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Perival?’
    ‘Certainly.’
    ‘I shall call on her tomorrow.’ Isabella looked at Barry in sudden dismay. ‘Oh, dear, no carriage, no horses. How do I get there?’
    ‘I could ask them to send a carriage for you, miss.’
    ‘Alas, things that seemed so easy to command before now seem like an imposition. Is there any way I could get there?’
    ‘You could walk, miss, and if you get permission from Sir William, I will act as footman and walk with you.’ Isabella’s face cleared. ‘That would be splendid. Thank you, Barry. We set out about noon.’
    ‘Right, miss. I’ll go to deliver this letter direct.’
    He touched his forehead and Isabella walked away feeling strangely comforted. It was only as she fell asleep beside Jessica that night that her last waking thought was that her route to Perival would take her past the gates of Mannerling.
    Sir William and Lady Beverley were still too cast down by their changed circumstances to raise any objection to their daughter’s statement that she was going to call on the viscount’s aunt.
    Isabella, who appeared to have lost a layer of selfishness, could not help noticing that they took Mr Ducket’s work as their due. She doubted if they had even thanked the man for delaying starting his new employment in order to help them. Isabella had found a simple morning gown and pelisse and a pair of half-boots for her expedition. She was glad the weather had turned fine, but not too warm.
    She basked a little in her sisters’ awed admiration before she set out. Walking! Dear heavens!
    Barry was waiting for her, already to Isabella a sturdy and reassuring figure.
    They set out along the road, Barry walking a few paces behind, a stout cudgel in his hand in case any footpads should venture out in the daylight to accost them.
    There were fresh bodies on the gibbet at the crossroads that day. Isabella averted her eyes.
    After another mile, she said, ‘Pray walk with me, Barry. I become weary of my own company.’
    He fell into step beside her. ‘I trust you are not over-fatigued, miss.’
    ‘I am a trifle tired, I must admit, but we are nearly at Mannerling.’
    ‘Yes, miss. As to that, I know another road which will get us to Perival just as quick and yet avoid going near Mannerling.’
    ‘Why should we do that?’
    ‘I thought it might be painful for you, miss, in the circumstances.’
    She stopped and looked at him in surprise, noticing the concern in his eyes. ‘How kind of you,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘How very kind. But I would like a look, you know, just down the drive.’
    ‘Very well, miss. Let it be as you wish. But sometimes, I reckon, one has to let go of things.’
    The next bend of the road took them to the great iron gates of Mannerling. Barry stood back as Isabella walked slowly up to the closed gates and leaned against them, staring hungrily down the long straight drive to the home which had so recently been her family’s.
    She gave a choked little sob and turned away.
    ‘Come along, miss,’ urged Barry. ‘Come away. ’Twon’t be long now. A dish of tea will set you to rights.’
    Mrs Kennedy looked out of the window of her drawing room and let out a loud squawk of dismay.
    ‘What’s amiss?’ asked the viscount.
    ‘Fan me ye winds,’ she cried, ‘if it isn’t that poor lamb come all the way here on foot and with only a rough country fellow to escort her.’
    With surprising speed in such a plump lady, she hurtled out of the drawing room, down the stairs, out of the front drive and ran to meet Isabella, gathering the startled girl in her arms and giving her a warm hug.
    ‘There now,’ said Mrs Kennedy. ‘You must be so tired. You should have asked us to send a carriage.’
    ‘I enjoyed the walk,’ said Isabella, gently disengaging herself. ‘Besides, I had Barry here to protect me.’
    Mrs Kennedy looked at the squat burly figure of Barry. ‘You’re an odd fellow for a footman.’
    ‘Barry Wort at your service,’ he said, giving