Chapter 3

"Who was that man?" Charlotte asked, watching as the figure of the man she had just collided with hurried off across the garden.

Sara shook her head.

"I don't know, Miss Davidson. I've never seen him before. Perhaps he's a friend of your father's," she replied.

"But why would he be coming through the garden? Why didn't he just go to the front door?" Charlotte said.

It had been a most surprising encounter, but not one Charlotte blamed herself for - he had collided with her, and she had not appreciated his growing angry over his ruined shirt. Whoever he was, he had no right to be in the garden, and certainly no right to shout at her for what had only been an accident. It was all very curious, and as Charlotte watched the stranger hurry away, she wondered again who he was and what he was doing there.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Miss Davidson. But you shouldn't linger here - not if you don't want your mother to find you," Sara said, and returned to her senses. Charlotte nodded.

"Yes, come along. We'll hide on the far side of the vegetable garden. She won't look for us there - I think she knows about the weeping willow. Come on," Charlotte said, and taking Sara's hand in hers, the two of them hurried off across the vegetable garden, seeking a place to hide.

***

"What an impression to make," Jacob thought to himself, as he made his way up a flight of steps from the lawn to the terrace.

His plans were ruined, and he could only imagine what Thomas Davidson would think of him when he appeared, covered in ink, begging for money. What sort of impression was that to give?

"The wrong one," he told himself, as a figure - a woman - suddenly appeared from a door in the middle of the terrace.

"Charlotte? Charlotte? Are you out… oh, can I help you?" she asked.

She was tall and slim, with dark brown hair and high cheekbones. There was no mistaking a relationship between the young woman and this older woman. Jacob could only presume it was her mother.

"Mrs. Davidson, I presume?" Jacob asked, adopting a deferential air.

The woman nodded, narrowing her eyes at the sight of Jacob's ink covered shirt.

"Yes, that's right. And who might you be?" she asked, addressing him as though he was some vagabond or chancer, and not the Earl of Swadlincote.

"Jacob Kirk, the Earl of Swadlincote. I have an appointment with your husband… Mrs. Davidson?" Jacob said, and the woman's demeanour softened, even as she continued to look curiously at his ink covered shirt.

"Oh, my Lord… yes, my husband's expecting you. We didn't expect you to arrive by the…. garden way," she said, and Jacob blushed.

"I got a little bit lost, I'm afraid," he replied, and the merchant's wife nodded.

"I see. Well, please, won't you come this way? I was looking for my daughter, Charlotte. You haven't seen her, have you?" she asked.

Despite his annoyance at Charlotte for having spilled ink all over his shirt, Jacob had the feeling the merchant's daughter would not thank him for revealing the fact she was hiding in the garden. Instead, he shook his head.

"No, I haven't seen anyone," he replied, and Mrs. Davidson gave an exasperated sigh.

"That girl… well, you'd better come with me," she said, beckoning him to follow her.

Jacob was led into a drawing room - a grand room, though furnished in a modern style. The furniture was not old, nor were the hangings or the paintings. His own home at Downside was filled with memories of the past, with centuries of collecting and acquisition. But all of this was new - a symbol of a new way of living, of money earned and spent, rather than an inheritance of right.

"It's very good of your husband to agree to see me, Mrs. Davidson," Jacob said, as the merchant's wife led him out into a large hallway with a central staircase leading up to a galleried landing above.

"My husband's a busy man, my Lord, but never too busy to turn away guests. This way," Mrs. Davidson said, and she knocked at a door on the far side of the hallway, flanked by pedestals on which stood two rather gaudy marble lions, which seemed to glare at Jacob as he stood waiting for an answer.