Gretna could still hear her mother’s challenge. She could remember so well how her father picked up his wife’s hand and kissed it.

“You were always braver than me, my love,” he said softly.

It was true indeed that Mr. and Mrs. Walter Smythe had been kind to Captain William Hayden and his family. It was many years before Gretna realised how much they owed to the quiet Roman Catholic family.

But when she was a child, she was well aware of the great hampers of fruit and vegetables that arrived once a week at the little cottage in the village from Brambridge Hall. There was game too at the right season of the year, pheasants, partridges and even sometimes a haunch of venison.

But, when she was old enough to understand, Gretna learned of other things which had forged a link between the Smythe family and her own.

One day she asked her mother why she was called ‘Gretna’.

“People always say to me, ‘what a funny name, Mama.”

“It’s a strange name for a child,” her mother admitted. “But you were called ‘Gretna’ because your father and I were married at Gretna Green. It is a place on the Border with Scotland where lovers go secretly when they run away to be married.”

“Tell me all about it,” Gretna begged and her mother related the whole romantic story of the blacksmith’s forge, of the wild rush across the Border and a Wedding ring thrust on with trembling fingers while the bridegroom glanced hastily over his shoulder to see if any pursuing carriages were in sight.

“So you were married like that,” Gretna exclaimed. “How wonderful! But why? Why could you not have been married at home?”

Her mother’s face was suddenly overshadowed. For a moment she had hesitated and then she said,

“I wonder if you are old enough to know the truth, Gretna? I have always meant to tell you my story one day. Somehow I still think of you as my baby, too young to know anything except that I love you.”

“I am old enough. I am really, Mama,” Gretna insisted.

“Very well,” her mother answered and, taking a deep breath, she began,

“Your grandfather was the Earl of Ledbury. He was a very strict and not a particularly kind father and my mother always did exactly what he ordained. I was their only child and because your grandfather was a very rich man he spent a great deal of money when I made my debut in presenting me at Court and giving me what was called the entrée into London Society.”

“Oh, tell me about it. Tell me all about it,” Gretna cried.

“I will tell you about the parties later,” her mother promised. “For the moment I want to keep to the story as to why your father and I were married at Gretna Green.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Gretna agreed, hardly able to breathe with excitement.