‘Morning, sir,’ I said confidently. I was sure he would not have heard of me, he did not look like a young man who would be familiar with the likes of Will Tyacke. I had the old cap pulled low over my revealing mass of red hair, I had my coat jacket turned up. I knew I would pass as a lad and for some reason, I wanted to see his face upturned towards me as I sat on my horse, high above him.

He jumped at the sound of my voice, and his feet weaved in the white chalk dust. I guessed then that he had been drunk some time ago and was not yet sober. He had hazy blue eyes and I saw him screw them up as he tried to focus on me.

‘Good morning,’ he said blearily. ‘Damme, I suppose it is morning?’ He giggled slightly and his feet took two more unbidden converging steps. ‘Listen here, fellow,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Where the devil am I? D’you know? Am I far from Havering Hall, eh?’

‘I’m a stranger to these parts myself,’ I said. ‘This is the lane which leads to the village of Acre on the estate of Wideacre. Havering Hall is somewhere near here, but I am not certain of its direction.’

He put a hand on his horse’s neck to steady himself.

‘This is Acre lane?’ he said delightedly. ‘By all that’s wonderful – I believe I’ve won!’

His beaming smile was so delighted that I found I was smiling too.

‘D’you know,’ he said owlishly. ‘I bet Tommy Harrap three hundred pounds that I could get home before he could get home. And he’s not here now!’

‘Is this his home?’ I asked, bewildered.

‘No!’ the young man said impatiently. ‘Petworth! Petworth. We were both in the Brighton Belle Tavern. He took the bet. Because he had further to go than I, I let him go first. But now I’ve won! Three hundred pounds!’

‘How d’you know he isn’t home?’ I asked. I knew this was drunken folly of the first order, but I could not help smiling into that laughing careless face.

He looked suddenly serious.

‘Parson!’ he said. ‘You’re quite right, lad. That was part of the wager. I have to get the parson to witness what time it was when I got home. Good thinking, lad! Here’s a shilling.’

He dived into the deep pocket of his jacket and fumbled around while I waited.

‘Gone,’ he said sepulchrally. ‘Gone. I know I didn’t spend it. You know I didn’t spend it. But it’s gone all the same.’

I nodded.

‘I’ll write you an IOU,’ he said, suddenly brightening. ‘I’ll pay it when I get next quarter’s allowance.’ He paused. ‘No I won’t,’ he corrected himself. ‘I’ve had that and spent it already. I’ll pay you out of the quarter after that.’ He paused and leaned against his horse’s high shoulder. ‘It gets very confusing,’ he said in bafflement. ‘I think I’m into the twentieth century already.’