‘Is she not the most capital flirt?’ They shook their young heads in rich admiration. ‘One can only look on in awe. Dear, funny Will – he does not stand an earthly.’

In the absence of her employer, Miss Atkinson had put away all her governess’s costumes and instead treated her admirers to a daily parade of fine summer fashions.

‘Must they too be obstructed or do you think they could …?’

‘Oh!’ Cassy held up a hand and gave a long blink of emphasis. ‘Here is our exception. Emily will always prevail. In fact …’ She moved forward to a position of the utmost confidence. ‘Mark my words, come the spring of next year, we shall be at the wedding.’

An unidentified Knight called out: ‘A bullseye!’

‘Ah! Are we not blessed?’ Mary hugged herself with delight. ‘To witness an actual affair …’

The warm air was rent by a scream. And, quite unlike the playing of earlier, this was a scream fit to curdle the blood. They both jumped to their feet.

‘What – who—’ Mary stood on her toes and saw the men gathered round, a small body beneath them. ‘John!’

She picked up her skirts and started to run, fast, towards the place where her little brother was fallen. ‘Darling! I’m coming!’ Her heart was pounding. Was it an arrow? Please God, let it not be an arrow. Oh, why had they sat at such a distance? She was nearly there. But her breath was failing. ‘Hold on! I am coming!’

And then a large, barrelling obstacle ran into her path. Young Mr Knight? But he was not of the party! Where had he come from? He paid her no heed and propelled himself forward: stride, long; pace, thundering; dog lolloping on behind. Mary could only follow while the ground shook beneath her and the sheer force of his movement brought a wind to her face.

By the time she arrived, little John already lay cradled – lifeless – in the arms of Ned Knight.

Mary sat in the attic corridor, Norton on one side and Booker the other. With every shriek and sob that came from the nursery, they trembled – cried out – could bear it no longer. Together, the two Knatchbulls approached the locked door and knocked to gain entry, but were denied.

‘Let’s just sit here and wait.’ Kind Booker sat them back down and took a hand from each. ‘He’s all right with Cakey and Mr Ned, I promise you that. They know what they’re doing better than most. Oh, we’ve had that many accidents …’ In an attempt to distract them, she reached back in her memory. ‘There was that time when Master Will got into a fight with a bullock. Oh my days!’ She had distracted herself enough to start chuckling. ‘Never seen such a bloodbath. Eye hung by a thread—’

‘Booker!’ Mary could feel the tears building again. ‘Please—’