In turn, Sir Edward interpreted this display as an absence of feeling, and did not trouble to hide his resentment. ‘So oppressed was I by its sad purpose that I fear, sir, I failed to take notice.’

To her tremendous relief, the day was suddenly saved by the arrival of the six dear children. They came armed with their beauty, good manners – their favourite toys – and within moments, all that had been strange was suddenly natural.

Cassandra sank into the low armchair with the wild-flower sprigs and watched fresh affections spring into life; listened to laughter and prattle – all hope restored. Until, exhausted by their play, Sir Edward came over to join her.

‘I must confess’, he said in a low voice, ‘that I find it quite overwhelming.’

‘Oh, they are lively enough! Some nights I leave here thoroughly worn out. But are they not charming with it?’ Cassandra could not hide her pride. ‘And a credit to their mother, of course.’

‘Oh yes, all that,’ Sir Edward conceded, with no particular grace. ‘But I talk more of their high spirits. How is it that children can have such forgetfulness – such want of recollection – at a time of the most profound sorrow?’

Cassandra turned to him, outraged. He, too, had lost his mother in boyhood, yet he could find no fellow feeling? Though he had failed as a father to Mary, he was being given a second chance with her offspring – and he now dared to find fault with their manner of suffering? The late Lady Banks had been right: Sir Edward was a man in need of firm guidance.

She realised, then, that it fell to her to put him right. ‘I cannot say,’ Cassandra replied crisply. ‘But is it not a merciful dispensation of Providence that it should be so?’

Suitably humbled, Sir Edward rose, returned to a kneeling position down on the floor and resumed play with a wooden farm. The new baby was sent for, brought in by his nurse and warmly admired.

And so it was that this beautiful, unfortunate family started to settle into its strange and new shape, and take the first, hesitant steps towards a quite different future.

As dusk started to fall, Cassandra made her excuses and took her leave. She yearned for the quiet of her cottage and felt strongly that the two men should dine alone. She was now an elderly lady and would not always be there to bridge the great gulf between them. They must find the way through on their own.

The evening was pleasant, and she dismissed Daniel’s offers and set off on the walk past the sweet, little church where young Mary now lay, close to Cassandra’s own dear mother. It was too late to call on them now, but she would do so on the morrow. So much to report! Such a day!