Before the operation on her tongue, James had been the one person Beatrice could speak to without stammering. Of course the first time she had ever spoken to him she had stammered as badly as usual and had braced herself, waiting for his sneers and ridicule, but they never came. He simply waited patiently for her to get out whatever she was trying to say, and then responded normally, as if the stammer was nothing remarkable at all. Pretty quickly Beatrice had ceased to do so in front of him altogether, unless there was someone else around.

‘Hello, Beatrice,’ he said now, as he dragged himself up to her level.

She offered no reply, but James didn’t seem to mind as he wedged himself into the small gap beside her on the branch. He was a gangly shape, all knobbly knees and elbows. His skin was browned by the sun, since he had no nanny to be forever wrestling him into a sunhat or compelling him to stay within the shelter of the shadows.

They sat together in silence for a while before James said, ‘I’m sorry about your mama.’

Beatrice shrugged.

‘It’s all right if you don’t want to talk about it,’ he said. ‘Once your tongue heals, I mean. I wouldn’t, either. But if you ever do, then I’m here.’

It never seemed to occur to James that Beatrice’s tongue might never heal. Whenever she felt the cold fear that she might never utter another word again, James’s confidence that she would certainly recover made her feel just a little better.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘I thought you might like to see this.’

He reached into his pocket and carefully drew out a small, pearly white snail. Beatrice’s nanny didn’t care for snails, but James thought they were more interesting than butterflies. He had told her that there were over a hundred different types in the United Kingdom alone, and more than forty thousand in the world. He intended to see every single one for himself one day.

‘I haven’t found this sort in the garden before,’ he said, carefully setting it down on a branch between them.

Beatrice hadn’t, either, and was pleased that he had come to show her. Her pleasure didn’t always show on her solemn face, though, and a moment later James said quietly, ‘I thought maybe you might like some company, but it’s all right if you don’t – just nod your head and I’ll go.’

Beatrice glanced at him. His brown eyes were the colour of chestnuts and normally held a look of mischief, but today they seemed serious and a little sad. The bare skin of his arm was warm where it brushed against her. His presence took some of the weight off the ache in her chest, so she shook her head and patted the tree, trying to indicate that she wanted him to stay.