‘I’ll go in and see him.’ Without waiting for an invitation, Mr Marshall turned and walked towards the house. Sam would be sitting huddled in front of the range, she knew, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looked thin and old now, but he refused to see a doctor.

Esther stayed about the yard pretending to be busy, but in truth waiting for Mr Marshall to reappear. She didn’t have long to wait. Ten minutes later, the squire came out of the house closing the door quietly behind him. He seemed lost in thought and didn’t notice Esther until he was almost up to her. ‘Ah, there you are. Er – well now – I don’t like the look of Sam at all, not at all. I’ve tried to persuade him to let the doctor have a look at him but . . .’

He caught sight of Esther’s half-smile. ‘Ah, I see you’ve tried already.’ He was silent for a moment, then, stroking his chin thoughtfully, he said, ‘Well now, what’s going to happen to the farm while Sam’s ill, mm?’

‘I’ll manage,’ she said curtly, adopting her usual stance when her ability was questioned – feet apart, hands on hips.

‘Well, my dear. I hope you can. I’m not a hard man. I’m not about to turn a tenant out just because he’s ill, especially when his family have held this tenancy for generations . . .’

‘Tenant? Mr Brumby is a tenant of this farm? He – he dun’t own it?’

‘Oh no, my dear. Didn’t you know? I own all the land around here. I have three tenant farmers in all – Willoughby at Rookery Farm, Souter and Sam Brumby. Sam’s family have farmed here the longest. So, as I say, I’m not going to turn him out because he hits a bad patch, particularly if you can keep things going till he gets better.’

Esther’s head was whirling. Then she remembered Matthew’s words when he’d been explaining about the folk who lived at the Point. ‘They all work the land round here – they all work for Mester Marshall,’ Matthew had said, but she hadn’t understood fully what he had meant then. ‘He’s the squire – he owns all the land hereabouts.’

Now she understood. Sam Brumby was only a tenant farmer. He didn’t own the farm, so what would happen if anything happened to Sam, if he should be ill for a long time, or even die? After all, he was an old man, though Esther had no idea just how old he was. What would happen to her, Esther, then?

She squared her shoulders and looked Mr Marshall in the eyes. She had to make amends for her curtness of a few minutes ago. She knew it was important that she should make a good impression upon Mr Marshall, the real owner of the farm.