For the rest, she had long ago formed a habit of only ever telling adults what they wanted to hear. Having observed Norton’s honesty and the trouble it brought him, it seemed obvious that her life would be easier if she did not follow his path.

Only now did she see that her own way had brought with it a whole other problem. There was not now an adult around her with any idea of who Mary truly was: not the feelings in her heart, nor the thoughts in her head.

On 31 August, straight after breakfast, the nursery maid lined up the children – wiped five eggy faces; scrubbed ten jammy hands – pronounced: ‘It’s as good as I can get ’em and ’e can like it or lump it,’ and led them all into the library.

Like a chorus of angels, they chirruped: ‘Good morning, Papa,’ sounding so very unlike themselves, that Mary looked around. The fear in those little pink faces … So she was not alone, then. They all, even little John, could sense something afoot.

‘Ah, yes.’ Sir Edward cleared his throat. ‘Children.’ As if he had, until that moment, forgotten he had any. ‘You are brought here today …’ He studied the detail on the Aubusson with particular care. ‘I wish it to be known …’ he started again, rubbing at a knee with each hand. ‘I am to be married!’ he blurted out in a rush.

This was met not with cheers, nor cries, but a paralysed silence. Sir Edward looked up, flushed, and looked down again. The library took on the quiet of the grave.

At last, as if this were his regiment and he was addressing the general on behalf of his men, Norton took a pace forward, stood crisp to attention, and said: ‘Thank you, Papa. Then, of course, we all our offer our warmest good wishes. Might we now be informed as to whom?’

Sir Edward looked at his son and heir with barely suppressed fury, though that was not out of the ordinary. Norton’s every word and deed provoked his father to fury, and had done for years. Still, Mary thought it a shame. Somehow, she sensed her papa had come to this interview fully determined to be kind – as kind as she alone believed him to be capable of being. Yet already – and as usual – things were going awry.

‘My boy,’ he thundered. ‘You must concede that it is not in my nature to be wild or impetuous, and I resent the implication of your words. This is not a wanton decision, but one taken with great care. And I will have you know’ – he half rose out of his chair, as if pulling a trump from a good hand and certain of victory – ‘that not only has your sister met with the lady, but she has wholeheartedly approved of the match.’