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Leonora was less sanguine. ‘But with Sir Roderick Fopling in charge of the local courts, don’t expect moderation or mercy. He’ll likely call for the death sentence for the stealing of a rabbit.’

Dusk was already falling, and Charlotte decided it was time to go home to explain the latest plans to Mama Mildmay and the Reverend. ‘I’ll go the garden way,’ she said as she embraced Leonora and squeezed Mrs Priddy’s hand.

Leonora was just about to go upstairs when there was a knock on the front door. Jack Clegg opened it to the young curate standing on the doorstep, his clerical hat in his hand. She hailed him. ‘Come in, Mr Fopling.’ Aware of propriety’s demands, she led him through to the small sitting room where Nanny P was still busy with her sewing.

‘Good evening, Mrs Priddy.’ He nodded his greeting and took Leonora’s hand in his. ‘I have just seen Mrs Sproat and Silas on my weekly visit to my parishioners. I know Jack Fleming will have told you about Silas and Molly. I wanted you to know what I told them, that I may be Sir Roderick’s son, but I do not share his vengeful spirit. Their secret is safe with me.’

Leonora felt a swell of affection for this mild-mannered, gentle man. ‘Thank you for letting me know.’ He seemed reconciled to the fact that Leonora would not be his wife and their main concern now was with the Sproats. ‘How are they?’

‘Silas asked me to pray for Molly. He wanted to know if she was in Heaven.’

‘Could you say anything to console him?’

‘Only what I believe. That all living creatures have their own souls.’ He paused as Mrs Priddy looked up with a smile in her eyes. ‘Molly is not gone from us forever, but is part of that other world that is everywhere.’

All were silent for a moment, then Leonora asked, ‘Is Silas going to bury her in the woods she loved so?’

‘Yes, deep enough to outfox the foxes.’

‘I will go and see the family tomorrow, but I realise we need to be discreet.’

‘It may be a hopeful sign that my father and his man do not seem to know that they wounded someone and killed his dog. As long as Silas lies low until he can use his arm and pull his sleeve over his wound.’

‘Well, I thank you for your care of the family.’ Leonora met his eyes.

‘We are all equal before God,’ he said, turning to her with a pale smile. ‘From the Sproats to the mighty Earl of Rokeby.’

Leonora smiled and led him to the door. They stood listening to the birds in the beech tree opposite and Richard Fopling murmured, ‘We find the truth of that equality in the blackbird’s song and the sighing of the wind.’ With that quiet riposte, he stepped lightly back into the lane.

After another restless night, Leonora awoke to a clear fresh morning. The breeze was building into a gale that animated the branches of the gnarled old rose growing up the back wall of the Manor. It tapped against her window an insistent rhythm that seemed to her sleep-starved brain to be a message from the natural world. What was the rose trying to tell her? she wondered in her drowsy state. She dragged herself from bed, determined to take her grey mare, Dione, out for a canter in the parkland that led to the river. Dressing in her favourite riding habit, she was aware how tired it looked now that she knew she would have to take it to Town for the Season, and made a mental note to replace the military frogging and braid. The shape was still very becoming and the fine blue broadcloth, smart and crisp. She decided against wearing a hat as nobody would see her and she would soon be home.

Having eaten a quick breakfast, Leonora headed for the stables where Martin was already saddling her mare. Dione was excited, sidling and stamping and sniffing the air. Martin tossed Leonora up into the side-saddle and before she had even properly arranged her skirts Dione was off, straining to leave the stable yard and head for the park. Leonora loved her horse as a friend. She had been bought for her by her father as a twenty-first birthday present and her loneliness as William Worth went to war was assuaged. Dione was the most responsive of animals; her lustrous dark eyes with their white lashes had gazed deeply into Leonora’s anguished face when the news of William’s death reached her. The mare understood Leonora’s heart and this morning, was agitated and excited. Clouds were racing across the sky and the wind was whisking up Dione’s tail and making her long mane ripple like water.

Given her head, the horse took off towards the river, kicking up her heels and soon breaking into a fluid gallop. Leonora was a good horsewoman but had never jumped fences as some of the bolder women did when out with the Fopling pack of hounds. Galloping on Dione’s back was the limit of her equestrian bravery and she held tight to the pommel, feeling her horse’s exhilaration through the reins and the beating of her own heart. As they approached the river, Leonora wheeled Dione towards the woods that marked the boundary between Rokeby and Manor lands. She was windswept and her cheeks were pink as she urged her horse towards home. But a cry made her turn. There was a distant figure of a man on a big black horse emerging from the woods, cantering towards her; tall in the saddle, his hair unruly and coat tails flying, the unmistakeable figure of Lord Rokeby. As he came closer, Leonora realised she was so used to his scarred face she barely noticed the damage; instead, it was the man and his emotions that she saw. As he brought Jupiter to ride beside her, she was struck by how distraught he seemed. Barely pausing to greet her, he blurted out, ‘I heard a dog was shot last night.’

‘Yes. One of our tenants’. Molly, a sweet hound.’ She saw relief flood the Earl’s face then realised that Achille, his constant companion, was not with him, and her heart turned over with foreboding.

‘Have you seen Achille? Hasn’t been home since he set off on the scent of something, heading this way. He was with me on my ride yesterday, after you and Miss Blythe had left.’

‘That’s very concerning. Has he ever gone missing before?’

‘No, never. He’s a lazy vagabond who likes home comforts.’

A cold trickle of fear caught Leonora unawares. ‘Sir Roderick Fopling’s land abuts ours. He’s on a one-man mission to destroy all poachers and has had his gamekeeper set mantraps throughout his woods.’

‘The Devil take him!’

‘I’m afraid the law’s on his side and in these parts, he is the law!’ The agitation was back in Lord Rokeby’s face, and Leonora leant across to touch his arm in consolation. ‘Let’s find my bailiff who’s mending the fences in the next field along. He knows most of what happens hereabouts.’ She trotted towards the field gate and they passed through to find Ned Fleming working on the far boundary. Cantering towards him, their horses side by side, they thundered down through the lush grass.

‘Ned, have you seen Lord Rokeby’s dog? A wolfhound, grey and white marled coat.’ Leonora was breathless.

‘He’s been missing since yesterday evening.’ Lord Rokeby’s voice was harsh with emotion.

Ned Fleming put down his mallet, a gloomy look on his face. ‘That’s a worry, my lord.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘’Fraid we’re close here to the Fopling estate, a veritable circle of hell for dogs; none escape with their lives.’

‘Oh Ned, hush your doom-mongering!’

‘No, Miss Appleby. I fear your man may be right. That dog has never left my side since I rescued him from the battlefield.’