‘I’m sorry.’ Jelly thought of Onkel Jo’s habitual severity – where had it come from? Perhaps the blow of Gisela’s rejection had given him part of his bitter edge. Tovey, with his giant paces, was pulling ahead, and she had to pause to free one of her boots from the mud.

‘I always wonder what explains “nervous trouble” in intelligent, married women,’ Tovey was musing. ‘My theory is that they’re simply bored to death. If society permitted them to develop real careers, I doubt this would happen so often.’ He barely bothered to veil his emotions – his first wife, Margaret, had succumbed to a similar problem. ‘Goodness knows it never happened to Clara Schumann,’ he added. ‘She was far too busy. And I know something of how your sister Hortense suffers, yet you and Adila, professional musicians, have never had a moment’s “nervous affliction” in your lives, have you?’

‘I’m sure people think we are a bit crazy, but that’s different.’ Jelly thought briefly of Adila’s terror of trains and ferries and her recurrent stomach problems – but that was rational in the first case, and physical in the second… wasn’t it?

‘Now, about Gisela’s mother. When Schumann was in the mental asylum at Endenich, it was almost impossible for anybody to visit him. Clara was barred by the doctors, for fear of upsetting him. Jo went, and so did Brahms, when they were told they might see him. But then they found they were allowed literally only to “see” him: to observe him, from a distance, not speak to him.

‘Joachim at this point was about 22, in love with Gisela and spending what spare time he had paying court to her at her family home near Berlin. He’d have written to her, terribly distressed about Schumann. Therefore perhaps Bettina, the intellectual battleaxe, felt she should intervene for the sake of her daughter’s supposed beloved.

‘She was a woman of extraordinary character, charm and determination. She went all the way to Endenich and she talked the doctors round. Jo told me that Schumann’s doctors were quite horrible: cold, obstructive and cruel. But it occurs to me that where Jo was concerned, it’s possible they gave as good as they got. One’s attitude makes such a difference. Bettina, though, could talk the proverbial hind legs off a donkey, and somehow, goodness knows how, she was permitted access to Schumann himself.’

‘And?’

‘She came back,’ said Tovey, ‘and relayed to her daughter, and thence to Jo, that she thought Schumann was perfectly well.’

‘You are joking.’

‘Apparently she personally judged him sane and rational. And my goodness, she was angry. Bettina was a firebrand when she got into her stride, and she declared that Schumann was cruelly buried alive in that asylum, and that all it should have taken to get him released was the determination of Clara herself.’

Jelly took a minute to absorb this. ‘So, Clara… ’