Petra scraped the last of the egg white from its shell. “I will be home by four o’clock.” She reached for the butter dish and spread butter liberally onto her toast. “Good enough, sir?” She raised an ironic eyebrow.

“Good enough.”

Petra took the reins of the gig an hour later, shook them encouragingly, clicked her tongue, and the pony between the traces started off down the driveway. It was another beautiful late autumn morning, the oak trees along the drive richly burnished in gold and red and for the first time in days, it seemed, she drew a deep breath of relaxation, feeling the tension run away. The lanes were quiet and the main road into Weston had little traffic. Wednesday was market day and the traffic would have been heaviest earlier in the morning. It would be bad again late afternoon, as Guy had pointed out, as customers and stall holders made their way home, but Petra had every intention of keeping her promise about being home by four o’clock.

She guided the gig into the stable yard of the Ship Inn on the town’s sea front and jumped down, handing the reins to a stable hand, who hurried to take them. “I’ll be back later this afternoon. See that the pony’s fed and watered,” she instructed before making her way into the inn.

“Good morning, miss. What can I get you?” The innkeeper behind the counter in the saloon bar greeted his customer cheerfully as he polished the stained counter with his apron. “It’s Miss Rutherford, isn’t it? Haven’t seen you hereabouts in a year or more.”

“It’s Lady Ashton now, Mr. Jackman,” Petra told him with a smile. “And I’d like coffee, please.”

She sat down at a table in the mullion-paned window overlooking the promenade above the beach.

“Well, I never did,” the innkeeper said. “Wait till I tell the missus. She usually knows all the gossip hereabouts.” He poured coffee. “Fancy a nice bit o’ fruitcake with this? Our Matty bakes a right good ’un.”

“Yes, thank you.” For some reason Petra associated the sea air with food, candy floss and toffee apples, cockles and whelks soaked in vinegar, and, of course, fish and chips. They were all part of the ritual experience of a day at the seaside.