I told myself that I was being fanciful, that Thomas had no hidden motives and Robert and Catherine were safe in their new life, but I tossed and turned that night and when I did fall asleep, I dreamed of Thomas. He was holding in his hand the golden chalice of the Order of the Knights Hospitaller. He raised it to me in mocking toast.

“You cannot stop me, Nan,” he said. “I will take the treasure and use it for the glory of the true religion and Robert will stand by me.” And I awoke in the gray morning light, my hands clutching the sheets tight, as the cockerel began to crow.

“And here,” Catherine said, “is where I intend to create a loggia.”

“I see,” I said. I did not, in truth, see a great deal. I had only the vaguest idea that a loggia was something Italianate and grand. Besides, I was not good at picturing things when they were only in my imagination.

Catherine laughed. “It is a covered colonnade, Lady Catesby,” she explained without condescension. “It has a roof and one side is open to view whilst the other protects from the elements. I plan to entwine it in roses—musk rose and the white rose and the Old Velvet Rose.”

We were standing on the terrace to the north of Knightstone Manor. The day was inclement for late April with low, scudding clouds and a sharp breeze with an edge of rain. Catherine had insisted that we venture out so that she could explain her garden design to me and so, wrapped tightly in cloaks and shawls, we stood on the edge of the hill, looking out over the vale below. A number of laborers were hard at work leveling and planting a knot garden around us, sweating in the cold air and making the ground underfoot rather gritty and muddy. I held my skirts high and wished I had worn pattens over my shoes to protect the leather.

“A covered colonnade is an excellent idea,” I said, “for the wind blows hard from the high downs.” It was hardly Italy, but I admired Catherine’s determination to create something beautiful. To me this landscape was quite bare and lonely; a garden would soften that sense of isolation though I still did not understand why Catherine preferred Knightstone to Chastleton, which was to my mind a gentler, sunnier place.

“I find the ponds and woodland here entirely delightful.” Catherine gave a little sigh. “Like a sylvan setting from Mr. Shakespeare’s work. The springs rise in the woods here and the stream runs down to a lake.” She pointed down a shallow valley where, at the bottom, I could just make out a gleam of water. “We shall have a summerhouse there. And two small spiral mounts here and here...” She gestured toward an old orchard that climbed away across the opposite hillside.

“And you have what looks like an outdoor chess board below,” I said. The field at the bottom of the hill was mown close in squares except for where turf banks created a curious design of an eight-pointed star in the center of the grass.