Eventually I returned to my room. Mrs Lehner waved from behind the bar, where she polished glasses and tankards. I imagined her role as innkeeper to be quite demanding, and though she appeared to hide her fatigue well I could see the strain was there. I hoped my staying would not be too much of a burden, and so I carried my own fresh water up to bed with me.

19th October 1721

Alexsander woke in a strange room, but the bed was soft. He lay there appreciating the warmth and comfort and the knowledge the day wasn’t to be spent in the saddle. After some time he decided he would make the best of the situation, of Drekenford. He wasn’t angry with me – hadn’t seriously been angry with me at all – and now the light, airy room was dispelling the remnants of his frustration.

He remembered the two drawers where I had unpacked his belongings, though he was unimpressed by my folding of his shirts. He dressed in a coat of a fashionable kind, clean breeches, and boots that were comfortable for walking.

The common room was empty except for the landlord, Mr Hennig, who was polishing the tables. Alexsander introduced himself, ordered breakfast, and sat at a table that shone with his reflection. Like me, he could not look for long.

‘Where do the days go?’ he mused aloud.

Mr Hennig had no answer. Breakfast was filling. Alexsander ate too much and pretended to be content.

The square was lively with the comings and goings of a small town. The benches were rarely empty for long and he entered amiably into conversation: yes, the weather was cooling, though it was still mild; no, he hadn’t realised the crocuses were already coming out; that’s right, he was just visiting on some business. The people sitting next to him changed, the conversations did not. By the time Alexsander left, he had the impression of a friendly community who lacked the healthy distrust of strangers I found so essential at home.

He spent a while admiring the fountain. This one was unusual. A girl who looked to the horizon, rather than the book open in her lap. He considered himself quite the expert in regarding fountains, seeking them out with unnerving ease and practising his arts beside them. Sometimes he placed a cup at his feet and, at the right kind of fountains, raced the water to the first penny. He lost more than he won but then he didn’t grant wishes, only brief entertainment. At dinner parties he joked the two were one and the same, and the diners would laugh though few understood. That he already missed his friends was something he tried hard not to dwell upon.

Walking through the streets he had no plan, so he turned whenever possible to keep the sunlight on his face. Tilting his head skyward, a small smile on his lips, he wandered the winding backstreets and alleyways with just as much relish as the main thoroughfares. There he was wished good morning by scullery maids and craftsmen and even a painter, standing in front of a sizable easel on his balcony.