I pour us both a stiff drink and explain to her that I had wanted him dead but had not wished it to have happened. He was Shibden’s groom and I had always argued with the man a great deal. He was constantly undermining me, questioning what I did, moaning when I asked him to do the very job I paid him for, belittling me in front of other staff. I should have had the courage to dismiss him or discuss him with Father, but the other staff all thought highly of him, as did Father. They never saw what he was like with me alone, how he looked at me with judgement in his eyes. As I was often away in France, I just hoped one day I would return and he would have moved on. But he never had.

It happened at Langton Hall when I was visiting Isabella and her family. Her brother was all set for a spot of shooting and, trying to be of use and not allowed to shoot myself, not through lack of skill or experience but through lack of invitation to join them, I ordered our groom up the tree to scare the crows. He protested but I was sick of him. I made him go up. I asserted my authority and threatened him with his job. I’d rather hoped he would refuse to climb up and just walk away. That was what I really wanted, for him to have walked away and I could have simply employed a new groom with no one any the wiser. It was my fault he was there when Mr Beech shot. Poor Mr Beech, the Norcliffes’ long-serving groom, who was simply trying to scare some birds into flight, carries the full brunt of the blame; no one saw me near, but I was there when he fell. I saw him bloodied and crumpled at the base of the tree. When I heard the others running towards us, I ran and hid.

I felt guilty for Mr Beech who shot him, but I confess I was also relieved, and concerned that someone may have seen me argue with him just before. They hadn’t though. No one was watching me. Or judging me. Except myself. And God.