Notes: I've compressed the show's timeline in this chapter by moving up the scene with Daisy being questioned about her funny turn, originally dated August 1913. Here it's only a week or so after the Pamuk incident. I've used the canon dialogue from that scene too and inserted Tom into it.

Also, thank you very much for the reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate them.

'Is everything all right with Mary?' Robert asked, unbelting his robe, taking it off and draping it on the chaise longue.

Cora glanced sharply at him in the mirror as she sat rubbing hand cream in. 'Why do you ask that?'

Robert raised an eyebrow at her abrupt tone. 'She doesn't quite seem herself lately. She's been very quiet, which is most unlike Mary. She hasn't even sniped at Edith lately that I've noticed.'

'She's fine.'

'Are you sure? She seems quite tired all the time too. She's not sickening for something, is she?'

'No, I don't believe so.'

'Well, she did seem a bit brighter at dinner this evening. But I'm sure old Clarkson wouldn't mind checking her over if something may be wrong,' Robert said, settling himself comfortably in the bed. 'I'd hate to see our feisty girl losing her spark.'

'She's absolutely fine, Robert. There is nothing wrong with Mary that you need concern yourself with,' Cora replied tightly, hoping to God that would still be the case when Mary's courses were next due. If her menses did not appear, that would be the time to acquaint Robert with the sordid details of their eldest daughter's misdemeanour with Mr Pamuk.

Robert gazed at his wife, surprised that she seemed so dismissive of Mary's current state of health. He'd been convinced that if he had noticed Mary seemed somewhat off-colour lately, Cora would most certainly have been several steps ahead of him in noting the difference in her recent behaviour.

'Well, if you say so,' he said, eventually. 'As long as she's all right.'

'She is,' Cora replied, keeping her eyes on her hands, rubbing them together and hoping that would be the end of this conversation.

Anna couldn't help but notice that Lady Mary had taken to rising earlier than usual over the last week or so. And when Anna entered her bedroom, she was invariably already out of bed, sitting on the easy chair or on the window seat. It was very out of character.

She also couldn't help but note that the change in her mistress' behaviour dated from the incident with Mr Pamuk. Since then, Lady Mary had not once laid abed beyond seven o'clock in the morning. And she seemed so tired all the time.

The only exception to that had been the other day when she'd gone out in the motor for the afternoon and returned seeming more energised than she had been for days. It was almost as if getting out of the Abbey had restored her spirits somewhat.

Anna was worried. There was no doubt in her mind that her mistress was still suffering from the after-effects of what had happened with Mr Pamuk. There were no two ways about it.

Every morning, Lady Mary was drained and gaunt when she rose. Every morning, she put more powder on her face than usual to try to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

Finally, Anna found she could no longer bite her tongue.

'Milady, are you quite all right?'

'I'm… fine, Anna,' Mary replied, unconvincingly.

'Are you not sleeping well?'

Mary was silent for a moment before answering. 'No, not particularly.'

'Is it because of… what happened?'

Another hesitation, then a nod. 'Yes, I believe so.'

'Would it help to talk about it? It might help you clear it from your mind.'

Lady Mary pursed her lips, thinking about that, and then she shook her head. 'No, I don't think so. It doesn't do to dwell on these things, does it? Better to let it fade into the past.'

Anna nodded, although she was not at all sure that she agreed with that sentiment. 'All right, milady, but if you change your mind, please know I will always be here to listen to you.'

'Thank you, Anna. I am more grateful to you than you can know,' Lady Mary said fervently, reaching out to give Anna's arm a quick squeeze.

Anna nodded again then went to fetch her lady's clothes for the morning, racking her brains to think of what else she could do to help her.

Tom sat in the rocking chair in the servants' hall reading a newspaper, ignoring Miss O'Brien's poisonous looks as she sat at the table unpicking a lace collar from one of her ladyship's blouses. When she failed to get a rise out of him, she switched her attention to William, who was cleaning candlesticks at the table.

'You shouldn't be doing that in here,' she scolded, scowling at the lad.

William glanced up at her. 'I don't like being in the pantry all alone. And Mr Carson won't mind. He's gone into the village.'

'He'll mind if I tell him,' Thomas butted in, eyeing William like a hawk looks at a plump pigeon.

Anna looked between the two of them and decided to change the subject.

'That's pretty,' she said, nodding at the lace collar in O'Brien's hands.

'Do you think so? She wants it put onto a new shirt, but it's a bit old-fashioned for my taste,' Miss O'Brien replied, looking critically at the lace.

'Oh, no, it's lovely,' Daisy said, pouring tea into Anna's cup.

Miss O'Brien ignored her, not interested in the opinion of a mere kitchen maid. Seeing Daisy's shoulders slump at the snub, Anna spoke to the girl instead.

'Have you recovered?'

'What from?' Bates asked, curiously.

'Daisy had a bit of a turn when we were in Lady Mary's room, didn't you?' Anna said, turning concerned eyes on the young girl.

'I'm fine,' Daisy muttered, looking uncomfortable.

Thomas narrowed his eyes at her. 'What sort of a turn? Did you see a ghost?'

William glared at him. 'Will you leave her alone if she doesn't want to talk about it?'

'I've often wondered if this house is haunted. It ought to be,' Thomas mused.

'By the spirits of the maids and footmen who died in slavery,' Miss O'Brien observed, dryly.

'But not in Thomas' case, overwork,' Bates put in, earning himself a scowl from the footman.

Anna bit back a smile and turned back to the kitchen maid. 'Come on, Daisy. What was it?'

Tom watched over the top of his paper as Daisy shrugged, uneasy at all the attention being on her.

'I don't know. I was thinking. First, we had the Titanic – '

Miss O'Brien rolled her eyes. 'Don't keep harping back to that.'

Daisy looked at her, her eyes wide and scared. 'I know it's a while ago, but we knew them. I think of how I laid the fires for Mr Patrick, but he drowned in that icy water.'

'For God's sake,' Miss O'Brien groaned.

'Then there was the Turkish gentleman,' Daisy continued, still visibly uneasy. 'It just seems there's been too much death in the house.'

William frowned at her, puzzled. 'But what's that got to do with Lady Mary's room?'

Daisy looked away, her fingers twisting at her apron. 'Nothing. Nothing at all.'

Tom watched thoughtfully as Thomas and Miss O'Brien shared a look, obviously both intrigued by Daisy's statement. Knowing what he knew about the Turk's death, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Daisy knew something about it too. And the last thing Lady Mary needed was two scheming servants like Thomas and O'Brien finding out whatever information Daisy had about that brute and how he'd really met his end.

He would have to talk to the kitchen maid himself, he resolved. Perhaps try to ease her worries and put her off talking to anyone else about whatever secret she was hiding about the death of that man.

'Ah, Mrs Hughes, might I have a word?' Carson asked as the housekeeper glided towards him where he stood by the doorway to his office.

'Of course, Mr Carson.'

'If you'd like to step into my office for a moment,' he said, sweeping his hand out to usher her before him, keen not to be within earshot of any of the nosier members of the household.

Mrs Hughes inclined her head and walked into the butler's office, turning to face him. 'How can I help you?'

'I was just wondering if you knew whether Lady Mary was sickening for something?' he said, delicately.

'Lady Mary? No. Why? Is there something I should know?' Mrs Hughes replied, looking a little puzzled.

'Well, she just seems… not herself at the moment. She seems… fragile.'

'Fragile? Lady Mary?' Mrs Hughes only just stopped herself from snorting in amusement at the thought of that little madam being fragile. Mr Carson looked genuinely worried about his favourite among the Crawley daughters. Mrs Hughes schooled her face before continuing. 'What makes you say that, Mr Carson?'

'When I saw her this morning, she seemed tired. Listless. Not at all like her usual self.'

'Well, I can't say as I have seen Lady Mary recently. She has kept rather to herself of late.'

'And Anna hasn't expressed any concern about her?'

'Not to me, no, but Anna is a loyal maid to Lady Mary. If she'd confided in her and asked her not to say anything, she wouldn't break that confidence.'

'Hmm,' the butler said, looking pensive.

'Would you like me to ask her?'

'Oh, no, no. I would not expect her to break a confidence. Lady Mary must feel that she can trust Anna completely. I wouldn't dream of undermining that. I just… well, I think we should both do what we can to keep an eye on her welfare. I'm sure she was very upset by the unfortunate incident with Mr Pamuk last week. Perhaps she's simply unsettled by that awful business.'

'Perhaps. Although I don't think she knew the gentleman all that well,' Mrs Hughes observed, not quite seeing how the young man's admittedly tragic death would upset a cold-hearted, self-absorbed creature like Lady Mary Crawley.

'She's a young gentlewoman, Mrs Hughes, and delicate young ladies are easily affected by these things,' Carson pronounced, solemnly.

'If you say so,' Mrs Hughes replied, privately thinking the earl's eldest daughter was as delicate as a locomotive.

'So, you'll keep an eye out for anything unusual with Lady Mary then?'

'If you wish me to.'

'I would be most grateful if you would, Mrs Hughes,' Carson said, thankful that more eyes than his would be keeping an eye on Lady Mary and her welfare.

Tom got an opportunity to talk to Daisy sooner than he'd thought he would. Later that afternoon, he came to the kitchen in the hopes of getting a cup of tea to warm him up after a few hours working in the garage.

Luckily for him, Mrs Patmore was in a good mood and feeling benevolent.

'You sit yourself down, lad. We're just making a pot for ourselves. Daisy here will bring you a cup. I might even be able to spare you a biscuit,' she said, with what may have passed as a flirtatious wink in a younger woman.

Tom thanked her and took a seat at the table in the servants' hall, picking up the paper he'd started reading earlier. Daisy arrived by his side five minutes later with the promised cup of tea and a biscuit balanced in the saucer.

'Thank you, Daisy,' Tom said, smiling up at her and folding the paper.

'She likes you, Mrs Patmore does,' Daisy informed him. 'That's why you've got a biscuit. She doesn't often let me have a biscuit and I help make them.'

'It's very kind of her. I'm sure I'll enjoy it.'

Daisy bobbed her head at him and turned to go.

'Actually, do you have a minute?' Tom said quickly, seizing his chance.

'Um, I suppose. Just one minute, though, or she'll have my guts for garters,' Daisy said, casting a quick look back towards the kitchen.

'It's just that I was wondering if you were all right? After lunchtime, I mean, when everyone was going on at you about your funny turn in Lady Mary's room.'

'Oh, right, well, yes, I am, thank you, Mr Branson. Thank you for asking,' Daisy said, looking surprised that anyone would bother asking after her and her feelings.

'I'm glad to hear that. I'm curious, though. What is it about Lady Mary's room that spooks you so?' Tom asked, gently.

Daisy glanced around, checking if anyone else was nearby. 'It gives me the willies,' she whispered.

'Why? Is there any particular reason?'

'I… I'm not right sure if I should say anything.'

'Well, it's just us here, Daisy, and I know how to keep a confidence," Tom said, encouragingly. 'But if you'd rather not say, you don't have to.'

'It's just… well, the night the young Turkish gentleman died, I saw…' Daisy broke off, looking guilty.

'You saw what?'

Daisy bit her lip, twisting her apron in her hands. 'Well, I thought I saw Lady Mary carrying him across the landing near her room.'

Tom raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise as Daisy confirmed his suspicions that she'd seen something. 'Really?'

'Yes, but… but I can't have, can I? I mean Lady Mary is only a slip of a thing; she isn't very strong. How could she have been carrying a full-grown man?'

'No, you're right. I doubt Lady Mary could lift you, let alone a man,' Tom agreed, his heart racing. 'Did you actually see the Turkish gentleman too?'

'No, just a lady disappearing around a corner looking like she was carrying someone. But it looked like Lady Mary. And if it wasn't her, what did I see?' Daisy whispered, getting more agitated. 'Did I see a ghost?'

'It can't have been a ghost,' Tom said, reassuringly. 'There's no such thing as ghosts. Perhaps you did see Lady Mary after all. She might have been sleepwalking. I've heard some people do that.'

'Sleepwalking?' Daisy echoed, tipping her head, thinking about that. 'Do you really think so?'

Tom shrugged. 'Maybe. Or I suppose she might have been awake and gone to see one of her sisters. I can't think she was carrying the Turkish gentleman, though. I mean, you're right, she's so slight, she could barely lift a teapot. It's probably more likely that you did see a ghost than Lady Mary carrying a man!'

Daisy's eyes widened and Tom continued hurriedly.

'Maybe what you thought you saw her carrying was something else, some kind of garment or maybe even a trick of the light. The light can be funny that early in the morning.'

Daisy chewed her lip, staring at him as she thought about that.

'I reckon you're much stronger than she is, what with all those coal buckets you have to carry and that great big teapot in the servants' hall,' Tom carried on, trying to reframe Daisy's memory of that night. 'But I bet you couldn't lift me, could you?'

Daisy eyed him speculatively. 'I might be able to lift you off your feet for a few seconds, but I wouldn't be able to carry you anywhere.'

'Exactly. Then there's no way Lady Mary would have been able to carry the Turkish gentlemen anywhere, is there?'

'No, I suppose not,' Daisy said, seeing the logic to that. 'Perhaps she was just going to see Lady Sybil or something. And I did only catch a glimpse of her.'

'That seems much more likely,' Tom nodded. 'You know, I perhaps wouldn't mention anything about any of this to anyone else.'

'I don't know that anyone will ask me.'

Tom shrugged again. 'You know what some people are like. Especially Miss O'Brien and Thomas. They seem to love to stick their noses in everyone's business from what I've seen. And Mr Carson wouldn't like it. He's got a soft spot for Lady Mary a mile wide. Even I know that, and I've only been here a couple of weeks. He'd not be happy if he caught you saying anything about her. Best just to keep it to yourself.'

Daisy nodded, thoughtfully. 'You're probably right. He has a rare old temper on him sometimes, Mr Carson does. Proper frightens me when he shouts, it does.'

'Then my advice would be to not risk antagonising him, Daisy. It's not worth the risk.'

'No, it's definitely not,' Daisy said with feeling. 'Thank you, Mr Branson. You've set my mind at rest.'

'Good. I'm glad to be of service,' Tom said, giving her a warm smile. 'And thank you for the tea. It's very welcome. It's chilly out there.'

'Daisy! Where have you got to, girl?' Mrs Patmore yelled from the kitchen. 'I said take the tea to Mr Branson, I didn't say hover over him while he drinks every last drop of it!'

Daisy gave Tom a rueful smile and bobbed her head at him. 'Coming, Mrs Patmore!'

Tom watched her go, hoping he'd managed to head off any trouble from that direction.

Thomas was outside smoking when Tom ventured back out to head to the garage. The tall footman watched him cross the yard, getting nearer to where he was lounging against the wall.

'I hear you think you heard something the other day,' he said as Tom drew near, blowing a ring of smoke out of his mouth.

'Oh, I definitely heard something,' Tom replied, drawing to a halt, holding the other man's gaze.

Thomas stared insolently back at him. 'I think you'll find you misheard whatever it was you thought you heard. Or at least you will if you know what's good for you.'

Tom stepped closer, unimpressed by the threat. 'Perhaps you need to think more about your own position than mine. If you're the kind of man that will show a strange man to the bedroom of one of the young ladies of the house, I don't think you're the kind of man his lordship will want under his roof.'

Thomas paused, his cigarette not quite touching his lips, his cold, blue eyes as hard as flint. 'I did no such thing.'

'I heard you tell Miss O'Brien you did.'

'I told Miss O'Brien nothing of the sort.'

'Ah, so you're going down the route of it being my word against yours, are you?'

'That's about the size of it, yes. And Miss O'Brien will back up my version of events.'

Tom fixed him with a steely look. 'I've no doubt she would. But who do you think Mr Carson will believe if I take this sorry tale to him? Me? Or you?'

For a split second, the certainty in the footman's face wavered before he recovered his aplomb. 'You think he'll believe some Irish fly-by-night who's only just arrived? I've been here three years now. That counts for more than your three weeks.'

Tom let the scepticism show on his face. 'Does it? Are you sure about that? Three weeks means I have no axe to grind as far as Mr Carson is concerned. But three years is long enough for him to form an opinion of your character. If I were a betting man, I'd wager good money that he'd take my word over yours.'

Thomas straightened, studying him carefully, dislike on his face. 'As far as Mr Carson is concerned? So, you do have an axe to grind. Why's that then? What do you care about what happens in that house? Aren't you all, "Down with the aristocracy! Long live the revolution!" and sod those that think they are better than the rest of us through an accident of birth?'

Tom hesitated, unwilling to let slip that he knew what Pamuk had done to Mary after Thomas led him to her room.

Thomas snorted derisively at his hesitation. 'Yeah, some revolutionary you are. You're all fur coat and no drawers, you are.'

Tom moved forward, toe to toe with the footman. 'I'm warning you: I don't like men who think women are just playthings.'

To his surprise, Thomas gave him a dry smile, a flash of amusement in his eyes. 'Well, then that's something we can agree on because I don't think of women as playthings either. I have no interest in that sort of thing.'

Tom frowned, taken aback by that. In his experience, men who enabled and encouraged other men to treat women badly usually thought nothing of dishonouring a woman and then casting her aside themselves.

The footman blew out a last stream of smoke then flicked the butt of his cigarette away and stood up straight, pulling his waistcoat flat. 'I did nothing. And you can't prove otherwise,' he said, his voice low and icy. 'So, if you've quite finished with your pathetic posturing, Branson, I've got work to do.'

With that, he pushed past Tom, shoulder barging him for good measure, and headed to the back door.

Tom watched him go, unsettled by the encounter. Thomas had played a part in Mary's rape; he was sure of that. Without him, Pamuk would not have known where to find her, but the way he'd spoken about not seeing women as playthings didn't chime with his behaviour. It was perplexing.

But one thing was clear: Thomas was a slippery, untrustworthy character and he'd do well to keep an eye on him.

Two days later, Mary called for the motor again just after luncheon. She came out of the Abbey carrying the same reticule she'd brought to Tom's cottage when he gave her the tea. Once again, she gave vague instructions and then waited until they were on the move to speak to him.

'How are you, Tom?'

'I'm well, thank you, milady,' Tom replied, flicking his eyes to the mirror. 'More to the point, how are you? Are you sleeping any better?'

'Not much,' Mary confessed, shaking her head. 'Maybe two or three hours a night.'

'That's not enough,' Tom said in concern.

'No, I suppose it isn't,' she answered, the tiredness apparent in her voice.

Tom hesitated. 'Am I actually taking you somewhere today or do you need to go to my cottage again?'

Mary bit her lip, looking at him with pleading eyes. 'I was hoping maybe you'd be kind enough to let me visit your cottage again. I know I'm asking a lot.'

Tom looked at her in the mirror, knowing he would not refuse her. 'Of course, you can. How long do you have today?'

'I said I was visiting a friend near Ripon, so perhaps the same timescales as before.'

Tom nodded, turning off the road to take the familiar route to his cottage. Once there, they followed the same routine as the first time: Mary going upstairs, and Tom making her a hot milk.

When he took it upstairs this time, however, she was standing by the bed wearing the same softer clothes she'd worn the day she'd drunk the abortifacient tea.

'I thought it might be better to change into these, then I won't wrinkle my other clothes. I can't go home looking like I've slept in my clothes,' she explained nervously at the look of surprise on his face.

'No, I suppose not,' Tom said, setting down the milk.

'I hope you don't think me too presumptuous for bringing them today,' she said quietly, her hands smoothing down her skirt.

'No, I… I suppose it's another example of you thinking ahead,' he said, not at all sure how he felt about this development. They looked at each other in awkward silence for several long seconds before Tom took the plunge and asked the question rattling in his head. 'Do you want me to stay with you again?'

Mary nodded shyly. 'If you don't mind.'

'I don't mind.' He gestured at the books on the bedside cabinet. 'I've still got A Tale of Two Cities on the go.'

Mary smiled. 'Then you can bring me up to date on events with Doctor Manette.'

Tom nodded, picking up the book as she climbed on the bed, shaking the blanket from his wardrobe out over her. When he sat beside her, she spread it over his legs too. Tom watched her, the everyday intimacy of the gesture sparking something inside him.

'May I have my milk, please?' she asked, settling against the bedframe beside him.

As he passed the mug to her, Tom couldn't help but reflect how much like an old married couple they appeared, even if it was afternoon instead of bedtime. It both excited and unnerved him how natural it all felt even though this was only the third time they'd shared his bed.

Mary nudged him with her elbow. 'Are you going to start reading then?'

'Um, yes, yes, of course,' he muttered, opening the book.

A few minutes into the story, Mary tipped her head, resting it on his shoulder as she sipped her milk and listened to the story. Tom felt his heartbeat pick up and focused on keeping his voice level as he read.

When she finished the drink, she stretched across him to put the mug on the bedside cabinet. Tom could smell the soap she used to wash her hair as she leaned in. He closed his eyes briefly, his narration paused as she blocked his view of the book.

Mary pulled back, giving him a tired smile. 'I think I might be ready to sleep now.'

'You make yourself comfortable then and I'll keep reading,' he said, softly.

Mary nodded, snuggling down, leaning her head against his arm. Once again, she was asleep within minutes.

Tom put the book down, watching as sleep smoothed the troubles from her face. She needed this, he thought. But how sustainable was it? How long could he reasonably keep spending afternoons in his cottage with her on the pretext of her visiting somewhere or another?

He put the book down to think about the situation. Mary snuffled, shifting in her sleep, burrowing closer to him. Tom pulled his arm from between them and put it around her, her head dropping onto his chest. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy being close to her.

When Mary awoke, she showed no signs of the embarrassment she'd felt the other day when she'd woken up draped across the family's chauffeur. Instead, she stretched luxuriously.

'Hmm, that was lovely,' she said, still nestled in the crook of Tom's arm. 'How long was I asleep?'

Tom fished his watch out of his pocket. 'About three and a half hours.'

'Did you sleep too?' she asked him, tilting her head to look up at him.

'Briefly. Mostly, I've been sitting here thinking.'

'Oh, right. About what?' she said, a little worried by the look on his face.

'About this. You being here,' he said, feeling her tense in his embrace.

'Do you want me to stop coming here?' she asked in a small voice.

'No, it's not that. It's just that… well, you seem to find it easier to sleep here than in your own bedroom.'

Mary nodded. 'Yes. I feel safe here. There are no memories of him here.'

'And I'm glad about that, but I don't know that I can keep pretending to be working when I'm actually here with you,' he said, honestly.

Mary pressed her lips together, trying to hide the disappointment in her eyes. 'Oh. All right. Well, I... I suppose I can understand that.'

'It's just that I feel like I'm taking liberties.'

'With me?' she asked with a frown. 'Because you're not. You haven't taken any liberties. You've been a perfect gentleman.'

'Well, I'm not sure your father would agree with that if he knew you'd been sleeping in my bed and I'd been lying here alongside you,' Tom said, absolutely sure that his lordship would horsewhip him from here to London and back again if he found out what had been going on.

'Well, my father will not find out and if he did, I would defend you with every breath in my body. I will not have you blamed when this is all my doing,' Mary bristled, her cheeks heating at his description of what had been happening here in his cottage.

'It's not all your doing.'

Mary sighed. 'Oh, Tom, it's gallant of you to say so, but we both know I wouldn't be here unless I'd practically forced you to agree to bringing me here. Four times.'

'You didn't force me.'

'I'm your employer's daughter. How are you supposed to say no to me?' Mary asked, knowing that to be the truth however much she'd like to dress it up.

Tom shook his head. 'No, I might not have suggested it, but I didn't say yes because of who you are. I said yes because I wanted to help you.'

Mary gazed up at him, wanting desperately to believe that.

He seemed to sense her uncertainty. 'I mean that. I really truly mean that. I don't want to see you suffering, milady,' he said.

Mary gave him a small smile, her heart beating faster. 'You know, I think while I'm in your cottage, you should probably call me Mary instead of milady. It seems rather too formal when I'm lying in your bed and… well, in your arms as I am.'

He smiled at her, happy that she felt comfortable enough to relax the rules surrounding them.

'So, tell me what you've been thinking then,' she said, resignation creeping into her voice at the likely prospect of losing her sanctuary.

'I feel like I'm taking half days I'm not entitled to,' he explained.

'But you're not,' Mary argued. 'You're acting under my instructions, so you're not taking any time off.'

'No, but I'm not working either,' Tom countered.

'So, you want me to stop asking you to bring me here then?' she asked, her heart sinking at the thought of losing her refuge.

'No, I don't.' he said, surprising her. 'Well, not exactly.'

Mary frowned, puzzled by that. 'Then what exactly?'

'Look, I think at the moment you need this, this safe place to sleep, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'Then I want you to keep coming here.'

Mary chewed her lip, confused by the contradictory things he seemed to be saying. 'I don't understand.'

'I'm saying you can keep coming here whenever you want. But you don't need to book the motor to do it. I'll leave a key under the mat at the front door, and you can come here whenever you want, whenever you need to,' he said, explaining the plan he'd come up with while she slept.

Mary eyed him, contemplatively. 'Without you, you mean?'

'Well, yes.'

'But…'

Tom waited for her to finish.

'I need you,' she said, a blush rising on her cheeks again. 'I need you to help me sleep.'

'No, I don't think you do,' he said, gently. 'I think you'd sleep anyway simply because you're so tired. You can make yourself a hot milk. You can read the book until you fall asleep. You don't need me.'

Mary bit her lip, not sure at all that he wasn't the magic ingredient that helped her sleep.

Tom watched her, seeming to know she wasn't sure about this. 'Look, mi-, er, Mary, you can try it and see. If it doesn't work, we'll go back to this arrangement with you making up appointments and me bringing you here. But if we try it the other way, you can come here every day if you want to and get some sleep. All you need tell anyone is that you're going for a walk.'

Mary gazed at him and then nodded slowly. 'All right. Let's try it. And thank you. Thank you for being so kind to me.'

He smiled gently at her. 'That's what friends do, don't they? Be kind to each other?'

'Are we friends then?' Mary asked, her heart in her mouth, his answer suddenly terribly important to her.

'I'd like to think so, after everything that's happened. Wouldn't you?' he said, looking down at her, a soft look on his face.

'Yes, I would,' she said, feeling lighter than she had in days.

She would try Tom's suggestion of visiting his cottage alone to sleep and see how it went. Perhaps it would help her to recover her equilibrium. Perhaps if she wasn't so tired all the time, she'd begin to push Pamuk from her mind and, in turn, she'd be able to reclaim her bedroom as a safe space again where she could relax and sleep as usual. Perhaps. It was worth a shot at least.