Sir Edward would insist on using the word ‘scandal’ – even though nobody knew of it apart from themselves. And even though it was he who had employed the governess in the first place, he was deeply displeased with everybody else. In particular, he seemed to be forming a strong aversion to the Knight boys in general, about whose moral rectitude he was developing doubts.

This grieved Fanny most terribly. Sir Edward had a brother in gaol, and yet he dared to find fault with her darling brothers? She might almost be minded to change the habits of her marriage, and speak up to her husband in their defence. However, her siblings had all taken William’s side in the matter, and no one at Godmersham, apart from her father, would even see her. And from that she deduced all those many, past visits from her boys – the ‘flocking’ of which Fanny had been so very proud – had not been to see her but, in fact, the governess. That did rather hurt.

But worse than all that was the situation with Mary Dorothea. Before this unpleasantness, Fanny would have described her stepdaughter as an odd child, of almost tepid emotions. It was clear she was devoted to her father, and of Lady Banks she was, strangely, fond; then there was Mary’s deep friendship with Cassy and her unlikely sympathy for her poor brother, Norton. Beyond all that, though, there had never been any discernible evidence of particular feeling. But when Miss A was dismissed, the shock of it seemed to unleash something within her. Mary Dorothea was suddenly become a creature of raging, ungovernable passion. Or so one was told. As the girl refused to come out of her room, Fanny could not confirm it.

Twice a day, this most diligent stepmother took herself off all that way to the children’s wing, knocked on the door and begged – pleaded – for entry. Twice a day, Mary could be heard moving, sobbing – even issuing the occasional howl – but would not reply. Sir Edward was still in Town and the boys were all back at their schools by then, leaving only two people who were allowed in: Booker, the maid, and Cassy Knight.

Fanny let the situation continue for a while until one afternoon, at work in the sage-green peace of her dressing room, she took the opportunity to interrogate her younger sister.

‘So,’ she began brightly as she sat in the (unused) nursing chair and delved into the seemingly bottomless basket of mending. ‘How is Mary today – any better? It has been a week …’

‘Really, Fan!’ Cassy looked up from the sock she was darning with a disappointed expression. ‘Of course she is nowhere near better. What is a week in the context of agony? We have suffered the most terrible shock, Mary and I.’

Was the child becoming rather earnest? That did seem a shame.