She reached out to him for what he thought was to be one last hug. The feel of her lips on his made his breath lock in his lungs. He kissed her back, meaning to for just a second. She tasted so sweet. The offer of forbidden pleasure was so powerful, and because she was so much a part of Kerensa, he helped himself to more and more. He sensed she had not fully yielded herself, had never reached a full flowering.

Then he remembered that she was Kerensa’s daughter and in no way a substitute for her and he pulled her arms off him, holding her gently at arm’s length. ‘No, Livvy, it’s wrong.’

‘But, Clem—’

‘Don’t say anything else, whatever it is you’ll end up regretting it. I don’t know what your problems with Timothy are, but you need to talk them over with him. Just do whatever it takes for you to be happy and never let go of it.’

Before leaving the house Clem dashed off a note to Kerensa. He’d had very little chance for direct contact with her. They had managed to exchange a few rudimentary words and trade sympathetic glances, but always, it seemed, someone was watching them. Banking on a bustle of tea-making when he and Olivia arrived, he intended to slip the note inside Kerensa’s riding gauntlet.

Fourteen

On the first Sunday after he moved into Polgissey, Luke took his household to church.

With Cordelia on his arm and Jack and Alicia following, he progressed down the narrow aisle, bringing all the talk, much of it inappropriate for the hallowed setting, and speculation as to what the new landlord looked like to a swift end. Luke kept a solemn countenance but nodded to anyone who sought his eye, which was almost everyone; the nosy, the eager, the aghast.

Trotting importantly behind came the retained staff: the cook at the big house for the past twelve years, Mrs Amy Curnow, a somewhat fetching widow of youngish years and good deportment; the four housemaids, of varying ages, their looks ranging from plainly discreet to insolently common, for whom Luke had ordered material of dark blue and white linen for new female uniforms; at the rear was quiet, respectful, under-sized, Cal Barbary, the gardener; his pole-thin wife and seven, young, minuscule children behind him. Jack had quickly taken to Cal Barbary for he too was of the Methodist connection, and hitherto had been unwelcome in the church.

The church smelled musty, the congregation smelled worse. Dirt littered the floor of cracked slate; mould and worm made free with the woodwork. For the most part the worshippers were equally unkempt, and scratching from flea bites. Luke eyed the high rafters and grimy rough stonework, all copiously occupied with cobwebs, and hoped they were sound. In the corner of one high window ledge was the remains of a small bird.