“I didn’t say mining, Miss, for I don’t know exactly what Jem’s doing. Only that he and some of his mates were offered work with very good pay at the end of last year, and he’s been down there ever since. I haven’t seen him on any of my days off since then.”

“Do you have any other family, Martha?”

“Yes, Miss. My widowed mother still lives in Radstock with the younger children, but my elder sister is married. She and her husband have a cottage in a village near Gloucester, to the northwest near the River Severn. And one of my younger brothers is working in a woollen mill, and he lives with an aunt in Trowbridge, a few miles to the east of Bath.”

The carriage stopped to rest the horses for a few minutes at the Fox Inn, hidden in the green valley at Corscombe, before making its way up the narrow lane beyond to reach the crossroads with the main route from the county town of Dorchester at the top of the hill. Once safely across, they continued for about a mile across Beaminster Down. Then the coachman asked them to alight and walk behind the carriage for the next mile to lighten the load, as he held back the horses and drove with great care down the long steep slope. At the foot of the hill, they took their seats again and the carriage continued on a little further before they reached the centre of the small stone-built town of Beaminster. There, the carriage paused opposite the stone cross that indicated the location for the market. All around the centre of the little town square, honey-coloured hamstone houses with thatched roofs and shop fronts at ground-floor level were crowded together side by side with several inns, and all was bustle and activity in the market as the local people went about their business.

“Not far to go now, Miss,” confided Martha, who had seen the directions to Morancourt given by Mr. Hatton, “only about three miles.”

“Over there on the right is the Greyhound Inn, behind the market cross, Julia,” said Aunt Lucy. “I will ask the coachman to fetch us all a glass of cordial. My throat is very parched.”

The cool liquid was very welcome and, as soon as the tray and the glasses had been returned to the inn, the carriage set off on its way out of the square on the last stage of their journey.

Once they had left the edge of the town, the carriage plunged into yet another lane deeply set between the field boundaries on each side. Passing only the occasional cottage alongside the track, the surface was uneven and the route twisted and turned, up and down, until at last the wheels came to a stop. Julia looked out of the carriage window to see two tall old stone pillars framing a pair of worn wooden gates, with a thatched cottage on one side. The coachman got down from his perch and walked forwards to speak to someone standing by the gates, and slowly they were opened to let the carriage through.

To her surprise, they stopped on the far side, and a familiar voice could be heard speaking to the coachman. Then Mr. Hatton walked across to the carriage window.

“Mrs. Harrison, Miss Maitland, welcome to Morancourt! You have made very good time today,” He smiled at Julia through the window. “I will ride ahead now, but you will see the manor house on the left as you go down the drive.”

She could hear the clatter of the stirrups as he mounted his horse, and the sound of the hooves on the gravel, before the carriage lurched again into motion along the drive.

After a short interval, they negotiated a bend and there beyond was the house set back behind a rough lawn. On one side, the steep roof was thatched over old stone gables, with the walls pierced by wide mullioned timber windows at ground- and upper-floor levels. On the other side, in a wing three storeys’ high of more recent date, the stone lintols were intricately carved over tall windows set into deep reveals in the walls above wide stone sills. The front door was set in a porch between the two wings, with a worn stone coat of arms just visible above the entrance. The low garden walls on each side of the house were almost invisible, buried in a tangle of flowers and shrubs. Behind them, there were glimpses of parkland through trellis arches and a fence woven from tree branches.

Once the carriage had stopped moving, Aunt Lucy eased herself with relief up from her seat and, helped by a footman, descended rather unsteadily down the carriage steps. Julia, followed by Martha, joined her at the front door, where Mr. Hatton was waiting for them with another footman standing beside him.

“Please come in, ladies,” he said. He showed his guests into the hall, where the staff was lined up to greet them. He introduced the first as Mrs. Jones, his godmother’s housekeeper, who asked one of the footmen to take their trunks upstairs. Then she led Aunt Lucy and Julia into the drawing room, where refreshments awaited them. Her aunt settled herself into a comfortable chair and engaged the housekeeper in conversation.

Meanwhile, Julia sat beside Mr. Hatton on the settee, and she took the opportunity to look around her. The drawing room was spacious and well lit, with carefully polished furniture against the walls and rather faded curtains at the windows. Every table and bookcase was covered with items of china and silverware, as well as other ornaments, many with elaborate detail and highly coloured.

“Your godmother collected ornamental items, Mr. Hatton?” she said.

“Yes. As you can see, there is no shortage of such objects, either here or in any of the other living rooms. I’m not sure that much of it is to my taste, but perhaps that is the difference between the generations. Do you think that your aunt will see anything that she would like?”

“Well, her taste is not the same as mine, either, but I’m sure that for sentimental reasons she will be able to choose something to remember your godmother by. Are there any items that you yourself will want to retain?“

“No. I will not decide whether to keep anything until her friends have chosen what they want. Then I will make up my mind whether I like what remains. I suppose it depends to some extent on how I will redecorate and furnish the house.”

“Is this room typical of the condition elsewhere?”

“No—it is rather better than many of the other rooms. That is because in her last years my godmother lived only in this room and the salon adjoining, as she could not manage the stairs. Mrs. Jones made sure that these two rooms were well kept.”

By this time Aunt Lucy had finished her refreshments, and Mr. Hatton invited them both to walk with him through the rest of the ground floor. As he had told Julia, some of the rooms were badly in need of attention. She asked her host if she might see the kitchen. Mrs. Jones, who was accompanying them, looked embarrassed, but Mr. Hatton said, “Yes, Miss Maitland, of course. I’m sure that you will understand that Mrs. Jones has done her best under rather difficult circumstances.”

Mrs. Jones still looked reluctant, but led the way down a narrow passageway to the kitchen and pantry, which, although clean and tidy, were badly in need of renovation and redecoration. There seemed to be a shortage of storage space and the floor looked to be in need of attention. Mrs. Jones seemed to be very relieved when she was able to usher them back towards the entrance hall. There, she suggested that the ladies might like to go to their rooms to refresh themselves and to supervise the unpacking of their trunks. Aunt Lucy and Julia were happy to go along with this suggestion.

The two bedrooms, side by side, faced over the rear garden, with views for some distance up a long grassy expanse towards a ridge on the hill beyond. Aunt Lucy was disappointed not to find toys in the cupboard in her room, but Julia pointed out that the nurseries were most likely to be on the top floor above them.

Julia’s room was furnished with elegant if outdated furniture of the character appropriate for a lady’s boudoir. The drapes around the bed were a faded pink brocade hung on a mahogany frame. On the walls were several pictures, including one of a very handsome lady whom Julia guessed might be the late Mrs. Hatton. There were several ornamental items on a mahogany chest in the corner of the room, and a matching mahogany wardrobe beside it.

Martha had unpacked the trunk and was hanging the clothes in the wardrobe. After changing her dress, Julia went along the corridor to find Aunt Lucy and they descended the stairs together to the dining room. There they enjoyed a pleasant meal in the company of Mr. Hatton, who told them more about the history of the house and its occupants.

The following morning, Aunt Lucy asked Mr. Hatton to show them the room where the children’s toys had been kept in the cupboard. They were mostly made of wood, each one carefully carved, including a Noah’s Ark with numerous pairs of animals finished in many colours, a miniature painted rocking horse, and a large dolls’ house fully furnished throughout that contained some rather worn rag dolls. Aunt Lucy reminisced nostalgically about her own childhood, when she and her younger sister, Julia’s mother, had played with very similar toys in their own nursery.

Julia’s eyes met those of Mr. Hatton above her aunt’s head, and they exchanged a smile. Indeed, it was with some difficulty that the young people persuaded her aunt to move on to the rest of the house.

“I suggest, Mrs. Harrison, that you might like to inspect the items in the rooms with your niece at more leisure, and see if there is anything that would take your fancy.”

For the next two hours, Julia followed her aunt around the ground-floor rooms, and then around the bedrooms above where there were also many items of interest. At her aunt’s request, she made a list as they went, enumerating those objects that caught her fancy. After a while, Mr. Hatton sensibly left them to their search, as the notes on Julia’s paper grew longer and more detailed. Eventually, they returned to the ground floor, and her aunt sat on the drawing room settee beside Julia, and they went through the list again.