‘Very good,’ said Sir Ralph. ‘I got the impression that the English are a little starved of marvels. And I believe that if there is nothing of the marvellous in our lives, we begin to die.’

A PORTRAIT

It was one of Emmeline Adeane’s favourite pastimes to hire a strong horse and go riding on the sandy highway of Rotten Row in Hyde Park. Although this was a popular place, among London society, to see and be seen, and many people liked to ride in companionable groups, talking as they went, greeting other riders, showing off their equestrian skill no less than their à la mode riding habits, right down to their exquisite calfskin gloves, Emmeline preferred to ride alone. She wasn’t particularly concerned to be seen. What she liked was the thrill of the ride.

Always urging her mount to a fast gallop, she crashed her way round the Row at chaotic speed, almost in the manner of a riderless horse who stubbornly keeps ahead of all the other contenders in the race. Just the sound of the horse’s hooves pounding the earth excited her. And as for the speed, she had frequently declared to her friends that she knew nothing in the world more exhilarating than this. Impatient with slow groups of riders who might impede her path, Emmeline often appeared at the stables near dawn, to take her horse on its wild ride around an empty track. Then, what she loved was to see the sun coming up over the eastern edge of the city, to feel an answering rise of colour in her own cheeks and to feel that, despite her years of lost children, despite her abandonment by Jocelyn Hulton, her life was still delivering something of wonder, something of grace.

With Jane now installed at Tite Street, Emmeline soon enough announced to her niece that riding would be part of their lives and Jane had agreed. She joked that only ‘a very tall horse, at least sixteen hands’ would have to be procured for her, ‘otherwise my boots will trail in the sand’, and Emmeline sent her maid, Nancy, round to the stables with this instruction. On a cold autumn morning, Emmeline and Jane set off for their first ride.

Jane’s horse, named Nero, was large and frisky and inclined to pull too hard at the bit in its impatience to gallop, but Jane, like her aunt, was a courageous rider and enjoyed her mastery of the animal, encouraging it, at moments, to slow to a stately walk, so that she and Emmeline could admire the burning colours of the leaves flying in the wind, the icing of frost on the grass.

It was during one of these walking moments that two riders, a man and a young woman, mounted on chestnut horses, overtook Jane and Emmeline at an elegant trot. Once past them, the gentleman rider turned in the saddle and stared at Emmeline and Emmeline stared back and her mouth opened, as if to utter a sudden cry. It closed again as the gentleman turned away and, with a word to his female companion, urged his horse into a canter. Jane saw that her aunt kept staring until the couple were out of sight. Then Emmeline said quietly, ‘that was Jocelyn Hulton. With his latest mistress. I should not care a fig for it, he’s an old man now, but seeing him has made me feel very dizzy and hot. I’m terribly afraid, Jane, that I’m going to faint.’