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merely doing my Christian duty. You will inform me of any households experiencing particular hardship, Mr Campion, just as you told me about Mrs Kemp. As I hope I will one day make clear to Furnival, I disdain the increasingly fashionable notion that you can distinguish between the deserving and the undeserving poor. In this weather poverty is even-handed, and so must we be in redressing it.’ Her voice changed, taking on a curious inflexion. ‘Sir Marcus tells me the roads are quagmires, so sticky and deep that they hardly permit wheels to traverse them.’
    ‘This is their reason for protracting a visit that brings you so little pleasure?’ Knowing I would be forgiven, I spoke freely.
    ‘Indeed.’ She leant forward confidentially. ‘Mr Campion, Sir Marcus mentioned a court case the other day – to establish the succession, as he put it. Such a commonplace man, but capable of inflicting such great hurt.’ She struggled to master her features. ‘If I am to retire to the Dower House, I wouldrather it were to make room for someone…’ She spread her hands helplessly. ‘Will Lady Bramhall ever…?’
    In my view Lady Bramhall was rather to be pitied than otherwise, at having to assume a duchess’s mantle, and, moreover, having to replace the present Lady Chase in the villagers’ affections.
    I replied, more in hope than in expectation, ‘Pray God that she will never have to attempt to take your place. Let us trust that one day—’
    She raised an eloquent hand. ‘There are dark days, Mr Campion, when even my faith fails, and I fear that Hugo will never return. But yet, as his mother, I would know if he were no longer alive. I believe I would know the instant he died. And here – here – I know he lives still!’ She pressed her hand to her bosom, averting her eyes.
    ‘Pray God you are right,’ I said quietly.
    She made a visible effort. ‘And now, Mr Campion, tell me if Lady Dorothea has stolen your heart yet. Ah, you blush. You cannot answer me.’
    ‘Indeed, I cannot.’ For blush I fear I did.
    She patted my hand. ‘It is time you fell in love, my young friend. A parish needs not simply a vicar but a vicar’s wife. Your good Mrs Trent, excellent housekeeper as she is, can never be a substitute for the helpmeet you need – and, dear Tobias, deserve.’
    My neck, my face, my very ears now aflame, I said, ‘However much an ordinary man may wish for a beautiful wife, the clergy man must value virtue even more.’
    ‘And you suspect that Lady Dorothea might not be virtuous?’
    ‘I cannot think that Sir Marcus would permit her to sinkherself so far socially…’ I began with caution.
    ‘If he knew the truth of your birth he would not regard it thus. But I tease you, Mr Campion. Let me offer you tea. I cannot think whither my manners are fled.’ With a gracious smile, she reached for the bell-rope.
    A card table set between us, the rest of the evening passed in a gentle game of cribbage.
     
    At last, I was led from her presence down the back stairs, both of us laughing at the mild conspiracy into which we had been forced. But it was conspiracy of another sort that sprang to my mind – the sort that featured in Mrs Radclyffe’s novels. Here in these cold, dark corridors one might imagine – if one were that way inclined – that armed men lurked in deep recesses, that abducted maidens were locked inside the rooms within. In fact, the only figure I saw was that of Furnival, the steward, running gnarled fingers through his snow-white locks. He nodded but made no attempt to pause for conversation. Then I glimpsed the weary features of that unhappy governess, whose name had never been vouchsafed me. As before I bowed, offering, I hoped, the sort of smile one might give to a child caught in mild mischief.
    ‘Miss…?’
    But, without a word, she bobbed a curtsy and scuttled back upstairs, like a church-mouse startled by a flaring candle. How could the daughters of the house ever learn their manners