The waterwheel was announced, a noisy circular dance involving much clapping, foot stamping and hooting, and tossing and swinging of the women. Kerensa came round the back of the chair to shout in Oliver’s ear. ‘Livvy hasn’t been out of the house for days. She’s been in a strange mood since Mr Spears suddenly left for London. She said he was a hard taskmaster then he suddenly lost interest. I don’t think her painting is going well, either that or she’s getting childbearing moods.’

Oliver rested his hand on her shoulder, a gesture as natural as breathing to him, and while he listened to Kerensa, feeling her sweet breath on the side of his face, he prayed he would not feel her stiffen and move away from him physically or mentally. ‘We must make allowances for her then.’

Aware of his hand, the discerning lightness of it, Kerensa felt a strong desire to close her eyes and enjoy the familiarity of his nearness. ‘Perhaps Timothy has been called to a sickbed or something and she’s waiting for him to return.’

‘Yes, perhaps.’

As the music gathered pitch and pace, Beatrice chuckled all the louder and clapped her hands all the faster.

Kerensa was worried that all the frivolity would wear her out and make her ill, but Beatrice, catching her piercing inspection, waved her away. ‘Get out there an’ enjoy yerself, an’ I mean both of ’ee.’

Oliver still had his arm about Kerensa. He put his lips to her ear. ‘Dance with me?’

Kerensa glanced at the wild scene of laughing, frolicking dancers. Red-faced, hot, relishing every moment, they were making the most of the free entertainment and food and drink: those given time off from the harvesting on Ker-an-Mor Farm were still being paid. The frivolity was addictive. Nodding her assent, she stepped out on to the floor with her husband.

In respect for the lord and lady of the manor’s entrance into the circle, the music halted for a second then carried on at its strident speed. With the other revellers Oliver and Kerensa galloped round and round the great hall, twirling, cavorting, stopping at short intervals to clap their hands and stamp their feet, then pitching off again. When Oliver swept her up off her feet Kerensa laughed; when he lowered her down she flung her arms round his neck to steady herself. He was laughing too.

Bartholomew was watching them with satisfaction. Waiting for such a scene had delayed his return to London, he had planned to finish his errand for Sir Decimus Soames long before this.