It was not that she had exactly longed for a baby at Hatch. Indeed, when her papa first told her one might arrive, she had found herself violently sobbing. He had presumed the tears to be happy ones; in truth, Mary had gone into shock. For a start, she had not understood theirs would be that sort of marriage. Imagine! Sir Edward and – Well, Mary would rather not. More than that, though, was the new and strange fear that her papa might yet have one more darling daughter. Was not Mary the Girl? Was she not ‘his precious one’? He had told her so, constantly and – in their complicated, unwieldy, not-quite-happy family – she had come to rely on her fairer sex. Having failed to develop another as yet, it was still her only distinguishing feature.

So, certainly, the news had struck as a blow, but Mary was confident – in fact, positive – she had never wished the child any ill. Yet it was hard to deny that the matter of her sadness had come up in her prayers and, though she had only ever sought guidance and of the most general nature, she must now regret it. For when the latest poor baby died, Mary could only feel somehow responsible. After all, His ways were, quite famously, mysterious. Might He be taking these children unto Heaven just to please Mary? No, more likely to punish her, surely. Or was she confusing her private devotions with a contractual arrangement and, thereby, once again in danger of being thought wicked … Oh, weak, foolish creature! How she longed to follow, as taught, the path of a good Christian girl; with what ease was she pulled, by her wayward emotions, astray into sin.

But, as a short shock of cold water sprayed over her head, her troubled mind was brought back to more temporal matters. At once and as one body, the gentlemen were now done with the river and running on to the grass. Mary looked up and watched as they now sprayed all the spectators; soon laughed as the drenched ladies scattered, protesting. Cassy Knight – now firmly established as her best friend in the whole world – skipped over, held out both hands and drew Mary up to her feet.

‘Archery now, on the lawn.’

The sodden menfolk led the way, with Miss Atkinson following them. As was their habit, the two girls dawdled behind.

‘I am not so very bad with a bow,’ Cassy began, ‘though my brothers are better, of course. How about you, dearest? I bet you’re a shot. You are so good at everything, I do sometimes wonder how I can bear it.’