Her husband’s mood, on the other hand, was quite easy to read. He was breathing loudly and heavily, shoulders rising and falling with each long respiration: a bull in the ring. Occasionally, a growl was emitted, with the shake of a head. To sum up, the demeanours of her fellow passengers could not be more different. But still, neither was speaking. Fanny could bear it no longer.

‘My dears,’ she began. ‘I fear I am at a considerable disadvantage. Clearly something has occurred, and only I know not what. Might one of you be so kind as to shed light on the mystery?’

‘Your brother.’ Sir Edward almost spat the word – sent it out drenched with contempt.

‘Oh dear.’ Fanny felt suddenly sick. ‘Which …?’ she asked, nervously. There were six, after all, and, in truth, her kindest of husbands did not have a good word for any.

Sir Edward tried to reply, but Fanny could not quite hear him. He tried again: still indistinct. So she put her head close to his mouth – as if hoping for the last words from one on his deathbed – and caught something that sounded a little like ‘Ned’.

But that could not be correct …

‘Husband.’ She put a hand on his forehead to check for a fever, and spoke with a soothing tone. ‘Ned cannot have been getting into mischief! He has been the whole day with the shoot.’

At that, Sir Edward lifted his face and looked at his wife with an expression of pure misery. ‘No. No, he has not, my dear, I am sorry to tell you. The shoot was no more than a vile deceit.

‘Your other brothers were out, certainly. They can be trusted, on this matter at least. But that rogue’ – he clenched both his fists – ‘the absolute villain …’ He was looking out of the window now, and into the distance. ‘Oh, yes. He had lined up for himself another, better amusement …

‘… in the orangery, if you please.’ His voice rose up to its strongest roar possible. ‘Asking Mary Dorothea for her hand.’

Fanny stared at her husband: open-mouthed; stunned. She knew nothing – absolutely nothing at all – of even a friendship between them.

She turned to face Mary. ‘And, pray, what was your answer?’

The girl merely sat, immobile, and stared into her lap.

‘What was her answer?’ Sir Edward repeated, contemptuous. Both ladies flinched. Fanny had never previously known him quite so excitable. ‘What does that matter? Her answer, indeed. It is what I say that counts. And I say—’

Fanny put a hand on his arm to stop him. ‘I think we can all gather, my dear. But still, if you don’t mind – and though they may be purely academic – I would like to hear our daughter’s thoughts, too.’

Mary did lift her eyes then and seemed to be forming some sort of reply, but Sir Edward was having none of it.

‘Lady Knatchbull!’ her husband demanded. ‘I pray you desist!’