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Leonora turned to George Lockwood. ‘It’s been a tradition since my grandfather’s day that villagers can hunt rabbits for the pot for one day a month in winter on the estate. That way we find they respect the land the rest of the time.’

Her guest had a mouth full of chicken and could merely nod. After a while he said, ‘I’m not going to be in a hurry to change any of your family’s long-established habits, I assure you.’

The following afternoon, Leonora set off in the gig again with Mrs Priddy beside her. They left the Manor and turned towards the Abbey. Nanny P looked sideways at her and said in her knowing way, ‘Nora my dear, how nice to see you spruced up a little. That blue chambray really suits you, makes your eyes look almost green.’

Leonora bridled. ‘I haven’t gone to any extra trouble. It’s only an old day dress.’ She encouraged Clover into a fast trot as they bowled along the lane, then into the overgrown drive of Rokeby Abbey. As they rounded the bend, the sprawling building before them looked as forbidding as ever, its north face in shadow, the ruined Abbey looming over the later mansion built beside it. Stowe greeted them at the door and let them through to the drawing room where the piano-forte awaited. Achille trotted towards Leonora to nuzzle her hand, but there was no sight or sound of his master. The dog walked over to Mrs Priddy and flopped down on the sheepskin laid on the Persian carpet in front of the fire, his great head resting on a footstool which seemed to be placed conveniently for this purpose.

Hound and elderly woman fell asleep and Leonora laboured on, tinkling at the higher notes, tightening the strings gradually to bring them into tune with each other and with the other notes in the octaves. Dressed in her calico apron and with her wrench in her hand ready to work on the last two strings, she was bending over the instrument when Achille got to his feet, yawned, stretched, and made his elegant way out of the room. The peaceful atmosphere was disturbed by a distant call and footsteps which echoed in the hall but did not approach. Leonora was disconcerted by the tremor of excitement and then disappointment she felt.

It was mid-afternoon by the time she had completed the tuning and as Mrs Priddy awoke, Leonora decided to play the Adagio from Pleyel’s Sonata in B major, known for using most of the keyboard. She played it with greater gusto than usual, still hoping the Earl might appear to thank her, but only Stowe entered the room as she came to a flourishing end.

Leonora looked up. ‘Oh Stowe, I’ve finished. Mrs Priddy and I will soon be on our way.’

He bowed. ‘Miss Appleby, it’s a pleasure indeed to have music filling the house once more.’ As Leonora stood up, removed her apron and collected her tools, she glanced out of the window and in the distance saw a man on a magnificent black horse cantering in the parkland that led to the lake, Achille running by his side. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the green sward and she watched for a moment as man, horse and dog moved from light to dark then light again, as if in a dream.

Nanny P had joined her in the window and realised what had held her attention. Carrying her knitting bag, she tucked her hand in Leonora’s arm. In a quiet amused voice she said, ‘He’s a law unto himself, you know. Always has been.’

Leonora looked down sharply at her old nanny. Why did she say that, she wondered? She had no interest in the Earl beyond extracting permission to swim in his lake and not risk being shot by the irascible Mr Shrubb.

Leonora told Stowe they would walk round to the stables and collect Clover and the gig themselves. She was curious about the rest of the rambling place and thought it might be interesting to approach the stable yard through the ruined Abbey. The massive stone arches towered above their heads. It had been without a roof for more than two centuries and the great stone-flagged floor, once polished and waxed by its devout community, now had a carpet of moss and leaves and occasional saplings that had eluded the scythe. The atmosphere of peace and welcome belied its forbidding demeanour and the two women gazed about them with some wonder. ‘Isn’t this lovely?’ Leonora turned to Nanny P.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it from inside before. What a miscreant king, old Henry was! All that despoiling of the monasteries. And yet he was father to our great queen.’

Leonora laughed. ‘Does that mean you will forgive the tyrant anything for the fact he begat Elizabeth?’ Mrs Priddy responded with a chuckle as they turned into the stable yard. Leonora’s eyes widened further. If the house appeared unloved and half-forgotten, the stables were smart and clean and bustling with activity. Boys were busy shovelling the dirty straw into wheelbarrows while the grooms were brushing and fussing over teams of magnificent horses: four matched bays, another set of black horses as glossy as glass. And a grey hunter with a ghostly tail and mane that floated like a cloud around his handsome head. Leonora gasped. ‘Well, the Earl certainly loves his bloodstock.’

Compared with the magnificence on show, the little hack pony, Clover, and the gig parked in the shade of a spreading beech tree at the entrance to the yard, were like country dowds out of place at a grand society ball.

A groom approached and Leonora explained she had come to collect her carriage. He bowed. ‘I’m Roddy, his lordship’s chief groom,’ and he handed both women into their gig. As Leonora drove Clover down the drive, she looked back at Rokeby Abbey and considered its austere façade, now less dark and sinister, and more enticing every time she saw it.

Just as Leonora arrived back at the Manor, Charlotte Blythe appeared through the garden gate, as if she had been waiting for a sign that her friend had returned. ‘It’s so dull at the Vicarage, do you mind if I read my book here with you?’ she asked with a winning smile.

‘Of course not. I’ve just got to do some mending. I’ve torn my favourite blue muslin on that thorny rose by the front of the house.’

‘I thought Nanny P was expert at any needlework.’

‘Oh, she is!’ Leonora smiled. ‘She’s expert at everything but I want to show her I can manage without her, sometimes!’

Charlotte settled into the sofa and opened the book she held in her hands.

Leonora looked across, her needle poised. ‘What are you reading?’

Charlotte waved it in the air. ‘Belinda! It’s so charming, I’m reluctant to put it down.’

‘Has Mrs Mildmay read it?’ Leonora was aware how carefully Charlotte had been brought up, and restricting her reading matter was part of her foster parents’ protective cloak.

Charlotte giggled. ‘Actually no. But the bishop’s wife recommended it to her maid and this Mama Mildmay took as proof of it being morally impeccable. No woman in her right mind, she declared, would allow her maid to be corrupted by unsuitable literature!’

‘And have you yet found anything unsuitable in those pages?’

‘Not yet, but I’m ever hopeful.’ Both young women giggled.

Leonora stitched on while her young guest read a few more pages of her novel. She lifted her fair head and asked in an innocent voice, ‘Is Mr Lockwood still out riding?’

‘I presume so.’ Leonora gave her friend a quizzical look.

‘He’s less stuffy than he appears. In fact, he’s rather charming in his straightforward way.’

‘He’s quite a catch, you know.’ Leonora met Charlotte’s startled brown eyes.