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with a tinge of doubt rising in me, and it was at that moment the door creaked, sending a wave of cooler air into the parlour.
    Startled, I looked round. Mr Verne stood there, top hat in one hand, wearing a black broadcloth cut-away coat with a cape slung over the other arm. His watchful eyes had a concentrated enigmatic look in them, but I fancied there was a tilt of approval round his mouth, and I was once more conscious of his strange sense of power, of an awareness between us that set my pulses leaping with wild restrained joy.
    ‘ Practising already?’ he said in level tones. ‘Good. In two days’ time we go to meet Signor Luigi.’
    ‘ Two days?’ I echoed. ‘I thought—’
    ‘ If you’re ready, that is,’ he added and turning to Dame Jenny remarked, ‘providing the dress-making session permits. At the moment I must say you look — quite charming.’
    Dame Jenny appeared slightly flustered.
    ‘ If I’d known you were calling today, master, I’d have had things more shipshape. This is only a try on. There be gloves and all manner of little things to ‘tend to, and a few alterations. And—’ with quite a stern glance at me, ‘no more interruptions of tra-la-ing.’
    He allowed himself to smile then. ‘Oh, I’d call what I heard at the gate more than tra-la-la-ing. Surely you with your knowledge of good music must appreciate that, Mrs Trenoweth?’
    Mollified, she replied, ‘Good music? I’m not all that well versed in such as opera, Master Verne. The fiddle’s more to my taste, as it was to my father and his before him. But if you ‘ppreciate my young lady’s voice then good it must be, I’m sure.’
    Shortly after that brief interim of conversation between us, Mr Verne left. There was a further flurry of the dressmaking session, during which I was content to keep silent in case I betrayed my secret feelings to Mrs Trenoweth. Excitement gradually calmed to a deep glowing happiness that held no thought of the past or morrow, or the strange circumstances that had brought me into contact with Rupert. No impossible plans for the future stirred me. He was married, and not the type of man to treat any woman lightly. If he had been I wouldn’t have admired — longed for him so passionately. To have visioned any outcome could have been ridiculous. As it was, a few precious moments in his presence were sufficent to make the day glow — the sun more bright, the skies over the wild autumn landscape a clearer more translucent blue.
    When the prodding, pinching and pinning were over and the bustle adjusted perfectly into place Dame Jenny, at last tired herself, suggested I might like a breath of fresh air. ‘There’s not much to do in the kitchen,’ she said, ‘the baking’s over, and Jan comes tomorrow to clean the floors. Take a stroll if you want to, girl. Only don’t thee go wanderin’ ’bout that hill. Remember, or there’ll be trouble. Understand?’
    I nodded, and promised I’d take the valley lane towards the village.
    It was a dazzling day, speckled with frail misty air that dappled trees and undergrowth with shimmering light. The damp earth smells were redolent with the odour of fallen leaves and tumbled ripe blackberries; there was no wind, and the extreme silence — broken only by the flap of a solitary bird’s wings or scuttle of some small wild creature from the bushes, emphasised autumn’s magic. It had been the same when I was a child — only then the salty tang of sea mingled with all the other odours of dockland — of malt, fish, and crowds swarming round newly berthed ships had filled my young nostrils nostalgically reminding me my father Pierre would appear any day, bringing some exciting gift for his Princess.
    Lost briefly in reminiscences of the past I came to the curve at the base of the hill which led in one direction towards Kerrysmoor along the route I’d driven with Rupert in the chaise. I had turned the corner when the rattle of horses’ hooves and wheels