She stood, hands on hips, looking at the motor car, her mouth pursed with indecision. A shadow fell across the doorway and she looked up to see the squire standing there. It was the first time she had seen him since the day of Matthew’s funeral.

He cleared his throat – nervously, it seemed to her. ‘Good morning, my dear. I – er – I’ve been meaning to come and see you, but well, I thought it only respectful to leave – ahem – matters of business, for a little while after . . .’

His voice trailed away. Esther stared at him. At his words, cold fingers of apprehension touched her and her heart began to beat a little faster.

Matters of business! That could mean only one thing. The farm! Now that her husband was dead – and known to be dead – was he going to force her to leave the farm, just because she was a woman?

Where could she go? What could she do? What about Kate . . . ?

The squire speaking again. ‘I realize I was partly to blame for Matthew squandering your hard-earned money on – ’ he gestured towards the motor car – ‘this. I wondered if it is of no use to you – if you’d like me to try and sell it for you, my dear? I know someone who deals in motor cars and I’m sure I could get a good price for it. If not quite all your money back, I could certainly recoup most of it.’

Esther felt herself smiling as relief flooded through her. Was this the ‘business’ he had meant? He had not come to throw her out of Brumbys’ Farm after all, but to put right a folly in which he had played no little part.

She felt sorry for the squire in that moment. He looked so anxious, so genuinely concerned. All he had tried to do all along was appease his own conscience and loss by taking Matthew out with him. Yet his kindly actions had backfired when Matthew had become obsessed by the motor car.

‘I’d be very grateful, Squire, for anything you could do. This – thing – is no use to me. I couldn’t drive it, and even if I could, well, it’s not quite what people of my class ride about in, is it now?’

The squire had the grace to smile. ‘I tell you what,’ he said, as an idea came to him. ‘What you could well do with is a smart little pony and trap. You could drive that, Esther. You could drive into the market, and take your little girl to school. What about it? Will you let me sell your car and sort out a nice little pony and trap? Needn’t cost very much,’ he added hastily, as her face showed doubt.

She smiled again. ‘Very well, Squire, and thank you.’