As the coach finally rolled to a halt she gave a smile as she saw how pretty the house looked under its winter coating. The small-paned windows were covered in frost, the window sills were piled high with snow, and icicles hung from the portico.

Shaking out her travelling cloak she climbed out of the carriage and stretched her stiff legs before going up the stone steps to the front door.

“Welcome back, Miss Fossington,” said Canning, the butler, as he opened the door.

“Thank you, Canning.” She smiled, pleased to see his familiar face.

At that moment her aunt, having heard the coach, hurried into the hall to greet her.

Mrs Hetty Marsden was an elegant woman of some five-and-thirty years of age. She was dressed in a fashionable high-waisted gown of dark green silk, with a Cashmere shawl thrown over her shoulders to keep out the winter chill. She greeted Rebecca warmly, taking her hands and then embracing her.

“Rebecca! We thought you would never arrive! But let's not stand here talking in the hall. You must be frozen. Come in!”

Rebecca returned her aunt's affectionate hug, then accompanied her into the drawing-room. She looked round the familiar room with affection. It was elegantly proportioned, and was furnished with taste and style. Hepplewhite chairs and damasked sofas were arranged in satisfying groups; small tables inlaid with rosewood and satinwood were dotted conveniently about; and a collection of paintings depicting classical scenes adorned the walls. A large marble fireplace dominated the far end of the room, and a welcome fire burned in the grate.

With stiff fingers Rebecca removed her bonnet and cloak as her aunt rang for tea.

“You look tired,” said Hetty, having ordered some refreshment. She took in Rebecca with an affectionate eye.

“I am,” Rebecca admitted. “The journey was long and difficult. I am pleased to be finally here.”