‘Have you understood?’ she asked when she had finished.

‘I have understood,’ said Rupert when he could trust himself to speak.

Then he bent to kiss her once very lightly on the lips and went back to the house to find his bride.

Muriel, however, was nowhere to be found. She was not in the ballroom, nor in the great hall and Tom, the most recent of her partners, said that she had excused herself to go upstairs.

The sudden elevation of her lady’s maid to the status of a guest had infuriated Muriel, but she had suffered no personal anxieties. The thought that anyone could be preferred to herself was not one that had ever crossed her mind. And when she had danced with the admiring Dr Lightbody and the dutiful Tom, it seemed to her, Rupert being temporarily absent, a perfect moment to carry out her plan.

First, the cloakroom, where she had left a large parcel which she now retrieved, opening the cellophane-covered box and looking at its contents with a satisfied smile. Yes, the doll was a triumph! White porcelain eyelids with thick, blonde lashes closed with a click over round, china-blue eyes; golden curls clustered under a muslin bonnet and when up-ended she clearly and genteely pronounced the word: ‘Mama’. No, Muriel did not grudge the expense though it had been considerable. Ollie would love a doll like that and, after all, Dr Lightbody had been right that day at Fortman’s. Diplomacy was needed in a case like this — it wasn’t as though she was dealing with servants. Whereas if she carefully explained to Ollie how exhausting the ceremony would be, how harmful it would be for her to stand for a long time on her bad leg, how much better to rest quietly at home with this lovely doll, Ollie would surely cooperate.

Ollie’s marigold head had been absent for a while now from the minstrel’s gallery. The child would certainly be in bed by this time. Muriel had found out where she slept. The problem now was seeing that she got to her alone.

Tom had been assiduous so far in the performance of his duties. He detested dressing up but he was wearing the navy sweater and bell-bottoms of a sailor in His Majesty’s Navy. He was indifferent to dancing, but he had waltzed with the detestable Lady Lavinia and snatched Muriel Hardwicke from Dr Lightbody’s arms when the music ceased, so as to give Rupert a few last minutes of happiness.

Now, however, he felt entitled to some solace and by this Tom meant — and had meant for the past two years — the company of the plump and bespectacled Susie Rabinovitch.

He found her, as he might have expected, with her mother, making easier by her uncomplicated presence the first emotional meeting between Hannah and the dowager since the day at Maidens Over.

‘I should have known,’ Hannah was saying. ‘I should have known that Miss Hardwicke’s note had nothing to do with you. It was so foolish — but this particular thing… we make jokes about it but for us it is like a deep, black hole, always there. Sometimes we don’t wait to be pushed, we jump.’

‘Oh, my dear.’ The dowager, already deeply shaken by what she had just learned about her son, pressed her friend’s hand. ‘What a wretched tangle it all is. I suppose you couldn’t come to the wedding just the same? It would make it all a little more bearable—’ She broke off. ‘Ah, here comes Tom! Have you come to claim Susie for a dance?’

‘To claim her at all events. I thought she might like some lemonade.’

Susie smiled and followed him. But she was destined to get no lemonade that night. Tom led her out of the ballroom, through the great hall, and into an anteroom where they could be alone.

‘Susie,’ said Tom, and she saw that he was in an unusually grim and serious mood. ‘How many times have I asked you to marry me?’

‘I think, seventeen,’ said Susie in her quiet, pedantic voice, looking up at him and wishing yet again that he wasn’t quite so handsome. ‘But it may only be sixteen; I’m not completely sure.’

Tom had found a silver ashtray and was picking it up, putting it down again…

‘You saw Rupert and Anna just now?’

‘Yes, I saw them. Can nothing be done? They are so completely right for one another.’

‘Nothing,’ said Tom savagely. ‘Muriel will never let him go. She’s after that title like a stampeding buffalo. And Rupert’ll never jilt her because he’s a gentleman and because of some idiot promise about Mersham that he made to George before he died.’

Susie was silent and Tom stood looking down at her. Since the day he’d first seen her in her parents’ over-furnished drawing room, blinking like a plump owl through her spectacles and marking the pages of her book with a determined finger, he’d wanted ceaselessly to be with her. Hitherto, he’d been prepared to wait. Now, seeing what had happened to Rupert, he was prepared to wait no longer.

‘Susie, are you really going to ruin our happiness because of your parents’ wretched religious prejudices? Even though I’ve told you a hundred times that you can bring up our children in any way you like?’

Susie hesitated. She, too, had been badly shaken by seeing Rupert and Anna dance. ‘It’s not that. My parents aren’t so orthodox any more. They’d moan a little, but there’s no question of them disowning me or saying a kaddish over me. They’re far too kind and too concerned for my happiness.’

Tom stared at her, amazed. ‘But why, then, Susie? Why do you keep on saying no?’

Susie studied him carefully. ‘Tom, have you ever looked at me? At me? Not someone you’ve made up inside your head.’

She stepped forward so that the overhead light shone full on her face. The gypsy dress, as she well knew, was extremely unbecoming to her and she was flushed and mottled from the heat.

‘I’m plump now,’ she continued in her level, unemotional voice. ‘In ten years I’ll be fat, however much I diet. I have a hooked nose; most of the time I need glasses. My hair is frizzy and my ears—’

‘How dare you!’ Tom had seized her shoulders; he was shaking her, hurting her. The famous Byrne temper, scourge of his red-haired ancestors since Doomsday, blazed in his eyes. ‘How dare you talk to me like that! You are insulting me!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How dare you suppose that I don’t know who you are or what you are? That I don’t understand what I see? Do you take me for some kind of besotted schoolboy? It is unspeakable! You could weigh as much as a hippopotamus and shave your head and wear a wig and it wouldn’t make any difference to me. I never said you were beautiful. I never thought it. I said that you were you.’

Susie loosened his hands. Then she smiled, that tender, wise smile that made nonsense of her ugliness and said, ‘Well, in that case we must just hope that our children don’t inherit your awful temper. Or my nose.’

‘Oi, Gewalt!’ said the Noble Spanish Lady, seeing their faces as they returned to the ballroom. ‘Look, Leo! It has happened! What shall I tell Moyshe and Rachel? And Cousin Steffi? You know she wanted Susie for her Isaac!’

‘To mind their own business,’ said that stout bullfighter, Leo Rabinovitch, hitching up his cummerbund. ‘That is what you shall tell Rachel and Moyshe, and Cousin Steffi also,’ — and went forward resignedly to greet his new son-in-law.

The Duchess of Nettleford, helmeted and lightly daubed with woad, for she was nothing if not thorough, surveyed the dancers with an unusually benevolent eye. Things, it seemed, were going well for the girls. Like the Ancient British Queen she represented, she had led her troops into battle and she had conquered. Tom had opened the ball with Lavvy and was quite clearly interested. Beatrice (an undoubted and very yellow daffodil) was dancing with a young subaltern whom Minna had led up to them. And Gwendolyn, too, was on the floor — almost literally, for the poor girl could never master the tango and the wooden clogs of that staunch Northumbrian heroine, Grace Darling, did not really help. Fortunately the good-looking sunburned gentleman dressed as some kind of Greek who partnered her had seemed to be perfectly aware of the honour of standing up with the daughter of a duke. True, Hermione and Priscilla, clutching respectively the head of John the Baptist and an asp, were still sitting unclaimed beside her and there had been a disappointment about Tom Byrne’s younger brother. At thirteen he was too young, even for Beatrice, though in the old days when marriages had been sensibly arranged, no one would have bothered about nonsense like that. Still, on the whole, things were going well. As for that scandal at the beginning when some serving maid had turned out to be a countess or the other way round, the duchess had scarcely heeded it except to notice with pleasure how furious it had made the grocer’s daughter who had ensnared young Westerholme.

‘Ah, Lavvy,’ said the duchess as Lavinia, looking complacent and freshly caught, came up to her. ‘How’s it going, eh?’

‘Very well, Mother,’ said Lavinia, smirking. ‘Tom says he knows he can trust me to look after Ollie at the church.’

‘Ah, knows he can trust you, does he!’ The duchess was delighted. ‘Did you… you know, give him a bit of a hint?’

Lavinia dropped her eyes. ‘Well, Mother… you know…’

‘Look, there’s Tom now,’ said Priscilla, pointing with her asp. ‘What’s he doing with that dumpy Jewish girl, do you suppose?’

‘He took her out just now,’ said Lavinia. ‘I expect she was feeling ill.’

The music stopped. With an alacrity that was proper but not quite pleasing, the Ladies Beatrice and Gwendolyn were returned by their partners to Boadicea’s side, and on the dais, Mr Bartorolli wiped his brow.

‘The Byrnes are very democratic, aren’t they,’ drawled Hermione. ‘Lady Byrne’s kissing that Jewish girl now.’

Lavinia, perfectly confident, waited. And her confidence was justified. Tom, his deep happiness assured, moved by his stepmother’s unforced pleasure on his behalf, had determined to do everything that was needed to make the ball a success. And what was needed, as Minna had just assured him, was for someone — anyone — to dance with the Nettleford girls.

So Tom, radiant with happiness, approached the Boadicean Camp and aware that he had already danced with the eldest and the worst of them, bowed before one who seemed to be dressed in a great many muslin nappies and to be nursing a papier mâché head dipped in tomato juice.

But Hermione’s triumph was short-lived. They had scarcely circled the ballroom half a dozen times when the music stopped abruptly and was succeeded by a fanfare. And looking up at the dais, the dancers saw Lord Byrne standing beside Mr Bartorolli and holding up his hands.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I have an announcement to make. An announcement which I know will give great pleasure to everybody present…’

Anna stayed for a while in the garden, standing with her back to a great cedar as though thereby she could draw in some of its strength. She was as cold, as still, as stone.

Rupert had gone. She must live without him. It was done.

There were just a few things to do before she slipped away. Explain to the dowager that she was leaving, thank the Byrnes, say goodbye to Ollie… And after that, Mersham, to pick up her things and wait for the milk train to London. It was ten miles by road from Heslop to Mersham, but from her dawn rides on the mare she knew of a short cut across the fields which she would find even in the dark. By the time the other servants woke, she would be gone.

But first, Petya. She had promised him a dance. Back to the ballroom, then, whatever it cost…

He had been searching for her. ‘Ah, there you are, Annoushka,’ he said, beginning to talk excitedly in Russian. ‘You’ve missed such an exciting thing! Tom is engaged to marry Susie Rabinovitch and they stopped the orchestra and announced it and everyone clapped. And you know that girl dressed like a fish — only she’s not meant to be a fish, Hugh says — well, I was standing next to her and she sort of whooped when Lord Byrne announced it and went purple, just like in a book, and then she rushed out! Tom’s very happy and Susie’s really nice and there’s going to be lots and lots of champagne. And Lady Byrne’s going to ask you to stay here instead of Mersham — she says you’ve been there long enough as a guest and it’s her turn to have you, so do come, ’Noushka, because they’re so nice and their horses are fabulous!’

‘Petya, I must go back to town,’ said Anna. ‘I’ve been away so long and it isn’t fair on Mama.’