Charlotte felt a rustle along her nerve-endings as she listened for his answer: ‘I am not married, and I have no children. I have lodgings in the ancient town of Salzburg, but they are bachelor quarters, and I go whenever I can to the home of my elder sister and her husband outside town, in a very pretty part of the country. They have five children, the eldest a boy of twelve. Spending time there is a relief given that so much of my work is – is the word cerebral? It demands devotion to the unseen. Certainly, it is invisible to the eye, if not the ear.’

‘But surely your work is far from invisible, Herr Rosenstein,’ said Charlotte, attributing her fresh sense of ease to the excellent Rhenisch the Pemberley wine steward had produced. ‘Did your father not build Miss Darcy’s harpsichord? Where would we be without those who produce the instruments with which we make music?’

‘Indeed, Frau Collins. But I wrestle not only with horsehair and wood: I am also a composer. And are you, one who plays the pianoforte, not yourself struck by the transitory nature of music? That the air or song you play or sing exists only as long as you perform it, and there are ears to hear it?’

‘But surely the melody lingers in the mind, in the same way as the words of a favourite verse. Memory is the friend, the keeper if you will, of music here.’

‘Then you are arguing my case. What we do is akin to creating invisible furnishings for the mind and soul.’

‘This is too deep for me,’ cried Lizzy. ‘Pray tell us of the new musical works coming out of Europe. And explain why our Teutonic friends seem to dominate the world of music. Mr Darcy says the Germans outshine us all.’

Conversation turned to opera and the theatre, subjects to which Charlotte could contribute little. She listened ruefully as Herr Rosenstein described his travels in Europe, the great concert halls and opera houses he had visited, the performances he had witnessed, musicians he had met. She was quite ashamed of her own narrow education, as he named cities that for her were no more than places on schoolroom maps blurred by time, and spoke of oratorios, symphonies, and concertos she had neither heard, nor heard of.

Listening to her friend’s responses and questions, she reflected, not without some pain, that marriage had broadened Elizabeth’s horizons; Mr Darcy had been generous in throwing his resources open to expand a mind eager to stretch. Her education had been supplemented in numerous ways, and she had drunk it all in thirstily.