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to make his way towards them, then stopped, intrigued by a well which stood in the stable yard. Its outer wall was about three feet in height, not nearly high enough in view of the well’s enormous depth which, when he peered down into the darkness, seemed to him to be about forty feet. Indeed it was so deep that it was impossible to glimpse the bottom. Above the well was a device for lowering buckets on a rope, at present hanging idly. Intrigued, John leant over once again, but even though he allowed time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness he caught but the merest glint of the water below.
    “Trying to see the bottom, Sir?” It was one of the inn’s hosders who spoke.
    “Yes. It seems very far down.”
    “That’s because the water level is low. It rises and falls according to the weather, y’see.”
    “Well, well,” John answered, then realised what he had said and grimaced.
    The hostler chuckled. Ah, the old ones are always the best, Sir.”
    “Indeed.” The Apothecary straightened up from leaning on the wall. “Nice to speak with you, my friend.”
    “I’m always around the yard, Sir, if you need to know anything about the old place. Worked here since I was a lad, like.”
    “We’ll have a chat about it some time but presently I can see my friend and my daughter. Good day to you.”
    “Good day, Sir.”
    They parted company, John joining Elizabeth. Rose immediately turned to her father.
    “What did she say, Papa?”
    “Nothing very much.” He decided to be honest with the child. “Actually they denied everything. Said that Isobel did not stir all night.”
    Rose went as red as the flower after which she was named. “But you saw her.”
    “I know I did. I can’t think why her mother is being so duplicitous.”
    “Because she probably wasn’t there with her. She was probably out with Mr Painter.”
    “You know I think you’re right,” John answered. He smoothed Rose’s curls which in her agitation had started flying wild. “Anyway I believe it best we forget it now. Let us speak of other things. Elizabeth?”
    “You are utterly right. We are here on holiday, after all. So sweetheart, what would you like to do today?”
    “Go in search of the monkey,” John’s daughter answered promptly, then looked puzzled when both her father and the Marchesa burst out laughing.
    They did see the blind fiddler’s band, complete with its simian pet, quite frequently during the next three days. In fact, John thought, it was hard to avoid them. Wherever they went, either in the town or the surrounding countryside, they seemed to come across them, much to the delight of Rose.
    On the day before the Furry Dance they set forth in the carriage to see the sea. It was only a short ride to the nearest point, Porthleven, and fortunately the day was fine. Rose was brimming with joy throughout the journey. John, watching her, felt a tug at his heartstrings that his late wife, Emilia, wasnot there to observe the child as she first glimpsed the vastness of the ocean. But he firmly thrust such ideas away, knowing that to dwell on the past would do neither him nor Rose any good. Instead he shared his daughters pleasure, hanging out of the carriage window beside her as the sea appeared in all its tumbling glory.
    “It’s wonderful,” breathed Rose. She pulled John’s sleeve. “Why haven’t I seen it before?”
    “Because we live in London. That’s a long way from the sea.” They abandoned the coach and made their way on foot to a wide cove where all three removed their shoes and paddled in the waves. Poignantly reminded of his honeymoon, which he and Emilia had spent in Devon, John remained somewhat quiet and withdrawn. But if Elizabeth noticed this she said nothing, while Rose was too preoccupied with the sand and the shells and the snow-capped waves to be even aware of his silence. After a while the two adults sat side-by-side on the damp shingle while John’s daughter played by herself. The Apothecary