The drink was every bit as creamy as Charlotte had hoped – Pemberley’s Jersey herd was among the finest in the county – and Ella had grated the sugar with a generous hand. She began to enjoy the sense of being on a midnight adventure, the disruption of conventional routine and ritual. Her children were safe, the wisps of her dream had dissipated, and she had all the comfort of convivial company.

‘May I ask, Herr Rosenstein, what piece of music you were playing when we found you? I am no connoisseur, as you know, but I thought it very fine, and would like to hear it again another day.’

He thanked her, and explained it was one of his own compositions, one he hoped to adapt for a string quartet and sell to the Kapellmeister of a small court orchestra back in his native Austria.

‘It is unlikely that I will able to perform it with them myself, but Herr Hummel is a generous and rational man. I do not think he will hold my tribe against me in considering my offering.’

Charlotte was puzzled, and said as much. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I do not catch your meaning. I do not understand the allusion to your tribe.’

Herr Rosenstein glanced at Ella, who, having drunk her milk, had put her head down on her arms and fallen asleep as quickly and neatly as a cat.

‘Frau Collins, the structures of patronage for us musicians on the Continent are deeply embedded in those of the Christian church. Orchestras and organists are often employed by various cathedrals, or by Catholic nobles. The pieces most regularly commissioned are for performance in church, celebrating the feast days of the Christian year.’ He cradled his cup in his hands, his eyes dark hollows in the diffuse light emanating from the embers of the fire.

‘No one is going to ask a Jew to compose a Mass for a special occasion, or even a hymn for a wedding or christening. As a craftsman, I am welcome in almost all homes and places of Christian worship: no one considers my Semite lineage when strings snap or go out of tune and must be replaced or repaired. And the musicality of my kind is in fact lauded; in almost every court orchestra, a Jew, or two, or three, sits in the first row of the strings or straddles a violoncello. But as a composer, I have to rely on such few crumbs of patronage as are thrown my way by more liberal employers.’

The note of not quite bitterness, but asperity, in his voice caught Charlotte. She felt once again vastly ignorant of the implications of his religion, and indignant on his behalf. She had to content herself by assuring him that she had found the piece he was playing beautiful.