As Mr Waddington embarked on an account of the former inhabitants of the house, which included several rogues and near-royalty, I watched Kit out of the corner of my eye. For all his casual air and the veneer of confidence, I began to sense that, inside, he was actually rather ill at ease. He could barely sit still for a few seconds before shifting his pose, putting down his plate and then picking it up again, reaching for more food before it was offered, finishing his tea and immediately holding his cup out for more. What was making him so edgy, I wondered? Surely we were not too scary: two children and a vicar? Or was there something else going on?

Kit’s gaze flicked disconcertingly between us: to his father and Pa, then to his mother and back, then to Jimmy, then me. I caught his eye and he smiled confidentially, as though we were conspirators in some obscure game. I still could not decide whether I liked him or not. At times he came across as plain arrogant; at others he was funny, and even sensitive. I was fascinated, all the same. Kit intrigued and unsettled me, all at once. It affected Jimmy, too. He began to wriggle, upsetting his plate and the remains of his sponge cake onto the floor and spilling some of his lemon barley water.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ I heard Mr Waddington mutter. ‘Get the maid, will you, Christopher.’

Kit unravelled himself, stood up and disappeared.

Mrs Waddington padded the spill ineffectually with her napkin. ‘Never mind, my dear. It’s an old carpet and doesn’t matter at all. Anyway, isn’t it time for a walk in the garden? Time to wear off some of that energy, young Jimmy? There are swans on the moat – we can take some bread to feed them.’

Jimmy pushed past me to her side and took her hand, which is the sort of thing that breaks my heart. He falls in love so easily with anyone who takes notice of him, and then has to learn the hard truth that their affections are only temporary.

We were walking through the knot garden, and Mrs Waddington was telling us how it had been laid out in an ancient Celtic pattern like the original Tudor versions, and I suppose none of us noticed that Jimmy was missing until we heard him shouting from the far side of the lawn.

‘Look at me!’

He had somehow managed to climb a high pillar at the edge of the moat and was teetering dangerously on the top, embracing the outstretched wings of a large stone swan with one arm and waving excitedly with the other.