‘I’m sure it will be comfortable enough. Where do you go?’ she asked Livia.

‘To visit my sister until we continue on to the convent. She lives in a village not far from here.’

Luna felt a sudden panic. That thread had not yet broken, she realised. ‘When will I see you again?’

‘When you are ready to travel on to the convent, I will come. This family is generous to offer you a bed so take the chance to rest. You’ve been through so much, my child, but you only have to send word and I will return.’

‘Thank you, Livia. I’ll be glad to get out of this carriage.’ She did her best to smile and poked her head out from the covers, hoping to catch a glimpse of the estate as it came into view. A low stone wall stretched away from the road through the fields towards a grand villa in the distance. Her stomach churned; she didn’t know this family, but Professor di Novara had seen her utterly disarmed, dressed as a boy and lost for words. That had only been a week before the end of everything; she steeled herself against the memory.

‘You will be well cared for; do not fret.’ Livia patted Luna’s knee. ‘I remember how your father and the professor worked together when you were still just a child, discussing ideas late into the night. I would often have to extricate you from under the desk, where you’d gone to listen in hiding. The menfolk indulged you so. The Novaras will be kindly hosts.’

Luna felt the carriage begin to slow. A line of cypress trees marked out the last section of road as they rounded a bend and the imposing facade of the Novara estate came into view. She paled at the memory of the professor’s judgement when last she’d seen him.

‘Do you feel ill?’ Livia asked.

‘It is the constant movement,’ Luna lied.

It was late in the day when they finally turned into the entrance yard and the sound of men’s voices grew loud. Luna saw that a harvest was being delivered. Carts heavy with baskets rumbled past and the horses’ hooves clattered loudly across the cobblestones. The ground was stained with dark purple splashes where some of the grapes had fallen. It was dusk and the light would be gone soon. She thrust her arms into her cloak again, with its musty reminder of Friar Bartolomeo, before taking the hand Livia offered and stepping from the carriage. The sturdiness of her walking stick strengthened Luna. It was the only possession she still had from her former life and she held it tightly as she made her way to the steps, skirting around men shouting to one another as the overseers assessed the quality of the grapes. It must have been a good day; everyone seemed pleased with the pickings.