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Leonora felt her cheeks colour. ‘I’m afraid I have. We used to trespass when we thought the house uninhabited.’

‘We? Who else?’ His face had become increasingly amused as the conversation continued.

‘Miss Blythe, although she is not such a keen swimmer.’

He surprised Leonora with a bark of laughter, his teeth gleaming. ‘Ah, so I’ve had two trespassing Nereids! May I ask what stopped you?’

‘Your gamekeeper threatened to shoot us!’ Leonora could not prevent a note of outrage entering her voice.

‘What! Diggory Shrubb? No! He looks fearsome, ’tis true, but he’d never harm a woman – even less so a water nymph!’

‘That may be so, but he did discharge his rifle over our heads. And tell us you were back and did not care for company.’

‘Well, he’s right enough there. But surely it’s too late in the year for you to swim?’

She did not want to be deflected from her mission and asked again, ‘When it’s warmer again I would be gratified if you could give your permission?’

Lord Rokeby looked at Leonora with a speculative expression. ‘I too like to swim, but in the afternoon. You have my permission to go to the lake in the morning before I’ve risen from my bed.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ She felt a bubble of joy expand at the thought she could once again strike out in that cold clear water.

His brisk voice broke into her reverie. ‘But you must never go to the lake alone. There are all kinds of hidden dangers. When the valley was flooded in my great-grandfather’s day, a section of woodland was drowned and the trees remain, petrified just under the surface on the eastern side.’

Leonora nodded. ‘I will always have someone with me.’

‘Fare thee well, Miss Appleby.’ Lord Rokeby stepped away to let her go, turning back to the house, his anxieties about Achille uppermost in his mind once more.

The next morning Leonora was up early, determined to visit the Sproats without risking the attention of Sir Roderick Fopling and his men. She donned her cloak and bonnet and slung a basket on her arm with food from the kitchen. Mrs Priddy had taught Silas his letters when he was younger and so she joined Leonora’s mission of mercy.

Silas was much more concerned about the death of Molly than about his own wound which was healing well. He seethed with resentment and Leonora was anxious the young hotspur might do something stupid. ‘Silas, you know it’s dangerous to trespass on Sir Roderick’s land. You can always ask us for a rabbit for the family.’

‘That’s what I told ’im, Miss Appleby!’ Mrs Sproat was exasperated and banged the birch besom against the wall as she swept the floor with vigour.

‘They didn’t have to shoot Molly!’ Silas’s red hair was sticking up like a flame around his freckled face, which was flushed with feeling. ‘She was the best hound in the world. There’ll never be a better.’ Tears sprang into his eyes.

Mrs Priddy bustled forward and asked to see his arm. Examining the scabbed wound which had no tell-tale signs of inflammation, she nodded and caught his mother’s eye. ‘That’s looking good. Mrs Sproat, your potions seem to have done the trick.’

Mrs Sproat put down her broom and crossed her arms, looking pleased. ‘My medicine is the wisdom of the country folk. Yet to let me down.’

Leonora had unpacked the contents of the basket and turned to Silas. ‘Did you know that the Vazeys’ dog has just had puppies?’

‘Yes, but she’s nothing like as prime a dog as Molly.’ He was sulky.

‘I know. No one could be. But they’re good-looking puppies and I’m sure you’d train one up to be almost as good as Molly.’ She knew not to press the point but to leave it, hopefully to tantalise Silas enough that he would go and see them. No one could resist a puppy, she thought with a smile.

‘Please, no more trespassing on Fopling land. You’ve escaped this time, but it’s too dangerous if you’re caught. Silas, come to us if your family needs anything,’ Leonora added as she turned to go.

Mrs Sproat came forward, a smile lifting her careworn features. ‘Always grand to see you Mistress Priddy. And thank you, Miss Appleby. These victuals and your care are much appreciated. I’ll make sure the lad stays within bounds.’

The two women were almost at the Manor when Curate Fopling emerged from the alley to the almshouses, walking fast. He nearly bumped into them and tipped his hat. ‘Apologies, ladies.’ His pale kindly eyes glanced at Leonora, then quickly flickered away. The morning sun was bright on the bare branches of trees that had given up their last leaves to the wind. ‘Yesterday’s storm has purged the air to bring us such clarity of light.’ He met her eyes again. ‘Such certainty is rare, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Appleby?’ Then he tipped his hat again and walked off towards the church.

‘I can’t make that young man out,’ Mrs Priddy tutted as they entered the house. ‘He will obscure everything in poetic observation.’ They removed their cloaks and bonnets to be greeted by Charlotte’s hallo from the small sitting room. Turning, they saw their visitor looking charming in a morning dress of palest blue cotton, her fair hair more carefully confected into curls than usual, a handwritten list in her hand.

‘Lottie! You’re early. Have you breakfasted?’ Leonora went forward to embrace her.

‘Yes, I’ve been up hours, making lists of my clothes so we can decide what we can improve and what we need to order from Windsor.’

‘Aha! Well, we’ll need Nanny P’s excellent needlework skills.’ Leonora turned to the elderly woman who was about to head for the kitchens in search of Cook.