‘It is good to meet you Mrs Hanger, Grange.’ Flora’s smile took in all the assembled servants, even Emily the third parlourmaid. ‘But where is dear Maria?’

‘Inside,’ said Ezekiel shortly.

Clancy’s hand tensed on Flora’s arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘We should have warned you about Maria.’

Flora looked at him, puzzled. ‘Why?’

‘You needn’t worry, your ladyship,’ said Ezekiel sharply. ‘Maria’ll be back at Overflow as soon as you’re married and there’s no need for a chaperone.’

‘But what is wrong with her?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about. The doctor said it could happen to anyone. Never been anything like it in the family before.’ Ezekiel’s eyes inspected Flora again, as if he were assessing her breeding potential. ‘No reason for it to happen again.’

‘But what?’ she repeated, her anxiety growing again. This was obviously something secret, so bad they had waited till she was across the world from her family before she was allowed to know it. Was Maria mad, like the poor woman in Jane Eyre? Or wild and untameable, like Cathy in the scandalous Wuthering Heights?

Ezekiel’s lips narrowed. Clancy flushed, obviously trying to change the subject. ‘Maria ordered furnishings for the small parlour, a few bedrooms and the dining room. Oh, and the servants’ quarters of course. She thought you would prefer to arrange the rest of the house yourself.’

‘Maria sounds so thoughtful,’ said Flora carefully. Not mad then, nor untameable. One could not imagine anyone in Wuthering Heights ordering new furnishings, except possibly poor Isabella.

‘She is,’ said Clancy hurriedly. ‘Everyone at Overflow loves Maria.’

‘They’re used to her there,’ muttered Ezekiel.

‘But, of course, change anything about the house, any furnishings that you don’t like,’ Clancy added quickly as they climbed the steps into the hall. ‘The dining table was made in the colony, but the workmanship is good . . .’

He cared nothing for the dining table, she knew. Nor did she, just then. He hesitated at the door to the small parlour, then stood back for Grange to open the door.

The parlour was small in name only. The room was as large as a farm labourer’s cottage — polished wooden floors, a strange but attractive deep red, the wood presumably also chosen by Maria. The floors went well with the red and blue Indian carpets, the blue stripes in the curtains, the deep blue velvet sofas, the chaise longue, and the armless chairs that allowed for the spread of skirts.

A woman rose from one of them. She wore a dress of plain grey silk, with no bustle. Although slim, her waist had obviously not been cinched in to fashionable thinness by a corset. The grey lace veil pinned to her hair covered her face and neck.

Clancy seemed to be trying to hide anguish. Ezekiel looked belligerent, as if waiting to argue that a bargain was a bargain, and Flora must stick to it. What was this, who was this, to provoke such depth of emotion?