A knock upon the steward's door distracted Fielding from his newspaper as Joseph laid three letters upon his desk. He recognised the direction written on the outside of one as being in Mountford's crabbed script, and cracked the seal.

Henry's communication offered no great surprises. Sally and Margaret had welcomed their brother's proposal to join him in the country, as had a handful of their acquaintance, yet there were outstanding social invitations they felt honour bound to fulfil, and it would be another week before they expected to leave town. In the meantime, Henry entreated him to sample whatever modest entertainment Blackwood Hall could provide.

Fielding had woken with a headache—the result of too many hours staring at faded ink under insufficient light. A day out in the fresh air would probably do him good. He sought out Sir George's collection of elderly fishing rods, selected the best, and made his way across the park; stopping occasionally to speak with the hard-working gardeners, who were bringing the formal gardens of Blackwood Hall back to a state of order not seen in a decade.

The last ochre leaves clung to the trees as the stream danced around the stones and bulrushes. A few hours fishing in that peaceful spot—with only the birds and a busy family of water voles for company—did much to diminish the pressure behind his temples, but left him with nothing to show for his efforts. He moved upstream, farther from Blackwood Hall, and settled down to try again.

Fielding raised his rod, checked the bait, and recast the line into the shade beneath an ancient willow that stood on the opposite bank. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled; expelling with it all thoughts of autumn planting schedules and inefficient yields, and leaving behind only one tantalising memory of an errant brown curl, escaping from beneath Miss Latimer's bonnet during their previous meeting at the farm.

He mentally shook himself, banishing the image, and settled down in the grass; his back resting against the trunk of a sturdy horse chestnut. He allowed his gaze to float across the stream, twining around the reeds that grew along the opposite bank.

This state of pleasurable lethargy may have continued for some time had he not spotted something strange floating in the water. It was an off-white, misshapen lump, being carried down by the current. He watched it tumble and spin, caught by eddies that circled the larger stones embedded in the stream's course.

Then a second object appeared, chasing the first. This one was more recognisable and made him smile. It was folded into the shape of a small boat, looking not unlike many similar vessels he had launched across the lake at Meltham in his youth.

A faint babble of voices followed the craft, growing louder as they approached. Then a young fair-haired boy appeared on the opposite bank, his searching gaze so intent upon the water that it took him a moment to realise he was not alone.

The boy checked himself, cast a quick glance behind, then doffed his cap and offered a perfunctory bow. "Sir! Did you see our boats?" The lad could not be more than five or six years. In his smart nankeen trousers and short jacket with brass buttons he was too well dressed to be the son of a farm worker. Only a family of means could afford the pressed paper used to create their craft.

Fielding stood, laying down his rod. "I saw two, although the first one had foundered. It might have become caught up in those reeds. The second was still afloat when it passed downstream."

The young lad turned back, waving his arms to someone further up the path. "Over here!"

The sound of running footsteps followed his cry, and a second youngster—a copy of the first—came into view. As they hunted among those clumps of rushes they could reach from the bank, only the grass stains marking the trousers of the second boy allowed him to tell one from the other.

"Ned. Jack. Come away from the water."

Fielding felt a shock as the familiar female voice sounded from behind the foliage. Then Miss Latimer appeared, along with two other girls whose fair hair marked them as sisters; a stark counterpoint to the neat brown curls that framed Miss Latimer's heart-shaped face. Her attention was so focussed on the boys that she did not immediately notice him standing on the opposite bank of the stream.

"Belle, one of the boats is stuck. We need to find it."

"Not at the expense of falling in the stream and ruining your clothes. Your mother will never forgive me." She passed the basket she was carrying to one of the girls, looked around on the ground and picked up a thin branch, almost four feet in length. "Here, you can use this to search the reeds, but do not get any closer to the edge."

Miss Latimer appeared far less dishevelled than during their previous conversations. Her dress was neat, if somewhat plain, and this time there were no loose wisps of hair escaping from beneath her bonnet. Despite being separated by the seven or eight foot stretch of shallow water, he had no difficulty overhearing her instructions to the young boys as she co-ordinated their search like a field marshall. No meek wallflower was she. Some of last season's debs had been so shy he struggled to hear their words even when he had been standing right next to them, but Miss Latimer never had a problem making herself understood.

Fielding thought it was past time to make his presence known. He cleared his throat, feeling a perverse satisfaction when the sound made Miss Latimer jump.

Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a startled gasp. "Mr. Fielding! I had no idea... What are you doing over there?"

He indicated the discarded rod and empty basket. "Attempting to fish, although with little success."

One of the young boys raised his head. "Papa was teaching Jack and me to fish, but then Sampson stuck his foot in a hole the rabbits made, so we can't fish no more. Papa says we can shoot the rabbits when his leg gets better."

"Quiet, Ned." She turned back to him, her cheeks now reflecting a delightful shade of pink. "I do apologise if we disturbed you."

"Not in the slightest. I had all but given up trying to catch anything, and I was about to return to the Hall when I spotted the little boats sailing down the stream."

Ned poked at the long green leaves. "My Victory was racing Jack's Britannia."

"Two worthy adversaries. How did you identify one from the other?" When the boy looked blank, Fielding sighed. "Did you mark the boats to show which was yours?"

The young lad waved his stick towards the water. "Mine was launched nearest this bank. The Britannia was on your side."

"Well, by the time they passed me they were both coming down the middle. Next time you might want to write their names on to tell them apart."

"Where are my manners?" Miss Latimer drew the other two girls closer. "Mr. Fielding, please may I present Miss Marianne Latimer..."—she pointed to the taller of the two girls who carried a basket between them—"...and her sister Miss Jane Latimer." She then gestured to the two boys. "And this is Master Edmund and Master John Latimer."

"Ned is hair," Jack added, in a voice laced with sympathy.

Miss Latimer smiled. "He means heir, of course. Edmund is the eldest, so he will inherit Woodside one day, as their mother so often reminds them."

"She is quite right to do so. The sooner they understand and accept their unequal situation the better it will be for both." He sensed from her expression that she did not entirely agree. "Do you walk here often?"

"No, not unless I have the children with me. Today we passed the mill, called at a few shops in Redburn and decided to return this way because the younger ones like throwing things from the bridge to see which one wins. Sometimes we race sticks, blossoms or leaves, but today they brought the boats to try. I hoped the longer path home would tire the boys and help them sleep."

"Surely you must have servants to take care of the younger children."

"We do, but the baby passed her illness to the nursery maid. Papa is still confined to his room, and their mother has a headache, so here we are."

If a family with so many children employed only one nursery maid, there was little wonder Miss Latimer appeared tired. "I see your brothers have already moved further downstream. Searching for the surviving boat, I assume."

Miss Latimer craned her neck, trying to catch sight of the boys ahead, but the trees and dense shrubs hid them from view. "Please excuse me, Mr. Fielding, I must not allow them out of my sight for too long. I dread to think what might happen. It was a pleasure to meet you again." She offered him a formal curtsey before continuing down the path, the other two girls trailing obediently behind her.

Then he heard a shout, followed almost immediately by a splash and a cry of alarm. Fearing the worst, Fielding ran along the bank of the stream until the Latimers once more came into view. Fortunately the water was no more than six or eight inches at the point where one twin had fallen, and he was already scrambling to sit up.

Without stopping to think, he ran into the water, and in two long strides had hold of the boy's collar, pulling him upright before looking for Miss Latimer. Most young women of his acquaintance would have succumbed to a fit of hysterics upon seeing a young relative floundering in the stream. Although one of the young Latimer girls squealed with shock, he was pleased to note that Miss Latimer betrayed nothing but a calm sisterly concern as she waited at the edge of the bank.

Edmund Latimer, hovering as close to the edge as he dared, exhibited a similar reaction to his brother's predicament. "Jack, you idiot. Look what you did."

As Fielding lifted the boy onto the grass, Miss Latimer pulled him into her arms; heedless of the fact that his clothes were dripping wet and covered in mud and sand. "Oh, Jack. I'm so glad you're safe, but you are wet through. You will catch your death."

Smiling at her words, Fielding hastened to reassure her. "Do not be uneasy. He seems a sturdy lad, and will take no hurt from a little water. I fell in the lake a time or two, and it did me no harm."

Jack, his blonde locks now plastered to his head, held up a soggy lump of folded paper. "I got it, Ned. I found Victory."

Edmund shook his head. "Mama will have a fit when she sees you."

The boy rocked from side to side, his shoes making a squelching noise. "Mama has fits all the time, even when I'm not wet, but at least Britannia won."

Miss Latimer gifted Fielding a grateful smile. "I must thank you for your assistance, sir. I do not know how we would have managed if you had not been close by. It was very kind of you to help, especially as your boots are now very wet. I hope they are not damaged beyond repair."

He had not considered his footwear when he had entered the stream. His only thought had been for the boy's safety. Glancing down at the sodden leather, he wondered what his valet would make of the damage. "I am sure they will dry out soon enough, as will Master Jack."

"Yes...yes, of course, we should get him home before he takes a chill. Thank you again for your help."

"You are very welcome, Miss Latimer." He stood on the bank, listening to the fading chatter of children's voices as the group passed beyond sight. After a moment he studied his footwear again, noticing for the first time the ghostly watermarks now visible half way up the calf of each boot. "What was I thinking?"

Fielding glanced across to the other bank, wondering how far he would have to walk to reach the bridge. He might have thrown himself heedlessly into the water when a child's life was in peril, but he could not subject an eighteen shilling pair of Hoby's finest work to further immersion. Instead, he pulled off his boots and stockings, tucked them under one arm, and walked carefully through the stream until he reached the safety of the other side.

As he retrieved his fishing rod, a weight on the line caught his attention. He spooled the reel; the chub thrashing and writhing as the fish fought for its freedom. Fielding landed his modest catch, carefully unhooked the barb from its mouth, inspected the dull grey scales and then returned it to the stream.

It seemed the day hadn't been a complete waste of time after all.