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room. You may leave now.”
    Mark rose and bowed and walked to the door. Then he turned and ran back and threw his arms around the startled Miss Trumble’s neck anddeposited a wet kiss on her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. And then he ran out.
    “Shall we return to the company?” asked Charles stiffly. His conscience was hurting him. To see his own son run with gratitude to a stranger had shown him how very afraid and ill-treated the boy must have been.
    They returned to the drawing-room in time to hear dinner being announced. Lady Beverley rose and shook out her skirts. “I am sure the servants’ hall will provide you with something, Miss Trumble,” she said.
    “Can’t have that,” exclaimed the general. “Told Miss Trumble to come. Guest.”
    “How very kind,” said Lady Beverley with a thin smile. “Your arm, General. It is such a long time since I have been on the arm of such an
attractive
gentleman.”
    Rachel cast a covert look at Miss Trumble and she in her turn took Charles’s arm and Miss Trumble gazed blandly back before slipping away to guide Barry into the house.
    What is Mama about, to behave so stupidly? wondered Rachel, as Lady Beverley flirted with the general over dinner.
    The general tried to address several remarks to Miss Trumble, but Lady Beverley treated each remark as if it had been addressed to herself.
    And then Rachel surprised a mocking, rather speculative look on Charles Blackwood’s face as he looked at her mother. Then he said, “I had the pleasure of calling on an old friend, Lady Evans. You are acquainted with her, I believe?”
    “We have had that pleasure,” said Lady Beverleyand then remained comparatively silent for the rest of the meal.
    So that was it, thought Rachel. He had heard of the vulgar, ambitious Beverleys, and although he thought his own age saved him from being a target, the mother had decided to set her cap at his father. Rachel felt herself blush with shame, her appetite fled and she picked at the food on her plate.
    Her mother is embarrassing her dreadfully, thought Charles. He set himself to talk to her, asking her many questions about the neighbourhood and about the market town of Hedgefield until he felt her begin to relax.
    “What did Miss Trumble wish to speak to you about?” she asked finally.
    “Something to do with Mark’s education,” he said. “But you must ask her if you wish to know more.”
    “I do not know what we would do without our Miss Trumble,” said Rachel with a little sigh.
    “You should soon be making your come-out,” he said.
    “My sister, Abigail, Lady Burfield, has invited me to London.”
    “And when do you go?”
    “To tell the truth, I have not made up my mind.”
    “But why? A young lady like yourself should be enjoying balls and parties.”
    “We have balls here in the country.”
    “Ah, the local assembly. But can it compete with Almack’s?”
    She smiled. “I have not known much of the grand life of late. I should probably feel sadly out of place and provincial.”
    “With your appearance and Miss Trumble’s schooling, I do not think you have anything to fear.”
    And Rachel, who would have accepted such a compliment with flirtatious ease before the revelation that he had called on Lady Evans, found all she could do was stare at her plate and wish the dinnerparty were over.
    After dinner, the general suggested they promenade in the Long Gallery. “I see you have placed the portraits of yourself, your son, and your own ancestors here,” exclaimed Miss Trumble.
    “Why not?” demanded Charles Blackwood crossly. “You could hardly expect us to hang the Beverleys. They are in the attics, I believe.”
    “I meant that there is no portrait of Judd,” said Miss Trumble quietly.
    Rachel saw Charles look at Miss Trumble with dawning realization on his face. So little Mark must have confided in his father and governess about the sighting of the ghost. Rachel herself had assumed the boy had seen that