She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Why could she not allow herself to be easy with James, as she had been once before? Surely it did not matter what anyone else thought by now. Suddenly the lost ease of their childhood friendship made such a great ache press down on her chest. She almost hoped James would react with irritation – at least then she could see that her words had meant something to him. But he simply said quietly, ‘I am no longer your servant, Lady Beatrice – or anyone’s, thanks to the orchids. Financially speaking, I need never work another day in my life if I do not wish to, and I would live very comfortably. But I am truly sorry to have offended you. Please believe it was not my intent. Good day, Lady Beatrice.’

He offered her a bow and then took his leave. Beatrice looked at the slug orchid drooling its silvery slime and wished she could call James back and redo their conversation – do it right this time, rather than saying all the wrong things in all the wrong ways, as she seemed forever doomed to do. But it was too late for that, and once he’d gone it was a relief to finally have Half Moon House to herself.

She sighed, called Wilkie to her side and went out to walk with him through the orchard. A pink-and-purple sunset spread like a great bruise across the sky and Beatrice breathed deeply of the scent of apples and freedom, glad of the cooler breeze now that the stickiness was finally draining from the day. The apples shone as black as secrets, diamond drops of juice clinging to their skins. The sun dipped below the skyline and, right on cue, the dusk blossom rapidly bloomed along the branches of the trees, unfolding layer upon layer of petals in midnight-blue, steel-grey and shining indigo, ruffled at the edges, like petticoats. The air was immediately filled with a strange scent like evening rain, and cool soil, and bursting purple berries, and something else that Beatrice had never quite been able to identify – a sort of metallic tang that she could taste more than smell.

As soon as she stepped into the orchard, the nearest tree reached a spindly branch towards her, fingers of twig poking into her pockets in search of treats. She dug out a sugar cube, recalling how she’d painstakingly studied the trees as a child, learning all she could about how to care for them, mostly through trial and error, since they certainly featured in no book she had ever come across.