‘Are you saying I interfere in their lives? Kane, Luke, Olivia and Kelynen? Cordelia too? Do you think I smother my dear little Samuel?’ Kerensa was steeped in passion, dark colour creeping up her neck and flushing her finely sculptured face. No one but Beatrice would dare suggest she behaved in any way detrimental to her children or Oliver’s niece, Cordelia, who lived at the manor. Wasn’t a mother supposed to guide her offspring through the dangers and vagaries of life, keep the peace between them, make sacrifices on their behalf? Worry herself half to death on occasion?

‘Ais, I am. You brung Kane ’ome from the market as a tiny fiddle ill-treated infant.’ Beatrice counted on her worn-out fingers. ‘You bore three ’ealthy babies, then lost dear baby Joseph t’ the typhus, God rest un, then you brought forth young Samuel just two year ago, and you fuss and fret on ’em all day long! And yes, you fusses over that other fiddle maid too. G’ us some shade, m’dear, can’t see nothin’ in this brave sunlight.’

Kerensa usually had the curtains drawn at this time of day to preserve the ancient furniture, she drew them herself today.

‘You can’t expect me to surrender a close hold on Samuel yet.’ Kerensa flaunted her rights with flowing sweeps of her hands. ‘And you can’t really say I smother him, Cordelia lays claim on him every chance she gets. And if I do happen to run a maternal eye over Jack, it’s because he was just a twelve-year-old stable boy when I married Oliver. There was only you and Jack here when I first stepped over the threshold.’

Beatrice searched her mistress’s face. Seventeen-year-old, working class Kerensa Trelynne could still be detected in every angle of her exquisite face and well-honed body. Her auburn hair shone with vitality, as did her grey-green eyes. She was forever fresh and young, full of grace and wholesomely beautiful. She had a bold spirit which enriched, inspired and excited those in her company. Beatrice knew it was said in mock seriousness about herself that she should be dead and decently buried by now, but she reckoned she owed her nature-defying eighty-nine years to Kerensa’s liveliness and devoted care. Her love for Kerensa outreached her affections for Sir Oliver or any of their children.

‘All I can say tes a good job youm not with child again… yet.’ She grinned wickedly, indicating the huge four-poster bed, graced with sea-blue and jade coloured damask drapes. ‘Spend too much time in ’ere. Need t’ get abroad a lot more and do somethin’ for yerself. Time you ’ad a life of yer own.’