“Neither, Miss Maitland. His father, my uncle by marriage, is still alive and well and in charge of his estate, but he does not often travel to visit us; Mrs. Jepson comes on her own. I’m not sure where my cousin goes. I know that he gets a reasonable allowance from his father, but he was not particularly interested in book learning at school, so did not go to university. I assume that he spends a good part of his time in town.”

All that accords, thought Julia, with what I know already about Mr. Jepson. And maybe he is getting short of money for the same reasons as Dominic Brandon is, too much gambling and high living. That reminded her to ask another question.

“Have you heard of the Brandon family, Sir James? I am friendly with their cousin Emily, who lives with them in Derbyshire.”

“No, I believe not, but Derbyshire is a long way from here, as you will agree. How is my friend Kit finding his new role as Master of Morancourt? He has seemed very contented since he came into his inheritance last month.”

“You know him so much better than I, sir, but it must be a pleasure to find yourself in a situation that you might only have dreamt of previously.”

She then asked Sir James whether he was keen on hunting, for she had heard mention of the South Dorset and the Cattistock as being famous packs of foxhounds in South Dorset.

“That’s true, Miss Maitland. You are well informed. Both hunts are currently led by Squire Farquharson. I do hunt, when I have time, but I’m not so sure that Kit will do so, since he would be better to avoid injuring his leg again. From what he has told me, it is his brother Jack who prefers hunting.”

Julia was about to agree when she remembered that Sir James did not know that she had ever met Jack Douglas, or indeed his father.

“Does anyone in your family hunt in Derbyshire, Miss Maitland?”

“No. My father used to, with my elder brother. But Papa is not well enough now.” She could not go on, but found that she did not need to.

“I was very sorry to hear from Kit that your brother was killed at Badajoz,” he said gravely.

She thanked him for his sentiments, but by this time the dance was coming to an end, and Mr. Hatton came forward to claim her hand for the next.

He was regarding her with an amused expression and, sure enough, he wanted to know why Julia had been questioning his friend with such persistence. She told him what Sir James had said about his cousin Patrick.

“I didn’t think, Miss Maitland, that Mrs. Jepson seemed to be a particularly alert person. Although I had visited the Lindsays several times whilst I was at school with James, I had not met her before. If Patrick Jepson is like her, he may not be very exciting company.”

Whilst they had been having this conversation, Julia had noticed that Mr. Hatton had been looking intently across the room at a swarthy gentleman who was standing by the wall in deep conversation with another man.

“Who is that, Mr. Hatton?” said Julia. “Do you know him?”

“No, or at least I don’t know what his name is. He was pointed out to me earlier as having some involvement in the local smuggling ring. Apparently, he has a finger in every pie, especially where there is money to be made, and anything to do with obtaining scarce goods in Bridport or in the Marshwood Vale is known to him.”

For the rest of the dance, when an opportunity came, Julia tried to look discreetly at this mysterious man who certainly seemed to have little interest in joining in the dance or in circulating to meet any of the other people in the room. There was something familiar about him, despite the fact that she was sure that she had never met him before. What was it? It was only as the music drew to a close that she realised—the man had the same unusually shaped ears as she had noticed on Patrick Jepson.

She ventured to mention this to Mr. Hatton, thinking that he would dismiss it as being fanciful.

But to her surprise he said, “That would explain something that James once told me about his cousin. Apparently Patrick has an older half brother, Frank, who lives near here, the result of a youthful liaison between his father and a local girl. That was before Mr. Jepson met and married my mother’s sister. I understand that Patrick meets up with Frank Jepson from time to time. That may be one reason why the father keeps away from the area—not too anxious to be reminded about his follies as a young man, I imagine.”

“Oh, really, and you think that’s who that gentleman might be?”

“Yes, if you are correct about a family resemblance, although maybe not a ‘gentle’ man!”

“Do you think that Mrs. Jepson knows anything about him?”

Mr. Hatton said that he thought not, but that Sir James Lindsay might able to obtain more information.

With several pleasant young men in Lady Lindsay’s party, Julia found herself dancing every dance, and it was almost midnight before she and Mr. Hatton said good-bye to their new friends and his carriage took them home to Morancourt.

Julia slept late the following morning after all her exertions, and it was well past the time for breakfast before she dressed and descended the stairs. Rather than go into the dining room, she went across the hall and out of the front door. As she did so, Mr. Hatton came into view along the drive with Mr. Whitaker and an older man whom Julia had not seen before. The two other men stopped some distance short of the front door, deep in conversation, but Mr. Hatton continued and greeted her warmly.

“Who is that talking with Mr. Whitaker, Mr. Hatton?”

He looked surprised, then said, “Of course, I had forgotten that you had not met Mr. Jones. I have known him since I first visited my godmother and her husband, Henry, at Morancourt with my mother when I was quite young. As you can see, he is getting on in years now, and so my godmother hired Mr. Whitaker some two years ago to run the farm, and she transferred Mr. Jones to lighter duties, caring only for the park.”

“I am a little surprised that Mrs. Jones has never talked about him.”

“They have a house in the village, which is owned by the estate. He does not often come up to the manor house nowadays, at least I haven’t seen him here recently.”

Julia took this opportunity to ask Mr. Hatton another question. “I imagine that your father, Mr. Douglas, must have been delighted at the news of your inheritance?”

Mr. Hatton hesitated, then said, “At this present moment, he knows nothing at all about my inheritance.”

Julia looked at him blankly. “He knows nothing about it?”

“I was going to write to Norton Place last month, to invite my father to come down to Dorset. I favoured the notion of breaking the good news to him in person, once he had arrived and could see the estate for himself. But it was at that same time that I wrote to the several legatees named in my godmother’s will. As a consequence, I made my visit to Bath, and met Mrs. Harrison, and you.”

Julia looked at him intently and waited for him to continue.

“When I thought it through, I realised that there was a serious conflict. In my father’s eyes, at least in principle, my brother is a potential suitor for you. Therefore, I could see no way in which my father could be here at the same time as you without all sorts of problems arising.”

“I see,” said Julia. “I had not thought of that.”

“As I say, it has been very difficult. Or perhaps I should say that it could have been difficult. But when I wrote to my father to say that I would not be back in Derbyshire for some weeks, he wrote back in a very gracious way and encouraged me not to worry about it. He said that it would be beneficial—he sounded just like your Aunt Lucy—for me to meet more new people and to have a change of scene.”

“So when do you intend to invite your father to visit, Mr. Hatton?”

“I am planning to go to Bath in a week or so, and to meet him there with my carriage.”

Julia looked very surprised. “Would he not travel from Derbyshire to Morancourt in his own conveyance?”

“No!” He laughed. “He could, of course, easily afford to do so, but my father is a true Yorkshireman, brought up to be very careful with money, and he considers it much better value to travel with his valet by the stagecoach.”

Julia could not help but laugh with him. Then she said, “Tell me, Mr. Hatton, for I do not believe that Papa ever mentioned it, in what business was your father occupied before he retired to Norton Place?”

“I’m not sure that he is retired, in the sense that you mention. He purchased the property there some fifteen years ago, or perhaps it is a longer time than that now. He travels into Leeds and Derby regularly to discuss business with his managers at the mills. They manufacture various types of woollens, and also some cotton fabrics more recently.”

“Have you yourself ever had anything to do with that business?”

“No, not really. My mother was particularly keen that my brother and I should never have a direct connection with trade, for she feared that it would adversely affect our prospects in the future.”

“I’m surprised that she should be so concerned about that.”

“Perhaps it was a rather severe reaction. But it was clear that my father had made his fortune, sufficient to buy Norton Place and to settle money on both of us to give us some means of independent living, so he promised her that neither of us would have anything to do with the business in the future unless some very serious situation arose to make it necessary.”

“I suppose that I should understand that,” said Julia, “for my family has been settled comfortably for many years at Banford Hall, and I have no experience of any other kind of life.”

He looked grave as he answered, “My mother had a similar view to yours, I believe.”

“At least she did not want you to marry the daughter of an earl?”

He laughed and said, “Perhaps, if my mother were still here to advise me, she might consider that a very good idea, provided of course that the earl was very wealthy, and the daughter had a large dowry.”

I wonder, thought Julia to herself, whether I should really be joking in this way about something that I would detest so much. If Mama were here, she would not find it funny.

That afternoon, Julia was on her way back from selecting a book in the library when she came across Martha in the hall. When she saw Julia, she turned her head away, but not before Julia had seen that she appeared to be crying. Before Martha could open the door to the kitchen, Julia called her back.

“Martha, whatever is the matter?”

Martha reluctantly closed the door and returned to the centre of the hall. But she had to be pressed with the same question twice before she replied, “Will you promise not to tell Mrs. Harrison, Miss?”

“Of course, if that is very important to you. What can it be that is upsetting you so much?”

Eventually Julia persuaded Martha to explain.

“It’s my brother Jem, Miss. He’s in the kitchen. He’s hurt his leg badly, Miss. He says that he dropped a tool on it in the farmyard, Miss. At least, that is what I thought he said.” This last statement was made with very little conviction.

When Julia made it clear that she intended to inspect the young man and the wound herself, Martha was clearly very apprehensive. However, when Julia reached the kitchen, Mrs. Jones was there, apparently unconcerned as she tended the leg of a fair-haired young man, roughly dressed in a worn jacket and leggings tied up with string.

She looked up as they arrived and said, quite calmly, “This is Jem, Miss Maitland, one of the farm workers. My husband found him in this state, but I don’t think he’s done himself any serious harm.”

Martha looked at Julia imploringly, and she realised that Mrs. Jones had not been told that Jem was related to Mrs. Harrison’s maid.

“Can I be of any use, Mrs. Jones? Martha was upset to see the wound, though I’m sure that you are doing all that can be done.”

“No, Miss Maitland, it’s very kind of you to take an interest. But I am using a local remedy—sphagnum moss mixed with garlic juice—as a poultice. It is an old country method, but it usually works very well.”

Julia made a mental note of this recipe, which she had not heard before.

Jem Fisher looked white-faced, and turned his head away from them as Mrs. Jones applied the poultice to the leg. He did not seem to want to recognise Martha or to make any attempt to speak to either of them.

“Mrs. Jones, you will let me know if you need to send for anything from Beaminster or Bridport?”