At breakfast a few days later, Mrs Darcy, who had been in consultation with the head gardener, proposed a strawberry-picking expedition. In the vast vegetable gardens that served the estate and its many souls, the fruiting beds had reached that state of plentiful glut where there was so much excess, no one could begrudge even the birds – who had grown too bold for the scarecrows and too greedy for the bird-scarer – their share. She thought both children and adults might enjoy such an excursion. The little girls should surely not find such a task too onerous if they could eat as much fruit as they wanted while filling their baskets. Charlotte suppressed a qualm at the thought of the impact on their digestions, and agreed enthusiastically to the plan.

‘Will you join us, Herr Rosenstein?’ asked Elizabeth, turning to the musician, who had long since become a welcome fixture at the breakfast table. ‘Or do the demands of your work make such an excursion impossible today?’

‘I have almost finished the glue-work and varnishing necessary to repair Fraülein Darcy’s harpsichord. Another day of further drying would be of benefit to the instrument before I retune it. So I will be happy to join your band of strawberry-pickers. Simply allow me an hour to complete my portion of work for the day – and I shall bring a surprise for Snow White and Rose Red here,’ he said, nodding affectionately at the children.

Charlotte’s daughters clapped their hands at the news, and submitted with good grace to having broad bonnets tied on, although both were already as freckled as hen’s eggs from the amount of time they spent outdoors.

Armed with trugs lined with rushes, the women and girls repaired to the fruit beds and set to. Charlotte enjoyed sinking down, her skirts spreading around her, and feeling for the fruit under the leaves, revealing their stippled ruby hearts, the edging of white around the frill of green where the stem attached. It was as if the strawberries blushed in reverse.

She could hear her daughters chattering as they competed to find the biggest unblemished fruits, with no tell-tale beak-shaped cavities, but she knew the sweetest strawberries were the small ones, no bigger than her littlest fingernails, bred from the wild varieties. These, dense in jelly and containing not too much liquid, made the best jams and preserves, and she concentrated on filling her basket with these tiny treasures.