‘No-ooo!’

Sunday’s head wagged from side to side in denial and Cissie started to cry. George and Ben stood so still they might have been turned to stone.

‘B-but he can’t be dead …’ Sunday began to shake Tom’s hand and Cissie leaned down and gently drew her to her feet.

‘Come away, pet,’ she muttered through her tears. ‘There’s no more you can do here. The men will do what needs to be done.’

Sunday suddenly and uncharacteristically lashed out, almost sending Cissie flying. ‘So, what do I do then?’ she cried, in an anguished voice. ‘Just leave him lying there?’ Then, turning to George and Ben, she ordered in a voice quite unlike hers, ‘Get a door from the stables and carry him inside. I refuse to leave him lying out here!’

The men instantly went to do her bidding, and as Sunday turned and staggered back towards the house. At that minute, Livvy appeared on her horse at the end of the drive and she drew her mount to a halt, just as Cissie and her mother were about to go in by the front door.

‘What’s wrong with you two?’ she asked, as she stared at Cissie’s tear-stained face.

‘Let Cissie take your horse round to the stables and come into the drawing room,’ Sunday said. ‘I need to tell you something,’

With a deep frown, Livvy dismounted and did as she was told.

‘What’s happened, Mum?’ she asked only a few moments later, as they entered the drawing room. She knew it was something bad. One look at her mother’s lint-white face and shaking hands told her that.

‘I … it’s your father …’ Sunday gulped deep in her throat and forced herself to go on. ‘I … I’m afraid he had a fall from Storm and he’s …’ She found that she couldn’t say the terrible word. But she had said enough and Livvy’s pretty face crumpled.

‘Y-you mean he’s dead?’

When Sunday slowly nodded, Livvy broke into sobs and dropped onto the nearest chair as her mother rushed over and gathered her into her arms. Sunday was in deep shock and, somehow, she couldn’t take it in. Just a few minutes ago all had been right with her world but now she knew it would never be the same again.

The day of the funeral dawned dark and dismal. Going in search of Sunday, Cissie found her standing by the window in the drawing room, staring out across the lawns. Approaching her quietly, she laid her arm gently across her shoulders. Sunday smiled – a sad smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I was just picturing Tom and me down there on the lawn on the evening of our wedding day, dancing in the moonlight,’ she said huskily. As yet, she hadn’t shed a single tear since the terrible day Tom had died, but Cissie knew her well enough to know that when they did finally come, they would be hard to stop.