Bartholomew turned to face the Reverend. His face was strangely alive, mocking, his eyes dark and challenging. ‘Matthew’d reckon it was the hand of God. Paul says the hand of fate. Do you know what I believe, Reverend?’ He went on, not waiting for a reply. ‘I believe it is more likely to have something to do with the heavy hand of Sir Oliver Pengarron.’

At first the Reverend shook his head but changed his mind and brought his head up and down like a puppet on a slow string. He picked up a book resting on the cushion of the window seat and squeezed its top corner between finger and thumb, studied its title without consciously taking it in then dropped it back in its place. Bartholomew waited expectantly.

‘There may be some truth in what you say. The information was brought to me that Sir Oliver paid Peter Blake an unwelcome call on the day following Mark King’s funeral. Beforehand he called at the Blakes’ rooms and was granted entrance by Mistress Blake. He may have said something… I know him to be a man who seeks justice,’ the parson cleared his throat and pulled at the wrinkled folds of skin under his chin, ‘not necessarily by conventional means. Well, at the least it will be easier for you, your brothers and the Kings to make a reasonable living without dues to pay on your boat.’

‘I’m grateful for that,’ Bartholomew said briefly.

‘I have one idea to help your mother,’ the Reverend said. ‘She usually appears a little brighter after Lady Pengarron has called on her. Perhaps Jenifer’s help may come more fully from that quarter.’

‘Yes, Lady Pengarron.’ Bartholomew allowed a smile to touch the edges of his wide mouth at the memory of their meeting in Trelynne Cove. ‘If anyone can help my mother, she can. She’s done everything she can to bring Mother back into the land of the living, so to speak, she even invited all of us to have Sunday dinner at the manor. She thought Mother sitting at a well-set table again would spur her on to wanting to do the best for the little ones, but Mother refused. Lady Pengarron stressed that Sir Oliver wouldn’t mind, that it could be a time when he wasn’t there if it’d make her feel more comfortable about it.’

‘That was a shame, an outing of that kind could have been a turning point for her. I hope the refusal was not purely out of embarrassment.’

‘Might have been, but I doubt it. Mother won’t go outside the door for any reason. She could have been afraid the littl’uns would have felt out of place with the Pengarron children. The youngest one, that Master Luke, is a holy terror and Cordelia’s got nothing good to wear like their maid… I’d like to have gone though…’