‘I fear that is true, Mama. There were puddles forming upon every step of the way. We have offered Lord Martley shelter until it pass …’ There was little natural light in the vestibule, except that which came from the fanlight above the pedimented doorway, but at this moment the room brightened very suddenly, and was followed almost immediately by a great crash. Lady Elstead gave a screech and covered her ears. Henrietta and Caroline both jumped and exclaimed.

‘Shall I show his lordship up to the Green Saloon, my lady?’ enquired Barlow, with admirable sangfroid. Her ladyship nodded, her hands still over her ears. ‘If you would care to follow me, my lord.’

Lord Martley followed Barlow up the stairs, where he was parted from the younger ladies, who went to change their footwear and tidy themselves. Lady Elstead, her hands now clasped together as if in prayer, having given Barlow instructions to inform Lord Elstead that they had a visitor, followed him into the room.

‘I am sorry, ma’am, if I too look a trifle dampish.’ He looked down at his hessians, and hoped that he had wiped his feet well.

‘Not at all, my lord. I am sure that my niece, and my daughter too, of course, were most grateful for your timely escort.’ Lady Elstead was wondering what to say. Discussing the weather was unnecessary, to say the least, and enquiring after his mama … She made a few bland statements to which responses were superfluous, and to which Lord Martley therefore made vague sounds of agreement. It was with great relief that she looked to the door as it opened, and her lord entered, accompanied by a bright flash and another clap of thunder, with timing which would have done credit to a theatrical production of Doctor Faustus. Lady Elstead squeaked.

‘Good afternoon, Martley. Quite a storm, eh.’ Lord Elstead, whose appearance was far from diabolical, advanced, hand outstretched, and spared his wife a swift glance and encouraging smile. ‘Her ladyship abhors the things, but for myself, I love the freshness to the air that they leave in their wake.’ He looked perfectly calm.

‘Indeed, sir, very fresh.’ Lord Martley shook the extended hand, and tried to look intelligent and capable. He half succeeded. ‘Ladies are never happy with loud noises, and the flashes can be so bright one can even detect them with one’s eyes shut tight. My sister, Lady Fylde, used to run and hide in the housekeeper’s cupboard, where there were no windows, until my mama found out she did so, and made her go and stand in the orangery every time there was a clap of thunder. It did not cure her of a fear of thunderstorms, but it did give her a dislike of oranges, which she now associates with them.’