‘No – he’s only a cat,’ said Marion with sudden weariness. She pushed Alice from her knee, rose and got the food and fed Alice and herself. Then they both dozed.

When Marion woke she was aware that her headache had gone but that her buttocks were numb from sitting with Alice on her lap on the hard log under the eaves, with its rough bark. The weather had altered again and the air was fresher. The sky seemed to have lifted and extended. It was full of bright white clouds, puffy and lumpy on top and straight underneath. The sky between them was a deep intense blue overhead, paling to turquoise behind the forest trees. One bit of ragged grey cloud floated on a massive white one, like a cygnet enfolded in a swan’s raised wings. A gust of warm wind, scented with heather, blew a thick patch of floating thistledown across the garden.

‘Let’s get some blackberries,’ Marion said to Alice, and they walked together down the garden to the hedge at the bottom, Marion carrying a wide willow basket.

It was when they were coming up the garden again, Marion carrying the basket which she had lined with dock leaves and which was now heaped with blackberries, that they heard the shout from the other side of the stream. Plonking down the basket, Marion dashed round the corner of the cottage and up the slope of rough grass, and there, emerging from the trees on the far side of the stream, was the procession – four laden horses with three men walking, Peter in front. He saw her and waved and a sudden rush of relief and of happiness flooded her mind. The procession did not stop but was moving slowly to the pace of tired men.

‘Come to the Hall,’ Peter shouted. ‘Bring a basket. Tell the others.’ Excited, Marion ran to the Shepherds’ cottage but neither Lisa nor Martin was there. She approached the Plowrights’, seeing a small group of derelicts by the door.

‘Tell your parents Sir Hugh’s back,’ she said and left them.

Back in her cottage she surveyed the basket brimming with blackberries. It was the only basket she had, but Peter had ordered her to bring it. She tipped the blackberries, or most of them, out on to the shelf and barricaded them there by rearranging two jars and a tub. It was not very safe, but the best she could do. Then, picking up Alice, she ran back up the slope.

Molly was sitting on her threshold, putting on her boots.

‘Nothing to tell me,’ she called out with a wide ugly smile. ‘I saw them too. I’m coming at once. We can take turns with carrying your little one.’

They hurried along the Common path, watching the little procession on the other side of the stream as the men and horses appeared and disappeared between the alders and willows. Alice delayed them a little by the bridge by deciding she must be put down to pee, and though the delay irritated Marion she was also glad that Alice was becoming sufficiently trained to ask.