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someone who’s never experienced the ties of a large kinship. But even so, big families normally admit outsiders. They have to. But the Godsloves were different, Unhealthily so.’ Margaret had pulled a face. ‘I only visited them a couple of times, with Father, when they lived at Keynsham, but the atmosphere struck me as . . . as almost incestuous.’
    When Oswald Godslove was fourteen, or thereabouts, he had suddenly taken it into his head that he wanted to study for the law, and although there were lawyers enough in Bristol willing to employ and train a clerk, his three sisters had decided that nothing else would do, but he must go to London, to the Inns of Court, off the Strand. And the rest of the family would, of course, go with him. Money, if not exactly short, was not plentiful, either, but they had what their father had left them and what they could make on the sale of the Keynsham house. Sacrifices would have to be made, but in such a worthy cause, no one was complaining. Somehow, they had scraped together sufficient money to enable them to buy the place in which they now lived, a decaying mansion just outside the Bishop’s Gate, but big enough to accommodate them all, and there they had remained ever since, even though Oswald was now a successful lawyer and growing richer by the day. (As most lawyers, at least in my experience, do.)
    When Margaret had finally finished telling me this complicated tale – or what she had managed to turn into a complicated tale, but was really quite straightforward once I had sorted the wheat from the chaff – I asked, ‘But how does Adela fit into the story?’
    Margaret considered this as she loaded her spindle with wool.
    â€˜I’m not perfectly sure,’ she admitted at last. ‘She could only have been about six years old when the Godsloves left Keynsham and went to London. But she had visited them once or twice, maybe oftener. I know for certain that she went once because she came with Father and me. But I feel sure that her mother, who was also Morgan’s cousin, must have taken her on visits. Katharina – God rest her soul! – was a very nosy woman and was never happier than when she was prying into other folk’s business. So I should guess that Adela might have become friends with Celia, the daughter of the second marriage, who was, it’s true, maybe three or four years older than herself. But then Adela always seemed more mature than her actual age. Perhaps the two girls started writing to one another, and have continued to do so throughout their lives. Stupidly, I’ve never asked Adela who her correspondent is, which of the numerous Godsloves, but now I think about it seriously, Celia would seem the most likely person.’ She continued spinning for a moment or two in silence, then suddenly laughed. ‘I recollect my poor father going to see them once on his own. He came back absolutely appalled. I can remember him exclaiming, “Eight children! Eight of them! You can imagine the noise! All of them talking and shouting together!” I think it made him thankful that he only had the one.’
    â€˜And you’ve never written to them since they settled in London?’
    Margaret shook her head. ‘They meant nothing to me. And I must confess that I was astonished when Adela mentioned, a year or so back, that she was still in touch with them.’
    â€˜And I was completely unaware of the fact.’
    â€˜Ah, well,’ Margaret muttered significantly, so I got hastily to my feet, in order to ward off yet another lecture about my shortcomings as a husband, and offered to pack Elizabeth’s clothes in the sack along with mine.
    â€˜It will save you the trouble later,’ I murmured ingratiatingly.
    But I got no thanks, only a cynical smile that told me, more plainly than any words could have done, that she had my measure. So I took myself off to the Green Lattis, where I