It was with reluctance that the children gave up their respective stations, and allowed the musician to resume control of the instrument, but Elizabeth’s sly bribe of grapes did the trick. Charlotte found herself longing to hear the piece Herr Rosenstein had played for her the day before, at the same time as being reluctant to request it. Part of her wanted to keep it locked in her head along with the memory of the dust motes that had wheeled as golden as the notes to which she had been in thrall.

As it happened, Herr Rosenstein confined himself to playing music suited to children: gay tunes and marches, short pieces and songs they could all enjoy. Some tunes she recognised, but he sang the words, in a mild and pleasant tenor voice, in German, while her daughters sang along in English. Lizzy was also prevailed upon to sing for the company, laughingly claiming that she might as well take advantage of a skilled accompanist.

After Lizzy had performed several airs, to the enjoyment of all, each woman commandeered a child and led them through the steps of some basic country dances. They discovered that even if Herr Rosenstein did not know the necessary music, if they hummed or sang the tunes, he could generate a passable replica once he had mastered the required rhythm. And rhythm was mostly what the little girls needed, as their attempts to learn the steps were punctuated by outbursts of mirth at the sight of the older women undertaking the role of male dancers. Charlotte’s attempts at bowing in particular were met with gleeful requests for repetition.

Eventually, the delighted but overtired children were dispatched to bed with a nursemaid whose poise and gravitas curbed any propensity on their part to grizzle, and Lizzy rang for more wine and sweet cake. The musician stretched his arms until the muscles in his back cracked, got up from the pianoforte, and ambled over to join the ladies.

‘We’ll sleep well tonight, shan’t we, Charlotte?’ remarked Lizzy. ‘I feel better than in months. What a tonic this evening has been! We must repeat this entertainment every night while we are grass widows. That is, of course, if Herr Rosenstein will be kind enough to oblige us. He is here to mend Pemberley’s instruments, not to amuse a gaggle of women and children.’

‘I assure you the pleasure has been shared, Mrs Darcy,’ said Herr Rosenstein. ‘I miss the company of children when away from home.’

‘Forgive me – I have been remiss in my enquiries,’ said Lizzy. ‘Have you and your wife children of your own? In fact, I am presuming too much, advancing too fast; I do not even know whether you are married.’