‘Your wish, madam.’ With a flourish, William scooped it up and slipped it back in the water. ‘Good old Tenchy …’ A tail cut the surface and vanished. ‘There he goes … And so’ – he lifted both arms as if in surrender – ‘must I. Miss Atkinson’s displeasure has fair wounded my soul.’ Still fully dressed, including the boots, William leaped into the air, turned head over heels; plunged into the water, issuing a long, plaintive ‘Adieu’. And, because they none of them liked to do things by halves, all of the brothers followed them in.

Mary sank down on to the riverbank, watched them and smiled.

That glorious summer of 1823 was surely the loveliest yet of Mary’s sixteen years. Sir Edward and Fanny were away and the entire Knatchbull offspring were removed for a few weeks to Godmersham. Hearing the call, the great flock of Knight boys swept in for the season and Ned, a singular kingfisher, flashed in and out. By day they all played; by evening they sang; a few danced more than a passable Highland Fling. The whole experience was delicious. And yet …

As if she could sense Mary’s thoughts souring, Miss Atkinson – like a guardian angel – appeared, seated right by her side.

‘Are you happy, my dear?’ The governess’s face was set towards the water, but her soft voice was all for Mary. ‘It gives me great pleasure to see you have fun at last.’ She reached up an arm and put it around her young charge. ‘You were such a sad, lost little thing when first I came.’ She turned to plant a kiss on a cheek. ‘Your joy is my joy.’

Mary let her head drop on the dear lady’s shoulder and gave out a sigh. ‘Oh, Miss A.’ If only life could be all joy … Why must there always be darkness?

She was undoubtedly enjoying a heavenly stay, but Mary could not help but be troubled that it was born out of yet more unpleasant circumstances. Lady Knatchbull had now suffered two – or might it be three? – of her ‘unfortunate events’. According to the doctors, the likelihood of another child was poor. Fanny’s nerves (always delicate) were now totally shredded; her father’s temper (never good) was particularly volatile. And Mary, too, was a little disturbed.