The easterly wind whipped across the fields as Esther took the path inland towards the Grange. She stopped to pull her shawl more closely about her as the wind caught at her skirt and tossed her curls. A small smile of satisfaction curved her mouth as she looked around her. Autumn had been gentle and the ploughing was going well, despite her time being taken up with caring for the old man. She smiled ruefully to herself. She did indeed owe Matthew a debt of gratitude, for without him she certainly would not have kept up the farm work so well. Her smile widened. But it wouldn’t do to tell him so, she thought. Matthew Hilton was quite full enough already of his own importance!

The smile faded and she sighed heavily. Everything could be very different from now on. What was going to happen to her now that Sam was gone?

At the Grange, the huge front door was opened smoothly by a tall, thin man dressed in a black suit. His mouth curved downward as if he had a bad smell under his nose. He looked down upon Esther and as she made to enter the house, the man deliberately barred her way. ‘I don’t think you can have business in this establishment, girl.’

Esther squared her shoulders. ‘I am here to see Mr Marshall.’

She waited in vain for any kind of apology from the man, whose expression did not alter. ‘I see, and have you an appointment?’ He enunciated every word with clipped precision – and with an edge of sarcasm as if deriding the country dialect that was always so strong in her tones.

Esther stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by him. ‘Not exactly,’ she said calmly, meeting his cold eyes steadfastly. ‘I have come to inform the squire of the death of Mr Brumby.’