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dear father recently slipped his wind, but, though he sent for me, I sadly did not arrive in time to see him alive.’

      ‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Stacey said politely.

      ‘And you, where is your journey taking you?’

      ‘Home to Malcomby Hall.’

      ‘Is it the first time you have been home? Since the war, I mean.’

      ‘No. I returned six months ago.’

      ‘And how is your delightful wife?’

      ‘She died several years ago.’

      ‘I am sorry for that.’ The man did not seem to notice Stacey’s perfunctory answers. ‘And how are the Earl and Countess?’

      ‘They are both well.’

      ‘Good, good. I wonder you choose to travel by public coach when there must be horses and carriages to spare at Malcomby Hall.’

      Stacey was beginning to wonder himself; his father would have allowed him to take the carriage, but he knew his mother used it all the time and he did not want to deprive her of it, especially as he did not know how long he would be gone. There was a gig and a phaeton, but they were not suitable for long journeys, nor would his parents use them when the weather was inclement, as it had been. The stage seemed the sensible choice, but now it looked as though he was going to have to spend several hours in the company of this unlikeable fellow.

      He was saved having to answer when the coach pulled up at an inn for their first change of horses. He did not bother to go inside for refreshment, but waited in the coach. Half an hour later, they were off again, but, as more passengers had joined them and kept the conversation going, Stacey had only to put in an occasional remark. It grew dark and the countryside could no longer be seen except as a blur of trees and hedgerows; the talk became more desultory and many of the passengers dozed. It was easy for Stacey to pretend to do likewise.

      

      It was gone three in the morning when the coach rumbled into the yard of the Great White Horse in Ipswich. ‘This is where we part company, Cousin,’ Cecil said. ‘Parson’s End is not on a regular coach route, so we must rack up here and make other arrangements to continue our journey. But we are in no hurry and who knows—we might find a snug little inn somewhere where the play is good.’

      The coach pulled up in the yard of the inn and immediately the business of changing the horses was begun. Cecil Hobart and his friends tumbled out. Before shutting the door, Cecil turned back to Stacey. ‘Give the Earl and Countess my greetings, won’t you?’ he said. ‘You must bring them to Easterley Manor to visit when I have settled my affairs.’

      ‘They do not travel far these days.’

      ‘No? Well, neither did my father. But there is nothing to stop you coming, is there? Families should not lose touch, should they? But leave it a day or two, give me time to settle in.’

      Stacey smiled and bowed his head politely in response. That the man should turn out to be a relative was repugnant to him and he had no intention at all of visiting him, or even of thinking of him again. People were always claiming they knew him or were related to him, simply because of his title and wealth and whatever advantage they thought the connection might bring. Only in the army with people like Captain Gerard Topham was his title ignored and he was recognised by his rank of Major, which was the one he preferred.

      The coach continued on its way with different passengers, taking the road to Norwich where it stopped at the Old Ram coaching inn where he had left his mount. Here he ate breakfast before setting off on horseback to complete his journey.

      The sun was warm on his back as he rode and the birds were singing as if to tell him the winter was gone and spring was on its way. His spirits rose. Perhaps he would find Julia in a better frame of mind, ready to listen to him and behave in a more comely fashion. He was sorely disappointed within a few minutes of turning in the great iron gates of Malcomby Hall.

      Deciding to take a short cut through the trees rather than ride along the gravelled drive that meandered on its way to the house, his attention was drawn to Julia’s stallion, Ebony, tethered with another horse in a small clearing. He drew up and was wondering where Julia was and who owned the other animal, when he heard the sound of laughter coming from the direction of the lake. He dismounted and, leaving his horse with the others, trod softly towards the sound. Coming out of the trees at the side of the lake, he was stopped in his tracks by the sight that greeted him.

      Cold as it was, Julia was bathing in the water and she was completely naked, her long blond hair loose and flowing out around her head; what was worse, there was a young lad with her, also completely naked. They were laughing and splashing each other like small children. But they were no longer children. She was thirteen, her body was that of a young woman. He was struck dumb for several seconds and then he roared. He roared loud and long. Startled, the boy and girl looked round and began a mad scramble to get out and retrieve their clothes, lying on the bank

      ‘Julia, stay where you are,’ Stacey shouted. ‘You, whoever you are, get dressed and come here.’

      The boy scrambled into his pantaloons, picked up his shirt and coat, but, instead of approaching Stacey, disappeared into the trees. Stacey let him go and turned his attention to his daughter. She was out of the water and standing with her back to him, pulling a chemise over her head. Even in his fury, he could appreciate her youthful curved figure, with its neat waist. ‘When you are decently dressed, you may join me by the horses,’ he said, and turned from her to retrace his steps. She came to him two minutes later, flashing defiance from her blue eyes. ‘I don’t know why you are making such a fuss,’ she said as she scrambled into her saddle. ‘We were doing no harm.’

      He could not trust himself to speak, but mounted his own horse and, picking up her reins, led her horse back towards the house without saying a word. It was an indignity that infuriated her and she tugged once or twice on the reins to try and wrest them from him, but, when she failed, slumped in her saddle and completed the journey in smouldering silence.

      ‘Go up to your room,’ Stacey told her when they reached the side door of the house nearest the stables. ‘Get dressed properly and, when you are fit to be seen, come down to the library. I wish to speak to you.’

      After she had gone, he left the horses with the grooms and made his way slowly into the house, completely at a loss to know how to deal with the situation. He passed the drawing room on his way to the library. The door was open and his parents were sitting one on each side of the hearth; his mother was doing some embroidery and his father was reading a newspaper. They looked so complacently content, he was incensed all over again. ‘So this is how you look after my daughter in my absence, sir,’ he said, stopping in the doorway to glare at them. ‘Reading and stitching while she is running wild. Thanks to you, she is ruined beyond redemption.’

      ‘Oh, dear, what has she done now?’ his mother asked.

      ‘You may well ask. I rode through the woods on my way home and what did I find? My daughter, your beloved granddaughter, swimming in the lake…’

      ‘Oh, dear, it is so cold,’ Lady Malcomby said. ‘She will catch her death. I hope you have sent her to Susan to be warmed.’

      ‘If she were a boy I would warm her myself, I’d dust her breeches so she could not sit down for a week,’ he said.

      ‘Oh, come,’ his father said. ‘That’s doing it too brown.’

      ‘You have not heard the worst of it. She was naked as the day she was born—’

      ‘Naked!’ shrieked her ladyship, dropping her embroidery. ‘You mean she had no clothes on?’

      ‘Not even her chemise. Nor was she alone. There was some yokel with her. They were laughing and splashing each other…’

      ‘Was he also…Oh, dear, was he…?’

      He nodded. ‘Not a stitch. Now perhaps you will tell me how to proceed, for I am sure I

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