Mary crossed the floor – it did not take long – over to the cheval, smoothed down her day dress and gave a little twirl. It was one of the three gowns that Marianne Knight had had made for her, to add to the new petticoats and nightgowns, and Mary was amazed at the magic wrought by a new wardrobe. She could almost pass as a Knight. But one knew better than to show pleasure in one’s own reflection. ‘I suppose I will do.’ She turned and took the maid’s hand. ‘Wish me luck! Let’s go and find John.’

It was not exactly hard finding John in those strange, early Godmersham days: find Cakey, and there he would be. It was Mary’s one consolation that while the little one might not have been blessed with the mama of his dreams, he could not wish for a more loving nurse.

Cakey had been with the Knights since the Bride was a baby – now there was a curious image – and, though her services were no longer required, she was still there, in the attic. The idea of letting her go was quite out of the question. She was the Godmersham treasure! Cakey was touched, of course, but clearly, also, a little bit bored. So when this motherless bairn came into her nursery, she flung herself at the task.

They were still at the basin when Mary and Booker appeared. Was Cakey washing the boy or was she polishing him?

‘Glory be!’ exclaimed Booker. ‘It’s assault by a flannel.’

‘Thank you, dear Cakey.’ Mary tried not to laugh. ‘I think that will do.’

‘If you say so.’ Reluctantly, the nurse let him out of her grip. ‘Needs to be at his best, though …’

‘For the mama!’ John squealed as he ran to his sister and buried himself in her skirts. ‘We’re going to see the new mama, the new …’

Cakey caught Booker’s eye and shot a look of enquiry. Booker sent back a shrug, muttering: ‘An attack of good conscience? Just hope it sticks.’ And Mary pretended she had not seen or heard any of it.

Together, the two Knatchbull children – eldest and youngest – set off down the stairs and all the while, John prattled on. ‘I want to climb into her bed! Will the New One let me climb into her bed? Like you used to do with the Real One?’

Mary privately fretted. For the truth was that she had told a little white lie. Miss Knight – the mama – had, in fact, only invited Mary to join her for tea. John she had somehow forgotten. But surely, if he came too, then it would be to everyone’s benefit? The wedding was now but a fortnight away. They would soon be a family …