‘It put me off poultry, unless cooked.’ He had coaxed her from her sad mood, which had been his intention, and they arrived at Mr Preston’s both in good humour.

Mr Preston greeted them with a combination of warmth and deference, having known both since childhood and himself being in the lower echelons of the local squirearchy. He escorted them personally to the hay-scented loose-box where Tilly, his pointer bitch, was suckling her litter of seven. She looked up at her master’s arrival, and the thump of her docked tail showed her greeting. Henrietta was content to watch the family for a few minutes, then squatted down and spoke softly. Tilly appeared unconcerned, and the pups, sufficiently fed to start snuffling about, began to play. One puppy came towards her, cautiously at first, taking her scent, tail wagging in a hopeful manner. Henrietta extended her hand and the puppy nosed it, then licked it experimentally, and sneezed.

‘I told you wearing pepper was not a normal perfume,’ observed Lord Henfield mendaciously.

Mr Preston reached and picked the puppy up. Tilly watched, but did not move.

‘Nice little bitch, this one. Not shy, interested in what is about, and nice short back and good head. She should make a good working dog like her mother.’

‘She is very pretty also.’ Henrietta stroked one velvety, liver-brown ear. The puppy had a light flea-bitten colour coat with splashes of liver-brown on shoulder and haunch, and a ‘cap’ that extended over both ears and cheeks. ‘Might we have this one, when she is old enough to leave her mother?’

‘Of course you may, Miss Henrietta. I will bring her over to The Court when weaned.’

‘I am afraid I will be absent then, Mr Preston, for I am going to London, to stay with my aunt, Lady Elstead, but I do look forward to seeing this little one when I return. Dido, that will be her name.’

‘Dido it is then, Miss Henrietta.’

‘Remember to tell your papa, Henrietta, or the poor thing may get most confused if he names it Thistle.’ Lord Henfield was in funning mood.

On the journey back, however, Henrietta, having extolled the visible virtues of the puppy all she might, became quiet. Eventually she spoke.

‘When I am away, Charles, will you look after Papa for me?’

‘He is scarcely in his dotage and enfeebled, my dear girl.’

‘No, but it has been just us, him and me, for some years, and … He treats you as he would a son.’

‘He has always been most kind and generous of time and advice, but a “son” …’

‘You count as part of the family, to him, to me too, Charles. I trust nobody more than I do you.’ Henrietta put his lack of response and compressed lips down to the taking of a sharp bend without much reduction in pace.