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which the woman and the children were returning. Smiling a little, he turned the stallion and led him back to the spot where he had met them and from there followed a well-defined path that cut through the pines. He wondered if he might catch them up, but he did not do so before he found himself in the middle of the main street of the village.

    There was a huddle of cottages, a church, an inn, some farm buildings and a smithy, to which he directed his steps. There were a few women on the street, who watched his progress with curiosity, but no sign of the schoolteacher and her charges. He surprised himself by feeling a little disappointed.

    He found the blacksmith in his heavy leather apron hard at work beating a horseshoe into shape on his anvil, the ringing tones of his hammer and the flying sparks filling the air with a kind of eternal rhythm, at one with the days of the week and the recurring seasons. Beside him stood a sturdy Suffolk Punch, patiently waiting to receive the new shoe. Stacey stood and watched, knowing it would not do to interrupt in the middle of the task, but when it was done, the old blacksmith looked up. ‘Yer need my services, stranger?’

    ‘I do indeed. My horse has cast a shoe. Can you fix it for me?’

    The old man followed him outside to where he had left the stallion with its reins thrown loosely over the hitching rail. After a cursory inspection all round the animal, he said, ‘’ Tis a mighty fine animal yer have here.’

    ‘Yes. His name’s Ivor. I bought him off a Russian Count in Austria. He’s seen me through many a battle.’

    ‘Ridden him all the way from Austria, have yer?’ It was said with a chuckle.

    Stacey laughed. ‘No, just from the other side of Norwich. Why do you ask?’

    ‘All his shoes are worn. It i’n’t no good replacing the one.’

    ‘No, I realise that.’

    ‘I’ve to take the horse back to the farm.’ He nodded his head in the direction of the Suffolk Punch. ‘It’ll take me an hour or so.’

    ‘It’ll be growing dusk by then, too late to carry on tonight. Is there an inn where I can rack up?’

    ‘There’s the Dog and Fox. They’ll give yer a bed. I’ll have the horse ready by the time yer’ve had yar breakfast.’

    ‘I’m in no hurry,’ he said, and wondered why he said it. He turned to take his bag from the saddle. ‘By the way, what is this village?’

    ‘Parson’s End, sir.’

    Parson’s End. What a strange name for a village. He had heard it before, he realised. And then he remembered Lord Hobart. Wasn’t that his destination? What quirk of fate had brought him here? He could, he supposed, go the Manor and remind Hobart of his invitation, but then he remembered how unlikeable the man was and decided the Dog and Fox would suit him very well.

     

    Charlotte was in the garden the following morning when a footman came to tell her she had visitors. Gardening was one of her special pleasures and she would spend hours tending her flowers and consulting Harman, the head gardener, on which plants to place where and how to propagate and care for them. Clad in an old fustian coat, a floppy felt hat tied under her chin with a piece of ribbon and a pair of stout canvas gloves, she would dig and weed and clip to her heart’s content. She had certainly not expected visitors today.

    ‘Who is it, Foster?’

    ‘Not one of your usual callers, my lady. Pushed past me and strode into the drawing room as if he owned the place…’

    ‘Perhaps he does,’ she murmured under her breath.

    He looked startled, but went on as if he had not heard. ‘And him with two companions that I never would have admitted if I could have stopped them. I am sorry, my lady.’

    ‘Do not worry, Foster. I think I know who one of them is. Ask Cook to provide refreshment and tell them I will join them shortly.’

    He left on his errand and she went in by a side door, along a narrow passage and up the back stairs to her room where she washed and changed