‘Well, my dear, we all know how you feel. You’ll be better when you’ve had a good cry. It doesn’t do to be too calm you know, but don’t worry, we’ll look after your little ones and we’ll fix you up. I’ll talk it over with Sir Hugh.’

Hilda did not move – she did not seem to hear.

The consolation went on even more briskly. ‘He was such a good worker, your Dick was, and Sir Hugh’s not one to forget that. We’ll look after you so you’ve nothing to worry about. Now Marion’ll go home with you, so have a good cry and we’ll see what’s best to do about you.’

Hilda said, ‘Thank you,’ in a faint voice, and then turning to Marion in a whisper of desperation: ‘Let me be alone.’ Marion and the villagers had watched her wander off, down past the Green to the bridge, then on to the Common till she was lost to sight behind the birches and the alders.

‘Well, one can’t do more for her at present,’ said Dame Margaret with some relief in her voice. ‘Come, children, Magda will look after you today,’ and she whisked them off to the Hall.

A dog fight broke out on the Green, and the villagers, glad to relieve their own tension, threw clods at the dogs with unnecessary vigour. The drizzle thickened and the villagers congratulated each other on having got the main crop of hay in safely, as they departed to their separate cottages.

Tom and Peter joined Marion under the oak. She saw Tom wipe his nose on his sleeve. ‘The stinkiest corpse I’ve ever had to bury,’ he muttered. He caught Peter’s eye and jerked his head towards the brew house in the Hall’s yard, in an obvious invitation to a secret drink, but he paused, seeing Ned returning without the hurdle. Marion saw Ned’s face was aghast and that tears were running out of his eyes and into the pale fluff on his cheeks.

‘Dick’s dead,’ he said, in a voice as if from a cave, and as if he had not believed it before. Tom gave him a quick glance. ‘Who’s going to look after the sheep now?’ Ned sobbed.

Tom took him by the arm and said firmly, ‘You will, boy, who else?’

‘Eh, I can’t,’ Ned moaned, weeping uncontrollably now.

‘Yes, boy, you can. You can because you must. Why do you think you’re shepherd boy here? Because Dick picked you out as the best and asked Sir Hugh if he could have you. That’s why you can do it, and why you must.’ He patted Ned’s heaving shoulder. ‘Look, tie up your dogs and come down the yard and have a good swig with me and Peter.’ They blundered down the yard, Ned’s head bent down.

Marion, watching them, thought: Tom does his best, his real best, but what he’s doing is what Sir Hugh ought to be doing – or what Rollo should do. Why do they leave so many important jobs to Tom? Then a tiny second thought occurred, that Sir Hugh would never think that talking sympathy to a shepherd boy was important.