The two women fumbled in an uneven parody of an embrace, Charlotte hanging onto the horse’s reins with one hand, and trying to raise Anne with her other arm. The velvet coat worn by the younger woman smelled musty, and very slightly of cigars. More startling curses ensued as the two women hopped and staggered. Anne sucked in air. ‘It is no good. I doubt anything is broken, but I cannot yet walk. Mrs Collins, do you think you can boost me back onto Bruno? And then I fear I must ask you to come back to the stables with me and help me dismount.’

It took them a quarter of an hour, and some moments of pure despair, before Anne was on horseback again, sitting astride. The horse was spooked and skittish, and would not stand still to be mounted; and although it was fortunate that one of them was so slight and one tall – they would not have managed otherwise – it was still only by supreme effort that Charlotte managed at last to heave Anne back into the saddle. In spite of the iron chill of the night, she was sweating like Bruno himself by the time it was done.

Then came the journey back to the stables, Charlotte’s hand on the reins, Anne occasionally speaking from above to navigate. There was something bizarre about her conversational tone, given the shocking nature of their situation. Neither mentioned Lady Catherine, but both knew that discovery – of either of their transgressions – by her ladyship was not to be contemplated.

As they approached the stables, Charlotte realised a fresh bout of difficulties was about to begin. They had to get the horse unsaddled, currycombed, and stabled without discovery. ‘Walter is a very reliable fellow, but porter keeps him sleeping soundly at nights – plus he is partly deaf, which aids my cause,’ Anne explained. Charlotte realised, with a jolt, that this midnight ride was not Miss de Bourgh’s first such excursion and, as if reading her thoughts, the younger woman said: ‘At night, galloping across the Weald – Mrs Collins, it feels as if I can fly – am flying. I cannot live as a caged bird every hour of every day. It cannot be borne.’

Charlotte shook herself back to their current dilemma. She had to help Anne slide from the horse, then attend to the animal. Everything took longer because of the need for quiet and darkness; they dared not light a lantern, and every clatter of Bruno’s hooves brought fresh fright of stirring from the groom’s cottage nearby. But if Walter did wake, he had the sense to lie quiet; and agonisingly slowly, task after task was completed.