I was still reeling from the import of this letter when feet sounded on the ladder stair and my father’s voice reached me, calling my name. Hywel entered the hall, closely followed by Maredudd carrying a full wineskin. He wore the clean chemise but the grubby body purse he had unwound from his person and draped over his shoulder spoilt the effect. I stood up, relinquishing the armchair in which my father always sat, unless outranked. ‘Ah yes, Maredudd said you also had a letter.’ He thrust another letter at me, similar in shape and seal to the one I had just read. ‘What does this one say?’

My father’s patience, to say nothing of his eyesight, was not up to deciphering Jasper’s scrawl. I took the letter across to the window and opened the shutter, allowing sufficient light for me to read without the aid of the lamp.

Again I read the tragic account of Edmund’s death, this time aloud but it was told in words meant for my father and therefore less emotional in their effect on me. The last paragraph was cunningly aimed at neutralizing two of my father’s chief anxieties, money and the smooth running of his house. I felt the blood rise in my cheeks as I read it.

‘I am conscious that you will be reluctant to lose the loving help and presence in your household of your daughter but I can think of no other person to match her as a source of comfort, advice and protection for a lonely and bereaved young lady. In recognition of this I have entrusted Maredudd with the pension I agreed when he took service with me and a supplement which I hope may serve as some compensation for the temporary absence of Jane from your house, so that she may use the skills she has learned at Tŷ Cerrig to care for young Lady Margaret and help her through this terrible time of grief. I beg you to pray for my brother’s soul. In haste and with high regard, your bereaved cousin Jasper.’

A tense silence pervaded the room as I turned to close the shutter against the chill wind. In his chair, chin propped on fist, my father was deep in thought. Maredudd hoisted the heavy linen purse from his shoulder and dropped it over the arm of Hywel’s chair not occupied by his elbow. The outlines of a series of coins were visible along its sweat-stained length.

‘There is the Earl of Pembroke’s gold,’ my brother said. ‘I have not counted it but it feels like a tidy sum.’

‘It feels like selling my soul,’ growled Hywel, fingering the purse. ‘He is buying my children.’

‘No, Father,’ I said hastily. ‘Lord Jasper is kin and mourning his brother and the lady is in great need at this time. As he says, it is fair compensation. I will not be gone forever.’