What old Sam Brumby had actually said to Mr Thompson, as the lawyer was to tell her later, had been, ‘I want the wench to have it all,’ and it had been left to the lawyer to couch his wishes in legal terms.

Esther licked her dry lips and her reply came out in a hesitant whisper. ‘Yes – yes, sir.’

‘Well, Miss Everatt, I shall be obliged if you will present yourself at my office tomorrow at ten in the morning for the signing of some documents. Of course there are legal procedures to be gone through, but I see no reason why you may not take it that everything that belonged to Sam Brumby –’ he paused for effect – ‘is now yours.’

Esther could not stop the words from tumbling from her lips. ‘Even the tenancy of the farm – I can stay on at the farm?’

The lawyer held up his hand as if to fend off her eagerness. ‘That’s quite another matter, Miss Everatt. Presumably –’ the lawyer glanced towards Mr Marshall for confirmation – ‘. . . the tenancy would cease with his death.’

Esther too looked towards the squire and saw him nod in agreement. ‘That is correct, Mr Thompson. It is written into all my tenancy agreements.’

‘Quite so, Mr Marshall.’

There was a general shuffling in the room as the others present began to lose interest in the finer points of what Sam Brumby’s will meant. Not one of them had the right to have expected anything from Sam Brumby, and yet there was an air of displeasure that the girl who had arrived out of the mist one morning from God alone knew where, had got it all.

Only on Will Benson’s face was there a smile of satisfaction on Esther’s behalf.

Esther noticed Matthew staring at her, as if not knowing quite how to accept the news. She was no longer the waif who had arrived from nowhere and with nothing. Now she was in possession of some valuable belongings and, possibly, even the future tenant of Brumbys’ Farm. She saw a slight frown of thoughtfulness appear on Matthew Hilton’s young face, but then, as if with silent agreement the gathering made to leave. Esther forgot about Matthew.

She followed Mr Marshall out to his carriage and held the reins for him as he climbed up.

‘Mr Marshall – sir – about the tenancy of the farm . . .’

Mr Marshall looked down upon the anxious girl, but his expression was hard and cold. ‘This is hardly the time or the place to discuss matters of business. If you wish to see me, come to the Grange.’ Without a further word he took the reins from Esther’s hand and clicked to the horse to move on.

Esther stared after his retreating back, cursing herself for her mistake. Had she ruined her chances through, in Mr Marshall’s eyes, a lack of proper respect for Sam Brumby’s funeral day?