How he has aged! Parker thought suddenly. He’s become an old man. How did that happen so fast? I’ve been away less than a month.

‘Ah, Parker,’ said Sir Philip, and Parker noticed that even his voice had aged, not querulous, but softer and less acerbic. ‘Just the man. Now, tell me what news you have of Mr Rupert.’

Parker repeated all he had said to Justin and then waited for Sir Philip to comment.

‘So you haven’t been with him, or seen him since he went up to London?’

‘No, sir, nothing until I received his wire. I shall get packed up today and set out first thing in the morning.’

‘And how do you propose to travel?’

‘I’ll take the train to Dover, sir, and then packet. I’ve had a look at Bradshaw and there’s trains all the way to this St Etienne place. I’m instructed to bring his large valise and trunk, so if I may ask Fortune to drive me to the station in the trap, that will set me on my way. With luck it should only take me two or three days to get there.’

‘I see.’ Sir Philip, though used to trains, had been born into an age where there was no network of railways and still felt more comfortable in a coach. ‘Only three days. Well, if you’re setting out tomorrow, Parker, make sure you come and collect a letter for Mr Rupert before you go.’

Parker promised he would and went up to Rupert’s rooms to gather together the clothes he knew his master would want. Since Rupert had gone, Tess the laundry maid who came in from the village had washed and brushed all the clothes he had left behind and they were all clean, pressed and ready for Parker to fold into the trunk. The various sundries, boots, hats and gloves were packed into the valise. That evening he was summoned to Lady Chalfont’s parlour, where she demanded that he repeat yet again the information he had about Rupert.

‘And before you leave in the morning I shall have a letter for you to deliver to Mr Rupert.’

At supper that evening, served in the kitchen once the family had been fed, Parker heard all about Mary Dawson and her expected baby.

‘Such a furore it caused when Dawson found out,’ Mitchell said. ‘Insisted that Mr Rupert was the father, but finally had to admit that he didn’t know who it was.’

‘If that baby is due when they say,’ put in Mrs Darwin, ‘it couldn’t have been Mr Rupert what fathered it. He was staying up in Leicestershire somewhere hunting foxes last autumn.’

‘Well, you women are the ones what keeps track of those sorts of things,’ Mitchell said dismissively. ‘All I know is, Dawson’s had to back down. Could have lost his place if he kept on saying it was Mr Rupert.’

‘Well, now she’s marrying Fred Brooks from over Heathfield way,’ said Mrs Darwin. ‘Silly girl should have said straight out it were him, ’stead of pretending. He’s been sweet on her since she were nobbut a girl. Reckon he wants to marry her, whether ’tis his babby or no; and a good thing too, if you asks me, before she gets herself into more trouble.’