PROLOGUE
Catherine Porter heard the horse and carriage pull up outside, just as the grandfather clock in the hallway struck 11pm.
She turned up the gas to help brighten the room, and made her way towards the front door to admit her son.
Outside, the rain lashed down on the cobbled stonework and she had to strain to hear his footsteps on the other side of the wooden door, as he drew closer up the path.
Before he had a chance to reach for the bell-pull, Catherine opened the door.
“Mother,” said Martin Porter, evidently shocked by his mother’s attendance. “Where on earth is Moresby?”
“I gave the servants the night off,” she replied, standing back to allow him entry.
Martin wiped his feet on the coarse coir doormat and pecked his mother on the cheek as he brushed by her on his way in. H
