After their trip to the gallery, George Knight had taken the girls under his wing. Miss Austen was correct: the law did provide him with ample free time. In consequence, Mary’s own life became one long excitement. And during their subsequent outings to the opera and around the bazaars – their walks in the park – she had felt herself change. Of course, it would be quite wrong for Mary to describe her own bloom – may God strike her down! But it was the word Cassy used and, though Booker was very much not given to compliments, Mary could not miss the new look of approval when their eyes met in the glass.

So the traditional Easter return to Hatch, with only her parents for company, was for Mary a dismal enough prospect.

And when, in the wake of all that fun, she suddenly fell quite catastrophically ill, it was enough to crush her completely.

The first sign of her apocalypse came in mid-April. From the point of contracting only the mildest of colds, she was suddenly assaulted by symptoms, at once both confusing and yet clearly severe. A violent bleeding from the nose brought with it a fever which, in turn, set off an all-over agony. By the following morning, she was swinging – as if strung to the pendulum in a clock tower – between the horror of consciousness and hallucinatory ravings.

She was vaguely aware that the Mama found the nursing a strain – ‘It is a terrible pity, but I am perfectly shattered’ – and that poor Marianne Knight was brought in to take over. Mr Whitfield was called, prescribed leeches at her temples and all over arms. But then he came again, and again – morning and evening? And from that Mary knew that this was true danger. Determined, she fought; in terror, she struggled. But after three days, or four – she had lost all sense of time, now – Mary could bear it no longer. Her grip on reality started to slacken.

The tunnel was long, at its end was a light and within that, was a figure. ‘Mama?’ In disbelief, she looked away; in new hope, she turned back. And – ah! – it was true! Her mother had come for her!

‘I am ready!’ Mary cried out. ‘My few possessions are neatly assembled! Do call me, Mama, call me now! For I can quit in an instant.’ But the vision turned its back then, started to fade and soon was quite vanished. In its place came an earthly commotion, and a voice in her ear.

‘I have cancelled the Yeomanry.’ The room shook as Sir Edward fell to his knees. ‘Dear Lord,’ she heard him intone. ‘Thy will be done … Deliver her, I pray … My precious … my light … in Thy mercy … such a good Christian girl … If she has … then I beseech … and by Thy forgiveness … The best that I have.’