Two days later a smart pony and trap driven by a beaming Squire Marshall turned in at the gate of Brumbys’ Farm. Esther, rolling pastry at her kitchen table, dusted the flour from her hands with her apron and went out to meet him. She walked around the trap and patted the sprightly pony on its neck.

The squire climbed down and stood beside the trap, confident of her approval.

Esther looked up at him. ‘Oh, Squire, ’tis lovely, but I don’t know whether I really ought to spend the sort of money this must have cost.’

‘Now, now, my dear, before you decide . . .’ As he spoke he was reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out what seemed to Esther to be a sheaf of papers. Holding them out, he added, still smiling broadly, ‘Just count that first, and if you’re still not happy then I’ll take this back and recoup all the money for you.’

Esther held the thin, white pieces of paper in her fingers. Puzzled she glanced up at the Squire. ‘Is – is this money?’

‘Oh I’m sorry, my dear. Of course, I hadn’t realized. Yes, each of those white pieces of paper is worth five pounds.’

‘Five pounds!’ Esther exclaimed. ‘Each?’

The squire nodded. ‘Yes, my dear.’

Swiftly Esther counted them, and then looked up once more. ‘There’s more money here than ever Matthew took from my box, Squire.’

The older man shrugged and avoided meeting her direct, questioning gaze. ‘Ah well, I don’t know about that, my dear. All I know is, I managed to get a good price for the motor and that is what is left.’

‘Is the pony and trap paid for?’ she asked sharply.

‘Yes, yes . . .’ He fished in another pocket. ‘Here’s the bill of sale. Now, Mrs Hilton, are you happy – or not?’

‘Well . . .’ Esther frowned over the money and the receipt she held in her hand. She could not be anything but happy, although she had a shrewd suspicion that the squire was not being entirely truthful with her. Had he really got such a good price for the motor car, so much that he had paid for this magnificent pony and trap and still left her with more than Matthew had taken in the first place? Or had he put in some money of his own? There was no way she could know without risking offending him. For once, if her suspicions were founded, she would have to swallow her prickly pride and accept the squire’s good intentions with equally good grace.

She looked up again at him, a smile spreading across her face. ‘I’m overwhelmed, Squire. Really. I don’t know how you’ve managed it – ’ there was a veiled hint in her tone that perhaps she guessed what he might have done – ‘but I’m truly grateful. Thank you.’