They picked their way up the sloping and freshening fields until a shrill whinny from the foal, scenting potential friends, alerted them that they were arriving at the encampment: a small circle of wagons, with a midden set a sensible distance from the stream, and smoke rising into the sky. They were not the only visitors: Mrs Talbot, who had come to purchase wild herbs and examine one of the women who was expecting, was already seated by the fire. The new arrivals handed their horses over to Walter, who led them down to graze by the stream with the gypsy ponies, and joined the midwife, settling on rough stools around the fire. Mutual greetings and enquiries were made, and Miss de Bourgh handed over a screw of tea supplied by the Rosings housekeeper, which was promptly set to brew.

An older woman, with a rusty-red scarf bound around her tresses, leaned towards Charlotte and offered to read her palm. When Charlotte demurred, the gypsy said, ‘No palm is required, ma’am. You have the face and form of one who has recently suffered grievous loss.’

‘What makes you say such a thing?’ said Charlotte.

‘Ma’am, it is common knowledge that you lost your little boy but a few months past. Besides, I saw the stone in the graveyard last week. I was visiting the grave of my granddaughter. We buried her there three autumns ago; she took ill and died when we were here to pick the hops. Your husband agreed to our burying her in the churchyard, and read the service himself. It’s better to think of her here, lying under fair winds and stars, than if she were in a city cemetery in all the press of crowds and smoke.’

‘But does it not grieve your family that you cannot visit or tend her grave?’ Charlotte asked.

‘We come by twice a year, for the hops-twiddling, then the picking. And sometimes we stay on to pick up potatoes. I visit her resting-place then. It’s not a bad place to lie, out in the country, with all the birds and blooms around. Besides, I help the sexton with draughts for his gout each time we come, and he keeps an eye on our Annie’s grave for us. Yes, m’lady,’ nodding at Anne, ‘she was also Anne. Ma’am, I would take it very kindly if, when you visit your son’s grave, you would say a prayer for my granddaughter too. It helps if we can think of her lying among friends.’