And their country was no longer at war – it was time to forgive and to make new beginnings. They all went to Midnight Mass together, walking the long lane in the frosty, moonlit night, the children, far from sleepy, skipping and dancing and chasing each other; the grown-ups, walking arm in arm, smiling and content and thankful. Yes, thankful, Esther thought, that despite what they had all lost, there would be no more killing and maiming. Their soldiers were coming home.

Oh, dear Lord, she prayed silently, let one of them be Jonathan.

It was in the New Year that Esther’s restlessness grew and became unbearable. She could find no solace in the farm. Even her favourite place on the Spit and the peaceful scenery brought no comfort and serenity. Her anxiety over Jonathan festered until she was sleeping badly and could not eat.

There should have been some word. Surely the soldiers were coming home from France now? He would have got in touch somehow. Perhaps he was still in France. Perhaps he was wounded and in hospital, or – heaven forbid – perhaps he was dead and lying in a grave in foreign soil, alone and forgotten by everyone but her.

It was Will Benson who gave her the idea that there was something she could do.

‘Have you heard the latest?’

She was listening with only half an ear to his chatter, but his next words commanded her immediate attention. ‘Squire’s going over to France to see if he can find his boy’s grave. Course Mrs Marshall ain’t going. Poor lady – she’s never got over the lad’s death, y’know. Just the squire and his younger son are going.’

Esther stared at him. Her heart began to beat a little faster and she felt herself go breathless with excitement. ‘How’s he managed that? Can anybody go? When’s he going?’

‘Eh, steady on, lass. ’Ow should I know? All I know is, he’s got in touch with that there Major Langley. You know, ’im as gave that speech in the town just after the war started.’

‘Oh, I remember him all right!’ Esther said grimly.

‘Now, lass, the man was only doing his duty—’

‘Never mind that now, Will,’ she cut him off sharply.

‘Do you know when Squire’s going?’

‘Next week some time I think. He found out from the major where young Rodney’s company was when he was killed.’

‘Oh, next week, eh?’ Esther muttered, her mind busy. Jonathan must have been in the same company as the squire’s son. She remembered the squire asking Jonathan if he had known his son and Jonathan had said that he knew him by sight. They’d all been in the same regiment, Rodney Marshall, Ernie Harris, Matthew – and Jonathan! Perhaps . . .

‘Esther Hilton – what are you up to?’ Will was eyeing her shrewdly.