I entered the spare bedroom and was surprised to see Mrs King at the dresser wearing a man's waistcoat and dinner trousers. My housekeeper said she arrived in a deplorable state three days ago, and after receiving a letter curiously delivered to her on New Year's Day, avowed she would not leave the house until my return from Edinburgh.

She adjusted her cufflinks and reached for a dinner jacket hanging from the open wardrobe door. Even in the yellow gaslight I could see the high flush of a fever on her face, and her cheeks were gaunt.

"So it worked. That's the longest half hour I have ever experienced, Lady Byron,' I said trying to break the moment. And yet apart from the privations of her obvious illness and her unusual choice of wearing a man's clothing, she looked not a day older than when I had last seen her all those years ago.

She turned and her eyes widened with surprise at the sight of me. She covered her shock with a rueful smile. 'You've grown distinguished, James.' She was still the most comely woman I had ever known. Despite being in my sixth decade, I could appreciate her beauty every bit as much as the infatuated young man I had been when last I laid eyes on her. 'For me it has been hardly longer than that,' she said. 'Sit. Let me finish dressing and we'll go downstairs. I have a tale to tell you, but...'

"Dear God,' I said. 'You say it as if you had merely been on a train trip.'

She raised her hand. 'I implore you, for the love of that same God you have just invoked. No more. I'll not speak of it until you have eaten. You've travelled far yourself today. And I want you to tell me what has become of our friends. Tell me--tell me as if I, like you, had truly only been on a train trip.'

And so I did. The enormity of the accomplishment overwhelmed me, and concern for her beat fiercely in my breast as I accompanied Mrs King back downstairs and into the dining room.

My housekeeper gave no sign (she knew better than to make a scene in front of a guest however outlandish the guest might be), but I knew I would be in for a scolding from her tomorrow morning. Despite the lateness of the evening, it was only half an hour more until we had a generous supper of turbot and potatoes with white sauce, asparagus and carrots. Throughout the meal Mrs King and I had a somewhat one-sided conversation during which I regaled her with the news of half a century. Then she plied me with questions about the doings of our mutual friends from all those years ago when she bought this house for us and provided funds for our experiments. She had insisted then we not address her as "Countess" or "Lady Byron". Using her married name back then was our private joke since she was in her late thirties and we in our early twenties, and we all secretly loved her (even Podge, despite his being a fop).

Over and over it was if she were asking two questions when I thought her asking only one. 'Did Stephen gain his membership in the Royal Society for his...' she asked for example, trailing off as she lifted a fork to her mouth. And I would answer, relating how the Stephen was indeed now a member of the Royal Society and his work in orthopaedics was regarded among the finest. But it happened often during the conversation like that: She would ask about so-and-so 'who is doing ... "' And she would never complete the second part, as if she were afraid of my answer. For of course, half a century takes a toll on any group of friends, and more than once I had to tell her of friends who had long-since passed away.

Eventually the meal concluded and we went through to the lounge; I pulling on the bell-pull as we passed, to let my housekeeper know she could come and clean up. I poured myself a brandy and offered Mrs King a sherry, but she laughed and took a whiskey instead. I tapped my pipe on the grate and then filled it and lit it. We sat and I looked at her with open curiosity. 'Well then. Have I satisfied your appetite for gossip?' I asked.

"You have certainly satisfied my appetite for a fine meal.' She smiled and I puffed on my pipe. At last, she leaned forward; her features lit more by the fire in the hearth than by the gaslights.

"Yes,' she said. 'You have been most patient, and I shall keep you wondering no longer. But so much has happened in such a short time. Things are not perhaps so bad as I feared at first upon my arrival, but let me tell you of my strange journey and decide for yourself. You were always the most level-headed of the group, James, and the fact you had faith in me and stayed here at Richmond all these years speaks well of you.' I flushed at that. My own experimentation had come to nothing, and when the others left to pursue their various careers and lives, I could never decide if I stayed through sheer inertia, or if indeed as she said I kept the home fire burning in the hope she might one day return.

"I need to tell this in my own way,' she continued, 'and I ask that you not interrupt once I start.'

"Of course,' I replied, swirling my brandy before taking a large sip. My hand was trembling.