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parish on many occasions on foot. A ten-mile walk with a cloak bag on water-logged roads, possibly with the rain still falling, did not appeal to him very much, however. At least his trunk with his books and the rest of his belongings had been sent on ahead, so he did not need to worry about them. He was about to ask whether the landlord knew of anyone who might be going his way in the morning, when the door of the inn opened, the draught causing the fire to writhe convulsively and the candles to shudder in their brackets.
    â€˜House!’ The voice was undoubtedly that of a gentleman.
    Before the landlord could respond, however, a lady added imperiously, ‘I doubt whether there is anyone able to provide for our needs in this shabby hovel, Papa.’
    â€˜There must be,’ the gentleman replied. ‘Mama cannot possibly travel on in this weather.’

    The landlord hurried through wiping his hands on his apron. Michael heard him respond to his visitor’s request by asking how he might be of service. He pricked up his ears, for there had been something about the voice of the young lady that had been strangely familiar.
    â€˜My name is Granby,’ was the gentleman’s reply. ‘I was hoping to complete my journey this evening, but the weather has closed in, so I am seeking accommodation for myself and my wife and daughter.’
    â€˜And a private parlour,’ the young lady added. ‘It is essential that we have a private parlour.’
    Michael rose to his feet, a dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, for with this mention of a private parlour he had recalled where he had heard that voice before. It had not been so imperious in its tones, but it was undoubtedly that of Miss Evans; yet it seemed that she was now Miss Granby. What was going on here?
    â€˜I have rooms that you can use,’ the landlord was saying, ‘but I fear that I’ve no private parlour. The taproom’s clean, and there’s nobbut a young clergyman in there tonight.’
    â€˜Then surely he could go and sit elsewhere,’ said the young lady, in the same imperious tone. ‘Papa, you know that I cannot possibly sit in a common taproom, and nor can Mama.’ An inaudible murmuring indicated that the other lady was making her contribution.
    â€˜I am afraid that there really is no alternative, my angel,’ her father replied placatingly. ‘Surely a clergyman must be quite unexceptionable company.’
    â€˜If you’ll just come this way sir, ladies, I’ll find you something to eat and send missus to make sure the beds are aired.’
    As the visitors entered the taproom, Michael saw that Mr Granby looked very much the gentleman in a well-cut coat and breeches surmounted by a greatcoat. He was of average height and probably in his late forties, with light-brown hair and a rather thin face with well-marked features. Leaning on his arm was a lady of a similar age, well dressed and looking rather pale and tired. Their daughter was without doubt the young lady who had introduced herself to Michael as Miss Evans, and whom he had kissed in the inn in Sheffield only a short time before. She was dressed rather more practically than when Michael had seen her last, for she was now wearing a blue carriage dress and a cloak of a darker shade, and a bonnet lined with blue silk. She looked enchantingly pretty and glowing with health.
    Michael had had warning of her arrival. She had not been so fortunate
and, at sight of him, she paused, instantly recognizing him. Her complexion lost a little colour, and she faltered in her step.
    â€˜Evangeline, my angel,’ said Mr Granby, turning to her concernedly, ‘are you feeling giddy?’
    â€˜It is quite all right, Papa,’ the young lady responded, glancing quickly up at Michael, then away again. ‘The sudden warmth of the room has affected me, I think.’
    What was he doing in here, she asked herself, horrified