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Marsh. He had just finished saying something to her. She gave the briefest nod, then with her neat silent movements, she left him, and he looked up to see Fanny.
    ‘What were you saying to Ching Mei?’
    He smiled very faintly.
    ‘You’re observant, Miss Davenport.’
    ‘Perhaps. These people are in my charge now. Your duties are ended. There was no need for final instructions.’
    He smiled more broadly.
    ‘The final instructions you assume were merely reassurance. Don’t you realise that poor little creature is scared out of her wits.’
    ‘I don’t see what is so terrifying about Hannah and me,’ Fanny said coldly. ‘Why wasn’t she afraid of you, too? Was that because you spoke in her language?’
    ‘She isn’t afraid of you, Miss Davenport, but of this great monster.’ He indicated the noisily steaming engine. ‘Of the travelling, the strange language, the future.’
    ‘You are very concerned about an old Chinese woman. Why not the children? Everything is strange to them, too.’
    She felt his eyes dwelling with their serious intent regard on her face.
    ‘The children will have a future. They will have you.’
    ‘You have certainly summed up the situation in a very short time, Mr Marsh.’
    He was too observant. He had caught the asperity, or perhaps the undercurrent of grievance in her voice.
    ‘You speak as if the situation isn’t entirely to your liking.’
    Fanny lifted her chin. The momentary impulse to confide in him had been so strong and so surprising that she had to speak sharply.
    ‘As far as it is in my power to make them so, the children will be happy. You have no need to feel so concerned for people who have crossed your path so briefly, and only as a matter of business.’
    He completely ignored her rebuke. He said softly, ‘I think you could make anyone happy, Miss Fanny.’
    To her confusion the colour flew into Fanny’s cheeks. She had been right in her first opinion. This young man exceeded his duties in the most extraordinary way. He assumed a too proprietory attitude towards a strange family and now calmly called her by her first name. This apart from the intimacy of his remark. And yet…
    ‘I think the porter is about to blow his whistle, Mr Marsh. Isn’t it time you stepped off the train?’
    ‘In a moment. Perhaps we will meet again one day.’
    ‘I should think it quite unlikely.’
    ‘Our meeting today was unlikely. Who knows? I have a great liking for the Devonshire moors.’
    With this remark he did step off the train. Fanny backed away to return to the compartment and the children, one of whom she could hear crying. But for a moment she was held, not quite understanding her upsurge of hope.
    Perhaps there was to be something in her life, after all.
    Because a shipping clerk, someone Aunt Louisa would call a mere nobody, had expressed a liking for the moors?
    But then, if she were ever to marry, she couldn’t expect a husband who was anything but a mere nobody. Unless, of course, he was someone swept off his feet by her beauty and tenderness, to the exclusion of all other considerations…
    Mr Adam Marsh, standing on the railway platform looking up at her so intently, did give a vague impression that this might have happened to him.
    Fanny’s heart was beating uncontrollably faster. Then suddenly, folding the expensive material of her cloak around her, she realised that she looked what she was not, a rich young woman. Certainly rich by the shipping clerk’s standards.
    He was calling something to her.
    ‘Remember—’
    The steam was hissing noisily from the engine. She leaned forward.
    ‘What did you say?’
    ‘Remember me when we meet again.’
    The words made their own beautiful shape in the confusion of sounds. Then a cloud of smoke enveloped the platform and when it cleared the whistle had sounded and the train was moving out. It was no longer possible to see the expression in Adam Marsh’s face. He stood, a tall figure, raising his hand in farewell. He