‘Practically. There were grants we were eligible for – towards the end of my time there, that was – but Rose always said there were so many strings attached that it was hardly worth it. And then her godmother died and left her quite a lot of money. Our personal needs were very small, of course; books and the children’s food and the hospital were the expensive items.’

Canon Thorby leaned back in his chair with an immensely satisfied expression.

‘It’s quite remarkable – the curious way things occasionally work out. You see, you have precisely the kind of experience to fit you for my post, which is also a private, or – if you prefer the term – independent school.’

Ah, it had seemed too good to be true. Here was the snag. The pay in private schools was notoriously poor; and although Miss Mayfield’s personal needs were still small, she had been in the habit, these last two years, of sending to Rose every shilling she could save. It seemed very little to do after having failed her and deserted her.

As though from a long way off, she heard Canon Thorby explaining about his school, which had been started by his great-great-grandfather years before universal education was thought of.

‘It began almost by accident. The family had a tutor, much beloved, and eventually it became the question of what was to happen to Mr Seeley. So the school began. When, in 1870, it became law for every child to attend school, that for the whole area – Renham, Catermarsh and Walwyk – was, very wisely, I think, situated at Renham. Children in those days were still deemed capable of walking three miles morning and afternoon, and our school could have closed, but by that time it had become a family hobby. And so it has remained.’

‘It must be a very expensive hobby.’

‘Oh, it is. Especially nowadays, with all the trimmings, free milk and dinners, which I feel bound to supply. I couldn’t bear it if any Walwyk child had cause to think it would be better off in a State school! My Junior mistress is Froebel-trained, my Senior a graduate. My gardener – an ex-Sergeant Major – takes the boys for physical training, gardening and woodwork; I myself teach Scripture to everyone and Latin and mathematics to any ambitious scholar. We have one at the moment, Juliet Reeve, my butler’s daughter. We hope to get her into Cambridge. My forebears, you see, were quite disgustingly rich.’ He made the statement neither boastfully nor deprecatingly; he might have been saying that they were all bald. ‘My grandfather, a far-sighted man who seemed to have considered the possible devaluation of money, endowed the school lavishly. It has never yet cost me a penny of my private money; and if it did . . . Well, though hit by taxes, like everyone else, I am still quite disgustingly rich.’

But even so . . . would he pay the Burnham Scale?