The red-haired girl, seated alone yet again, might have been the next item for discussion that morning, if not for the recent actions of the lovely Miss Cedars.

Over the previous weeks, with the assistance of the curate, Leah Cedars had made sure Benjamin Hailey attended chapel at the weekend, as well as on school days, and this had gone some considerable distance to allaying suspicions about the handsome coycrock teacher. If Mr Hailey was guilty of holding any questionable beliefs, about faith and science and phone masts, they were merely a hangover from his mainland upbringing. With regular chapel attendance, he could so easily be cured.

Then, that very morning, the lovely Miss Cedars had walked into service hand-in-hand with Mr Hailey and all residual doubt concerning the new teacher’s soul was instantly washed away. Because – hallelujah! – after a dearth of several years there was going to be a wedding on Lark!

One had looked likely the summer just gone, anticipation at full sail as Tom Ainsley and Bernadette Dean prepared to leave school; the pair had made no secret of their plans to marry. Hope Ainsley staged public bridal hair-styling sessions in the Counting House, her future daughter-in-law the model, and every woman had an opinion on how the chapel should be decked out in flowers for the forthcoming ceremony. Then Tom and Bernadette had eloped, on the June ship, for a new life on the mainland. Hope had cancelled her salons for July and August, so she could hide away and nurse her disappointment. Everyone was let down twice-fold: there were no nuptials and, for the summer months, no shampoos-and-sets either.

Martha Signal had since taken on the mantle of expectation. Her son, Luke, had grown into a dashing potential groom, in a smouldering sort of fashion, and was certain to give the Cater brothers a run for their money once those Eldest Girls left school.

All rested on when the Eldest Girls left school.

But now there was Leah Cedars and Benjamin Hailey – a union that would surely lead to an imminent baby. Leah Cedars was nearing thirty, she couldn’t be messing around. Pining eyes fixed on the long-dry font as the congregation in the nave discussed this exciting new romantic development, and when Susannah Cedars eventually spoke up, she did not chide the women present, though she would have been well within her rights to do so. You were falling over each other to condemn my daughter and that teacher a few weeks ago, and now here you are wanting to place a sixpence in her shoe! You fickle furies!

Instead, Susannah said: ‘Let’s slow down, shall we!’ This mild attempt at firmness was spoiled by a creeping smile. She was excited too; she couldn’t not be. ‘You’ve got to give young love room to blossom.’