If she was honest, Mary, too, had had the impression that the eldest Miss Knight – whom they called Fanny – would be the one to take her under her wing. They were soon to be ‘mother’ and ‘daughter’, after all, and certainly her father, Sir Edward, had suggested that would be the arrangement. But somehow it had not quite come to pass.

‘The Bride’, as the young Knatchbulls referred to Fanny then – she was not yet ‘the Mother’ and somehow, given its connotations of romance and passion, ‘the Bride’ struck them as funnier still – seemed to be one of those very busy sorts of ladies. What exactly she was actually busy with was unclear, but Mary could see that this general busyness acted as a wedge or a stop in the relationship between them.

For Mary, life at Godmersham seemed to proceed at a gentle sort of pace, certainly compared to the rigours of Ramsgate; but the poor Bride sped around the place in the most terrible hurry. For example, the moment Mary entered one room was always the point at which Fanny remembered she was due in another. And should Fanny open a door and find Mary within, she would at once start and declare herself in the wrong place. Then if, through no fault of either, they found themselves on the same flight of stairs, Fanny’s eyes seemed to darken with a mixture of guilt and regret, as if Mary were some chore – an untidy cupboard – which she ought not and yet somehow did keep putting off.

Mary did not mind any of it, particularly. Though she had learned next to nothing at school, she had developed a certain forbearance. And anyway, the longer she stayed at Godmersham, the more companionship she did seem to find there. Miss Marianne was the kindest of spirits, Booker, the maid, a complete darling and, soon after young Mr Knight’s visit, Louisa and Cassy suddenly became her great friends. But when it came to her little brother John, she felt very differently. For John, Mary minded a lot.

Her youngest brother had been sent to Godmersham soon after Mary, though he had never been there before and was barely acquainted with the Bride. But still, his bags were packed, his papa bade him farewell and suddenly, there he was in a quite different nursery. He was so excited in the carriage from Hatch, chanting: ‘We’re off to see the new mama, the new mama, the new mama. Off to see the new mama …’ over and over until Mary thought she might scream.

How she wished the new mama felt as excited about him.

‘What do we think, then?’ Booker was looking over Mary’s head and into the glass. ‘Hair up or down? Which will she prefer, do you suppose?’