‘Esther . . .’ Beth cried after her. ‘Please – I must see him. Please tell him.’

Esther did not look back or even acknowledge that she had heard the girl’s desperate plea, but as she walked along the road from the church, she could almost feel Beth’s eyes watching her every step of the way.

Back at the farm, she hurried straight up to Sam’s room.

‘They all asked about you, Sam,’ she told him. ‘The parson and the squire. They all sent their regards and wish you well.’

Sam lay in his narrow bed with his eyes closed. It was as if, being unable to go to the church himself, he had given up. He refused all food, and would take only sips of water.

‘Parson said he’ll come and see you,’ she added slyly, hoping that such news would spark some sort of reaction.

But Sam’s eyes remained shut and his expression did not alter. Sadly, Esther doubted if he had even understood what she was telling him. His face was like a skull, the skin stretched like dry parchment over the bones. All the ruddy good health of a life working in the open air had gone in the last few weeks. He lay there with his eyes closed, every breath a shuddering, rasping sound, his fingers clutching at the quilt covering him.

‘Do you feel worse, Sam?’ Esther asked gently, bending down towards him.

There was no answer.

The next morning Esther sent Matthew to fetch the doctor again. ‘He’s much worse now than when Doctor Blair last saw him.’

Matthew just nodded and muttered, ‘I’ll go right away.’

It was only when Matthew had disappeared around the bend in the road that Esther realized she had not even thought to tell him that Beth wanted to see him.

Only two nights later, Esther was startled out of her sleep by the sound of the latch of her bedroom door being lifted. At once she was fully awake, lying stiffly, holding her breath.

In the early morning light, Matthew’s shadowy form came towards her narrow bed. Ducking his head below the slope of the ceiling, he grasped at the counterpane near her shoulder. She gave a little cry and pulled the cover from his grip. ‘Dun’t you dare, Mester Matthew . . .’

‘Oh, you’re awake. You’d better come. I – I can’t hear Sam breathing.’

‘What?’ She sat up suddenly, forgetting the nearness of the ceiling and gave her head a nasty crack.

Fearful of what they were to find, the two young people clung together as they crept through the room Matthew now occupied, across the tiny landing and lifted the latch of Sam’s bedroom door.

They found him still warm, yet motionless and silent for ever. He must have died quite peacefully for the covers were unruffled and his hands were folded across his chest, just as he had gone to sleep.