Here waited a brown horse whose size might have been daunting were it not that his barrel sides and scooped spine suggested a beast of considerable age. His height was a boon, given Charlotte’s tall frame, and his placid temperament was still more welcome. To her embarrassment, Walter mounted another horse, evidently intent on accompanying her.

‘The mistress says to lead you out at first and show you the lie of the land,’ he explained. ‘After that, if you feel able, you are free to ride unaccompanied. You need only send a note in the morning should you wish the use of Dobbin here, and you will find him saddled and ready for you.’

Charlotte could not speak, immersed as she was in the long-forgotten sensations of seeing the world from a different height, the rich scent of the animal beneath her, the coarseness of the mane into which she twisted her fingers, the stretch and pull of muscles and sinews grown rusty from lack of use.

The world from her new vantage point seemed to spring into greater clarity; a chaffinch on a branch ahead appeared to be cut from glass, the sweep of bare willows at the water’s edge suggested an Oriental etching. The lines of the surrounding lands, soft when swathed in summer foliage, seemed stronger now, as if the bones underlying the gentle Kentish hills were visible. For an hour, Charlotte was able to exist only in the present moment, fixed as she was on holding her seat and enjoying this new exertion, swaying in the saddle as her steed set down his bucket-sized hooves.

Upon finally returning to the stables, she felt all the effects of gravity as her shaky legs once again stood on solid ground, but the sensation was far from unpleasant. She was aware of physical and mental relief, almost as sharp as the scent of horseflesh now clinging to her. Effusive in her thanks to the groom, she was uncertain as to whether she was expected to visit the great house to offer further gratitude in person. But as it was growing late, she went home, where her husband complimented her on her high colour, remarking approvingly that the outing seemed to have done her a power of good.

Attending to her daughters, who clamoured for an account of their mother’s adventures on horseback, Charlotte silently agreed with Mr Collins, at that moment writing Lady Catherine a note of thanks for her gracious kindness in allowing his wife the use of an old and idle animal. The excursion had indeed done her good; by granting her the chance to escape, for a brief time, the burden of grief added to her daily round.