Jenifer knew that if the children allowed him, Oliver would take them fully under his wing and she had no qualms about this, especially since he had come back from his travels purged of his dangerous pride. And Kerensa would mother them, whatever their age; she had practically adopted the strapping eighteen-year-old Bartholomew, as well as the little ones, since she had become too ill to mother them herself. And the children would have cousins of position and influence. They would never have to feel they were inferior to her own family, the Milderns. Jenifer felt that no woman could die happier and have so few worries about the children she would leave behind.

Bartholomew was looking out of the window watching the fishing boats in the bay around Newlyn and Mousehole, picking out the luggers he recognised, hoping they had brought in a good catch, wishing them good luck for the morrow, glad that he wouldn’t be going with them.

‘I see Cap’n Solomon’s ship is moored up at the Mount,’ he said, then mischievously, ‘Don’t tell me ’tis he who’s calling on us, Mother? You should have said, then I would have put my party suit on.’

‘It is not Captain Solomon,’ Jenifer replied.

‘Then it is someone!’ shouted Naomi, who was inclined to loud outbursts.

‘Shush, child,’ said her frail mother. ‘Oh, very well, stop looking at me, all of you. Yes, we are expecting visitors, very important ones. I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want you to get over-excited or anxious.’

Bartholomew looked at the flag fluttering in the wind on top of the castle on the Mount, across the causeway. ‘Surely not the St Aubyns? They’re in residence, but they have no business with us, have they?’

‘Of course not,’ Jenifer smiled.

‘When are these visitors supposed to be coming?’ Hannah asked, rather impatiently. ‘Have I got time to see to my hair?’

Jenifer glanced at the carriage clock ticking gently on her bedside table. It was two minutes to ten o’clock.

‘They’ll be here any minute now, and your hair is fine, Hannah.’

‘Oh, Mother, if you don’t tell me I shall burst at the seams,’ Naomi squealed; she was also inclined to be dramatic.

‘No, let’s wait and see, let it be a surprise. I love surprises,’ said little Cordelia, and that decided the issue.

At a quarter past ten the younger children began to get restless and Bartholomew was pulling at the window sash when feet were heard coming up the stairs. Everyone held their breath at the tap on the door, and Mrs Parkin, the housekeeper, who looked quite overcome, announced the visitors and quickly departed.