Relief spread across Mr Marshall’s face and he patted her shoulder benevolently. ‘Don’t mention it, my dear, don’t mention it. About that other little matter – if you care to come up to the Grange tomorrow afternoon, Mr Thompson will bring all the papers to be signed.’

‘That other little matter’, he called it. If only he knew what havoc that ‘little matter’ had caused in her life.

Forty-three

ESTHER Hilton was mistress of Brumbys’ Farm – the legal tenant in her own right.

She had the land she loved, she had a healthy, growing daughter and a smart new pony and trap to take Kate to school and herself to the market and to church.

She had good friends; Will still came twice a week, and treated her and Kate as if they belonged to him even if the words of acknowledgement were not forthcoming. She had the Harris family; wonderful, motherly, laughing Ma Harris in whose eyes Esther had exonerated herself for her past indiscretions by her tender care of Matthew, and Mr Harris, quieter than his voluble wife, but always there to lend a hand when needed. And the Harris children – what would she do without Enid and the younger boys helping on her farm whenever they knew she needed extra hands, without her ever having to ask?

And then there was Danny Eland.

Oh, Danny, Esther would say countless times to herself watching him about the farm with Kate, or doing little jobs for her, you’re the growing image of Matthew. What am I to do about you?

Despite all this if there was still an aching loneliness in her heart, a secret sadness which she could share with no one, then she would tell herself sternly that she had much to be grateful for and that she couldn’t expect to have everything she wanted in life.

Nevertheless, there was a restlessness about her, a longing that even the work-filled days and exhausted nights could not subdue.

‘Our Enid’s getting wed, Esther,’ Ma greeted Esther one morning.

‘Oh, Ma, how wonderful. I didn’t even know she was courting. Who is it?’