As I walked away from him, I felt his gaze follow me and though I did not turn, I knew he was watching me.

“Come, husband,” I said, inserting myself between William and my sister Muriel, who were still chattering like magpies in the shadow of the church porch, “it is time to toast the future happiness of our son.”

We followed the bridal party under the lych-gate, across the springy grass of the village green and through the gates of the manor. The sun shone and I slipped my hand through William’s arm and tried to feel content. Yet there was a cloud in my sky. I thought of Thomas talking about the other roads Robert might have taken, of his brilliance and his power to inspire men to a cause. A sensation close to fear tiptoed down my spine then. I knew in my heart of hearts that Thomas was pleased that Robert was to have Knightstone for reasons other than that it was a good estate. Something was hidden at Knightstone Manor and Thomas was glad that Robert would be its guardian.

I knew I should not interfere. Whatever secrets Knightstone held were best left undisturbed. But I vowed that should Thomas make any move to try to draw Robert into his web of secrecy and treason, then he would have to reckon with me first. Today marked a new beginning for Robert, a bright new dawn. I had been protecting my son all my life; I would not stop now.

Seven

Lucy

It was late afternoon but still very hot so Lucy took the easiest route back home from the church, along the Portway, the road that led eastward out of the village. It had originally been made by the Romans, Verity had told her years ago, who had been annoyed that they couldn’t build one of their absolutely straight roads along the base of the Berkshire Downs but had had to mirror the curve of the land. Verity, Lucy thought, had always made history intriguing rather than the dry topic it could seem when it wasn’t brought to life. No matter what professionals like Gabriel thought, she’d rather have her aunt’s stories any day.

The road was quiet and there was a path snaking along the grass verge beneath some shady ash trees. It was only a quarter mile from the center of Knightstone to the lane to Gunpowder Cottage, and when she reached it, Lucy turned back to look at the village with its jumble of new tiled roofs and old thatch, timbered cottages and modern brick. The square-set tower of the church peeked above the trees. The smooth line of the hills rose behind it against a sky dotted with tiny puffs of clouds. The scene looked reassuringly rooted in the landscape, as the village must have done for millennia.

There was something about Knightstone, Lucy thought, that made her think of time ticking by in a way that was different and more noticeable than when she was in London. There she had been busy, always hurrying from concert to practice or from her flat to the rehearsal room, and yet she was more conscious now of time passing and the weight of history than she had ever been before. London, after all, was a city based on layer after layer of history, yet it was only here that she felt she could actually reach out and touch the past...