Though her arsenal was limited and weapons but few, Mary employed all she could in self-protection. Good works got her out of the house, although the wretched short days of darkness meant she could not stay out late. On the other hand, the season did bring with it an excellent array of possible illnesses, and she claimed to fall victim to one after the other. In some other household, this poor pattern of health might have raised some suspicion. After all, did not Mary ail only when Dr Knatchbull was in residence? When he was called to Oxford or Smeeth, was she not, by some miracle, suddenly well? It went without notice, and Mary stayed, calm but alone, in her room. Even the leeches seemed but a small price to pay. Better to lose blood than the soul.

Of course, there were still dinners – terrible dinners à trois – which she simply had to attend, but there she drew her smallest stiletto. Mary had discovered, quite by chance, that if she addressed him as ‘My uncle’, then both enemies flinched. It was as devastating as the pause on ‘… Mama.’ Once learned, she pursued it with vigour.

And come the day when she simply had to break free or risk losing her sanity, Mary slipped through the front door, crawled beneath all the windows and dashed to the stables.

‘Af’noon, miss.’ Daniel the coachman was scrubbing her father’s large bay. ‘But if you’re after a ride, I’m afeared you’re to be disappointed.’ He cocked his head at the shining, huge carriage which had been rashly purchased without the requisite increase of staff to support it. ‘Be no more time for trotting out with you, miss.’

‘Then I could go alone …’

‘And have Sir Edward find out?’ He shook his head, and went back to the flank. ‘More than my life’s worth.’

‘And more than mine’s worth to stay.’ Mary grabbed at his sleeve. ‘Daniel, I beg you … Or I shall simply die of the boredom.’

Within minutes, she was out and alone in quite open country. For the first time in weeks, a sense of living returned to her, thrumming through her limbs. And did not Nature feel the same way? Locked away in her apartment, Mary had no notion of spring, but now she saw hedgerows heavy with catkins, shining primrose beneath. She smiled, turned her face to the watery light and relished the prospect of the happiness ahead. Soon her friends would return. The Knight boys would flock back for the summer. How had Miss Cassandra Austen put it? A new world of green.

The pale sun was now slipping; the horizon glowed pink. With a start, Mary realised the hour, looked around to see where she was. And – oh! – was not that the castle at Chilham? The crenellations, the flagpole … Then, quite without meaning it – by no sort of design – had she not travelled almost to Godmersham …?