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with every appearance of pleasure.
    Our breath billowed and wreathed about us as I ushered them into the nave, ensuring that the heavy door closed behind us. If we had no form of heating, at least we could be spared the wind driving rain right through the porch. Truly, if the gale shifted but a degree to the north, I feared the rain would be transformed into snow.
    Lady Dorothea, wrapped in dark furs, looked as charming as I had hoped, her golden curls peeping from a flattering hat. But I was in the House of God, and must turn my thoughts from the earthly to the spiritual. Smiling impartially at the Bramhalls, I spread my arms expansively. I had, after all, the care of a most lovely building, and felt something of the pride I fancy a mother might feel for her child.
    ‘As you can see,’ I began, ‘the building itself dates back to the days before the Conquest—’
    ‘This is the sort of organ that Mr Handel played in London,’ she exclaimed, darting forward impetuously, and indeed, far more abruptly than etiquette demanded. ‘And in a church as poor as this!’
    But I was not offended. Indeed, much as I might have wanted to extol its more obvious wonders, such as the solid Saxon pillars and the wonderful stained glass the Almighty had somehow defended against Puritan forces, I smiled at her enthusiasm.
    ‘It was a very generous gift from a friend of – of the family.’ I did not wish to mention the missing heir’s name and stopped abruptly. ‘We still have a talented band of villagers who play in the gallery up there when there is no organist – or no oneto operate the bellows, which is often the case.’ I did not add that it was often I who had to take my place at the instrument.
    No one seemed to notice either her faux pas or my indulgence.
    ‘I told you she knew her music,’ Sir Marcus declared, his voice echoing robustly in his pride. ‘Did I not, Campion? As excellent a musician as you’d find.’
    Perhaps regretting her impulse, she shook her head delicately but firmly. ‘I may be knowledgeable but I am not at all accomplished.’
    The distinction interested me. Surely it showed a fine mind. My next words came unbidden. ‘But you do play?’ Images of evening entertainments sprang unbidden to my mind. We might even be partners in a duet!
    ‘I sing a little. But I do not play nearly as well as my sister-in -law,’ she declared with a kind smile at Lady Bramhall.
    ‘Lady Chase has already extolled your talents, Lady Bramhall,’ I said kindly.
    She blushed and fluttered her hands deprecatingly. For the first time I realised that they looked as strong and capable as mine.
    ‘If I worked the organ bellows, you would favour us with a little music?’ I asked Lady Dorothea, contriving now to ignore, as I was sure she wished to be ignored, the older lady.
    ‘Not unless I could play without removing my hands from this muff!’ she laughed.
    How stupid of me. I bowed. ‘Another day, perhaps?’
    ‘Another, warmer day,’ she agreed, with a smile.
    If I had been charmed by what I imagined she was, how much more was I attracted by the real lady. With a tact surely showing an elegance of mind, she turned to the body of the church, stopping before the altar steps and pausing for severalmoments, head reverently lowered. I did not interrupt her prayers, and occupied myself pointing out to her brother and sister-in-law a couple of the older monuments. At last, as she raised her head and looked about her, I joined her. With an impish smile, she surrendered the comfort of her muff long enough to trace the diapered incisions on one of the older family tombs. I allowed myself to point out the squint, and the remains of what seemed to be wall-paintings, crude daubs perhaps but of interest to those who considered themselves connoisseurs. I know that when I had suggested whitewashing them, Dr Hansard showed an anger that surprised me, threatening – in jest, I trust – to box my ears if I ever mentioned the idea