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Chapter One

From a dry June day in 1785, the weather had suddenly changed
to a
biting wind and icy rain since Rachel Fairley and her two
brothers,
Stephen and Harry, had set out from London in the early morning
to
reach their home, Meadowfield Lodge, close to the village of
Ellerton
in the heart of Oxfordshire. Rachel found the journey long and
tedious, made worse by thirteen-year-old Harry's coughing and
sneezing.

He was far from well and she would be extremely relieved to

reach their
home where he could be put to bed. With his eyes closed, he
sat
huddled miserably in the corner of the coach, with rags packed
about
his slender frame to keep out the invading cold. Rachel looked
across
at Stephen, two years older than her own one-and-twenty years.
He had
said little since the onset of the journey, seeming preoccupied
with
his thoughts.

"So, Stephen," she said, breaking into his reverie, "Lord

Kingsley is
to return to Mortlake Park. I have to say that I have no great
desire
to meet him."

"Then I must tell you that you are likely to do so,

and very soon, for I believe he is expected to return to

Mortlake this
very day---so Aunt Mary informed me before we left for London
last