He was glad now he’d accepted Siobhan’s suggestion to go back to the manor. He was looking forward to seeing Her Ladyship and Lord Lassiter. They had helped him and his cousins out over the years back in Kerry. And he had no qualms anymore about just turning up with Siobhan. He would be welcome, made to feel at ease; he was certain of that.

Siobhan said, “All of this land surrounding us belongs to Lord Lassiter, and he owns lots of forests as well. Bolton Manor is on agricultural land and it’s farmed. You know, it’s a moneymaker.”

Blackie nodded. He hadn’t known that. In fact, he didn’t know much at all about Bolton Manor, except that His Lordship often stayed there into the autumn, sometimes ’til after Guy Fawkes Day in November.

He glanced about as they walked along, admiring the lovely countryside, the lush green fields and huge trees that looked ancient. His eye caught sight of a flock of birds rising up into the sky. He followed their flight for a moment. He liked nature and was well aware that in the fields and woods surrounding them were rabbits, hares, squirrels, foxes and all manner of little scurrying animals. When he built his house one day, he would make sure he had not only lovely gardens but also fields and forests. An estate, I want, that’s it! And another dream was born in his head. And it would grow over the years.

Bolton Manor was Georgian in style, and Blackie liked the look of it at once. He saw that it was square, with no “bits” shooting off the sides, and there was a well-kept garden at the front.

“I like the house,” he said to his cousin. “It was built well.”

“It’s lovely inside,” she replied. “We have to see Cook first, so I can give her the box of little cakes from Hettys; then I’ll go and speak to Her Ladyship, explain that you’re here.”

“Thank ye, Siobhan, but don’t mention why I’m in Harrogate, or me lady friend, please.”

“I won’t! Don’t be so daft!” she shot back as she led him across the cobbled yard to the service entrance. Beyond was the stable block, and he could hear the sound of the horses’ hooves and their snorting. They seemed restless, he thought.

As Blackie walked into the kitchen with Siobhan, his warm smile flashed across his face.

“Ah, and ’tis a grand place, this,” he said. Moving across the floor, he was heading for Cook, who had swung around at the sound of voices.

“And there you are, O’Brien,” she said. “I see you have my box of little cakes. Carried them carefully, I hope, lass.”

“I did, Cook.”