a torment to him, having her under his roof again? And, good Lord, how would she spend a night in the same house as Jack?

Every now and then, she got up, went to the window, and watched the snow pile up outside. Once or twice, she opened the door and stood irresolutely on the steps, thinking 'You could still make it if you left now'. But she didn't leave. The snow went from ankle-deep to shin-deep to knee-deep, and still she hesitated.

What if Dr Petrescu didn't save the man? Then he would emerge from four hours of fruitless surgery to find that Miss Syal had come to apologize, but hadn't been sorry enough to wait while he endeavoured to save a man's life. Possibly Sarah would mention what a fine dress she'd been wearing, and suggest that she hadn't wanted to spoil it by walking home through deep snow.

No, she had to stay.

After the fourth hour, she went down to the kitchens, where she proceeded to get in people's way and make everybody nervous. The appearance of a lady below-stairs – in the same room as the coal-scuttle! – was so wrong that it made perfectly steady servants drop their trays and trip over their own feet.

Ellini asked the cook if she could help her prepare supper, and received another calculating look at her dress.

"I could wear an apron," said Ellini desperately.

"Please don't trouble yourself, Miss."

"I'll trouble myself anyway, whether I'm peeling potatoes or not!"

The cook hesitated, folded her beefy hands on her lap, and said, "Well, I won't take it amiss if you keep me company while I peel the spuds. Sarah's off to her sister's when all this trouble is over, so I'll be the only one down 'ere this evening. I might as well get all the talkin' out of my system now."

Ellini could have cried with relief. Someone talking at her while she was silent! The prospect of being useful, even if it was just as a sympathetic ear to the really useful people! It was what she had needed all day. It was funny how strangers could grant your innermost wishes by accident. They were kinder than friends sometimes.

Unfortunately, she didn't have long to be useful in this way, because Sarah came in soon afterwards, her hair loose and her apron scarlet. She reached shakily for the brandy on the top shelf.

"Is it done?" said the cook, in a businesslike way. "Did 'e live?" She nudged Ellini, and said, "Excuse our lack of ceremony, Miss. Seems like every week 'e calls in one or both of us to be 'is surgical assistants. We've seen things you wouldn't believe!"

Ellini smiled weakly, but she was too eager to hear Sarah's answer to respond herself.

"Looks like 'e'll live," said Sarah, who had checked herself on the way to the brandy bottle when she'd seen Ellini in the room. "We didn't even 'ave to take 'is leg off, so I suppose I should be thankful. But Lord, Miss, the way 'e squeezed my 'and and gritted 'is teeth and moved 'is lips like 'e was praying the 'ole time – I could almost wish for a bit more blood and a bit less eye-contact!"

"Looks like you 'ad plenty of blood," said the cook, nodding at her apron.

Sarah looked down at it and shrugged. "The doctor says 'e'll buy me a new one – and that's the nearest 'e's come to paying me for my services in the operating theatre, Miss, and I don't care who knows it!"

"I'm sure he appreciates you both," said Ellini – which gave the two women an opportunity to disagree in the strongest possible terms, with lots of anecdotes to back them up. It was only when the tea-bell rang that they subsided.

"'E wants a brandy," said Sarah, rolling her eyes. "'E always wants a brandy afterwards."

"Well?" said the cook. "'E's got brandy in 'is study, 'asn't 'e?"

"We used it all on the patient. Half to sterilize the bandages and half to pour down the poor man's throat!" She turned to Ellini and explained, "We're out of ether, see, Miss – deliveries couldn't get through the snow. S'why 'e squeezed my 'and an' gritted 'is teeth so dreadful."

"Why don't I take the brandy to him?" Ellini suggested. "You'll be snowed in soon, and won't be able to get to your sister's."

"Oh Miss-" said Sarah, in an agony of apprehension. "I 'aven't told 'im you're 'ere – and it's not proper-"

"I won't spill it," said Ellini, as if that answered either of her objections.

"Oh, but Miss!" Sarah protested, practically wringing her hands. It seemed that the only thing she liked better than complaining about Dr Petrescu was worrying about Dr Petrescu. "'E's very tired, Miss. 'E might not be – kind..."

"I understand what to do," said Ellini – although this couldn't have been farther from the truth.

She held the brandy glass ahead of her like a candle as she climbed the old oak staircase. It had been a long time, and she had couldn't remember where you trod to avoid the creaks, but she had no desire to sneak up on him.

She wondered why she was being so eager. Even with the four-hour wait, she'd had no time to rehearse what she was going to say. She only knew that he had spent a long time trying to save a man's life, and he wanted a brandy, and she was desperate to help in any way she could.

The door to Dr Petrescu's office was open. He was sitting in the chair behind his desk, but had swivelled round to face the window, so his back was to her. Ellini felt as though she was playing 'What's the Time, Mr Wolf?' And she couldn't have said, in that moment, who was the wolf and who was the supper.

When he heard the creak of her steps on the landing, he said, "Thank you, Sarah – just leave it on the desk."

She did this, hovered wretchedly for a second, and then said, "I know you must be very tired. The last thing I want to be is another trial in an already-trying day. I just wanted to say I'm sorry if – I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was alive. It was very inconsiderate-"

Dr Petrescu laughed, without turning round. Ellini wasn't sure whether or not this was a good sign, so she pressed on.

"I wanted to get away, but it wasn't my intention to hurt you or Manda or Mr Danvers – or even Mrs Darwin, if I did. I..." She faltered, and adjusted the position of the brandy glass. "I suppose it was my intention to hurt Jack, but I'm not here to defend myself for that – or really for any of it. I'm just here to say I'm sorry."

For a long time, he didn't turn round. And then he did, but the first thing he looked for was the brandy glass, which he picked up very carefully and deliberately, without the slightest tremor. She couldn't tell whether he was pained or angry or pleased. He was – as ever – inscrutable behind the moustache.

"Here," she said, fumbling in her basket – mainly for something to do with her hands. "I made you this." She brought out a green silk waistcoat, with a rod of Asclepius – a serpent twined around a staff – embroidered in silver on the breast. It wasn't easy to embroider silk, and she was rather pleased with her attempt, not least because the twined serpent looked so much like the black ribbons of a Charlotte Grey.

"I read somewhere," she babbled, "I forget where – that the rod of Asclepius is a symbol of the medical profession. Some people say it has links with the brazen serpent that Moses used to cure the Israelites in the Bible, although of course Asclepius is ancient Greek."

Dr Petrescu was silent, which dragged more words out of her.

"I did it instead of thinking. I think. I didn't want to think about you, or Mr Danvers, or any of the people I missed, so I let my needle do the thinking for me, and these clothes were the result."

She gave up hope that he would take the waistcoat from her, and put it on the desk, serpent-upwards, between them. Dr Petrescu had a curious half-smile on his face now. She could just make out its contours around the moustache.

"You'd better spend the night here if you don't want to spend it in a snowbank," he said. "The roads are impassable, and the coaching inns would be full even if you could get to them."

"Oh," said Ellini, trying to pretend this idea was new to her. "I don't-"

"Yes," said Dr Petrescu. "I know you don't. You don't want to be a bother, you don't want to put me out, you don't want to spend a night under the same roof as Jack. Perhaps you are even apprehensive about spending a night under the same roof as me, although I hope you know you have nothing to fear from me."

"I'm only afraid of hurting you," said Ellini, staring at the floor. "Again."

"I'm not quite guiltless in this business, you know. I don't actually think any of us are, although perhaps Miss Manda has a claim to guiltlessness, if anyone has. Your 'death' strikes me as being very like that of Julius Caesar, in that everybody had a stab. You'll hear Danvers's story for yourself, and Alice's story is easily guessed, but I put pressure on Jack to take the serum to forget you – or rather, I offered no opposition to Alice's insistence that he should. I thought you had some terrible scheme in mind by coming to Oxford. I thought you intended to manipulate him. I regret to say that I might have been rather influenced by that Helen of Camden book."

Ellini shook her head quickly. "It wouldn't have worked without his consent."

"Consent?" said Dr Petrescu, smiling into his glass. "What does that mean to you? A child of five might have consented, but that doesn't mean he understands what he's consenting to."

"But Jack was not a child of five," she mumbled.

"I'm trying to make a point about informed consent," said Dr Petrescu, waving a hand impatiently. "One can consent without understanding, without thinking, without wanting. Would you like to hear how he opposed us? Or would that make you uncomfortable? Perhaps you've already guessed?"

"I don't-"

"Oh yes," said Dr Petrescu, with a sharp, weary smile. "Of course. I'd forgotten. You don't."

He looked at her face and relented. "Stay the night here, then," he said, in a kinder tone. "Of course, your room has not been prepared. To be honest, it hasn't been slept in since you left, and I rather think a colony of dormice have claimed it as their own. You can have Sarah's room in the attic, if you don't mind. She'll be at her sister's tonight."

The relief Ellini felt on being offered a bed in the servant's quarters, without a single glance at her dress, was difficult to describe. She said, "Thank you. That will do very nicely."

"And there is something else you can do for me," said Dr Petrescu.

She wanted to say 'anything', but she knew he would be too pedantic to let that pass.

"My son is coming to supper this evening – Elisabetta's child, I don't know if you've heard? If you don't mind, I will not introduce you to him. I would not like to think of him having the pain-"

Ellini was startled – and then strangely, effusively relieved. What was it? The acknowledgement of the pain she had caused him? The idea that there was somebody he loved more than her? Or just the fact that someone was finally being sensible enough to take precautions – not charging in and then meting out blame as if punishment could ever be better than prevention. What a doctor he was!

Hardly knowing what she was doing, she took his hand and shook it, with tears standing in her eyes. "Of course," she said warmly. "I'm so – it's very – sensible." She didn't want to say she was sorry. He didn't want to hear that. It was too complicated for 'sorry'. Instead she said, "Dear Dr Petrescu!" And then sniffed and smiled and hastened from the room.