‘I want to be the maiden, Mama!’ cried Laura. ‘I want to draw sailors and ships onto the rocks with my song! And when they crash, I want to dive off the rock into the river and save them all.’

The grown-ups present could not hide their laughter, and Jacob said, ‘In that case, you need to be word-perfect with your song, Fräulein. Let us rehearse it again:

Ich weiß nicht

was soll es bedeuten

daß ich so traurig bin;

ein Märchen aus uralten Zeiten

das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.

These watery scenes were matched by external ones; Lizzy and Charlotte had fallen into the habit of taking a walk most afternoons, often accompanied by the girls, and a favourite path followed the course of the river. Charlotte was glad that Lizzy felt strong enough for such exertion, but her friend had always been a great walker, climber of stiles and jumper of ha-has, and years of marriage and three miscarriages had not altered this aspect of her character, however much some might think it beneath the dignity of the mistress of Pemberley to ramble the grounds and surrounding countryside like a shepherdess in Arcadia.

Each step along their preferred path presented a nobler fall of ground or a finer vista of the woods, until the circuit brought them to the water’s edge. Here the valley contracted to a glen that allowed room only for the stream and a narrow walk alongside the coppice-wood that bordered it. Their object was a rustic and unadorned bridge that allowed only foot traffic, a good spot to rest before retracing their steps back along the opposite side of the river, with its verdant twists and turns.

Herr Rosenstein, once again waiting for a coat of varnish to dry before he could continue his work on Miss Darcy’s harpsichord, joined them on one of these excursions. He walked on ahead with the children, who were squabbling over who would get the honour of pointing out to him the trout flicking their lazy tails in the pools along the way. Sarah poked her sister in the ribs, and Laura responded with a push that had the elder child staggering perilously close to the water’s edge. Charlotte called out, embarrassed by the boisterousness of her girls, but also feeling the fear that had trailed her ever since Tom’s death step up to breathe on the back of her neck. But her warning came too late – with barely a splash, Sarah disappeared into the swiftly flowing river.