Cassandra jumped half out of her chair, but both Mary and Ned sat up to attention. After all, the whole point of this visit was to report on Sir Edward’s current position, and only now did it seem they were near.

Mary reached out to her husband, gripped his hand and – sweet almond eyes full of hope – asked in a trembling voice: ‘Pray tell us, dear Aunt, how did you find him? Has my father come close to acceptance?’

Lady Banks seemed to deflate, as if all that hot air had suddenly flown out from her person. She shuffled in her seat, sunk into despondence, and was forced then to admit that – despite all her strong words and wisest possible counsel – Sir Edward’s position remained completely unchanged.

CHAPTER XXXIX

To watch a large, affectionate family at play is to gaze upon beauty, and by the summer of the year 1834, the Knights of Chawton were approaching peak glory. Mary had produced first two charming boys – Lewknor and Wyndham – and then two pretty girls – Annabella and Georgina. And on that July afternoon, they were all out on the lawn in the sunshine and thriving. Miss Cassandra Austen, from her favoured position in the shade of a cypress, looked on with great satisfaction.

After all, so deprived of her own happy childhood – growing up with no model to learn from – what Mary had achieved was close to miraculous. Having once had to skip to keep up with her husband, she now matched him in energy. Since arriving in Chawton, she had transformed the Great House into something it had not been for decades, and that was a home. On top of that, she had established a smallholding right there in the grounds; and her work with the local women and children was of such a standard as to merit even Cassandra’s approval. And all this Mary had accomplished while raising her offspring to be good, loving Christians. She had every right to feel proud.

And though she would say this to no one, so too did Cassandra. For if the Knights were a masterpiece, then could it not be said that she played the part of the master’s apprentice? The hours she spent picking up Spillikins or soothing tantrums seemed not unlike the work of those minor artists who toiled unheroically, filling in the deep background so vital to the whole. No doubt, her services would be required again at any moment – peace never reigned for too long. In the meantime, she was content to sit quietly, and enjoy the fetching tableau.

With one small child wrapped about his neck, Ned stood over Lewknor and guided his bat; the good Reverend William Knight, there for the day with a selection of his own seven fine offspring, was the bowler – though he played with the handicap of a tiny daughter attached to each leg.