Cassandra noticed at once that his demeanour was altered. That breezy optimism upon which her nephew had floated through life had suddenly flown. Having so often counselled against an ever-cheerful approach – was it quite wise to expect only the best when the worst could so easily happen? – she now found that she missed it acutely.

Ned sat, recited the grace and charged his wife’s plate with the beef he had grown.

Mary paled, averted her eyes from the rich food and rested her hands on her stomach. ‘My dear husband has got himself into a lather.’ She smiled. ‘He is insisting we go off to London tomorrow. It seems I am now grown so grand that only some fashionable surgeon will do.’

‘Dr Stone comes with high recommendations,’ he insisted.

‘And with so much expense that I do not deserve!’ Mary declared. ‘I must confess to feeling quite mortified by all this attention. Still, I shall argue no longer. And when we are home again, it will be for Mr Knight to be embarrassed for having made such a fuss.’

Cassandra felt numb. She cast her eyes down to her dinner plate – blood oozed out of rare meat; formed a thick, dark pool – while her head thrummed with the sad echoes of history.

‘Ned, dear.’ Somehow she managed to speak. ‘Are you quite confident that—?’

‘Ah, madam!’ Mary cut in. ‘Surely you must know by now that confidence is my dear husband’s greatest strength. It is one of the many reasons to love him.’ She reached out her hand across the starched linen.

He took it – planted a kiss on her fingers – and pressed it into his cheek. The affection between them had never once dimmed. The couple still seemed like newly-weds. While his eyes locked on his wife’s, Ned addressed his aunt. ‘Only the best …’

And what could Cassandra say to dissuade them? Only that she had once thought the same, twenty-odd years ago. With every faith, she had carried her ailing sister away from this very village and into a city. She too had hoped to find superior methods – was promised that Jane would be cured! Instead, she denied that dear home-bird of life’s ultimate comfort: a peaceful death, with her loving family about her, and in her own bed.

‘You must trust your instincts, and I know all will be well,’ she said now, as if calm. ‘Pray, do not worry about the children. I shall keep an eye.’

‘I thank you for that.’ Ned turned to face her. ‘But – I almost hesitate to ask it, for the journey is arduous and this winter is cruel – you will come to us, should we feel need of you?’

Cassandra smiled. ‘But of course. Just send the word.’

Miss Austen arrived, as bidden, at the rented house in South Audley Street, Mayfair, on the 4th day of February, bringing the fresh blizzard with her into the dark, narrow hallway.