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‘At first, yes,’ Bea answered, perching herself on the wall in question. ‘But she’s not as daft as she looks. Aggie rarely exerts herself for anything other than her stomach, and I think she quickly ascertained that there’s nothing tasty between here and the bottom of the cliff.’ She chuckled as he stood back up, adding, ‘The sea, of course, is a different story. She regularly comes out of the water absolutely wet through with something disgusting in her mouth. Believe me, it can be extremely embarrassing. Do your dogs enjoy being in water?’

‘We are some way from the sea, but there’s a creek nearby they enjoy rolling in. Being covered in mud evidently adds an enjoyable piquancy to the experience. Not so the metal tub that comes after.’ Beatrix laughed, well used to Aggie’s opinion of the tub.

Rob turned back to the vista in front of him. Practically the whole of Paignton promenade and beach were laid out before him. In the middle sat the impressive pier. Beyond the pier he could see the towers of a rather odd-looking building that reminded him of drawings he’d seen of the Taj Mahal in India. ‘Is that a private house?’ he asked, pointing towards the onion-shaped domes decorating the roof.

Bea shook her head. ‘Redcliffe Towers. It’s a convalescent home for sailors and soldiers. It was originally built as a private residence, according to my father. Apparently the architect was a retired colonel who’d spent a lot of time in India. I know very little about him - he died around the time I was born, but I’m sure my father would be delighted to enlighten you if you’re interested. Redcliffe Towers has fascinated him since he first settled in Paignton with my mother. It’s now owned by Mr Paris Singer, who turned it into the convalescent home.

‘I’ve read much about the Singer family,’ Robert mused, staring at the almost dreamlike building in the distance. ‘They’re very influential in Torbay, I believe.’

Beatrix pulled a face. ‘Oh, they’re almost royalty.’ She chuckled. ‘Naturally, we lowly Shacklefords have very little to do with them, though Mrs Washington Singer does deem Aunt Charlotte, Alex and Bella worthy enough to invite to the monthly Paignton Ladies Charity tea afternoon.’

‘But not you or your other sisters?’

‘I’d rather spend an afternoon bathing Aggie after she’s been rolling in fish guts than spend it with that bunch of harpies,’ Bea answered flatly. ‘Mind you, I think Bernie might secretly be a little miffed she’s not included. Daisy and Flo couldn’t give a fig…’ She paused and sighed before adding ruefully, ‘In all honesty, I think the only reason Mrs Singer actually invites Alex and Bella is to avoid having to speak directly to my aunt – and the only reason she tolerates Charlotte for two whole hours a month is to keep in Papa’s good books on the remote possibility that the Duke of Blackmore might take it into his head to pay us a surprise visit.’

Rob looked down at her. ‘My father talked a lot about the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore. He said that Nicholas Sinclair was probably the most honourable man he ever met.’

‘I never knew him, sadly.’ Beatrix murmured, turning to follow one of the many footpaths leading to the bottom of the gardens.

‘Does your father not have any contact with the current Duke?’ Robert asked, falling into step beside her. ‘I would have thought the connection might well have proved very beneficial to all of you.’

‘Papa has no time for fancy titles as he calls them,’ Bea answered. ‘And in truth there must be hundreds with Shackleford blood dotted around the country. In fact, we don’t only have a duke in the family.’ She grinned up at him, before continuing. ‘I’m told our great aunts - Grandpapa Anthony’s sisters – for the most part married very well indeed. We have a Marquis, a couple of Earls, and at least one Viscount at the last count. There could be more I’ve forgotten about. And then, of course, Papa himself is by rights the Earl of Ruteledge.’

‘Rob raised his eyebrows. ‘My father made no mention of that,’ he said. ‘But why do you say by rights?’

Beatrix sighed and shrugged. ‘The title comes from my Grandmama Georgiana’s side. Papa has never acknowledged it. I don’t really know much about what happened, but I know the last earl died before Papa was even born. As far as I’m aware, both the house and estate were sold.’

‘So, he never applied for a writ of summons to sit in the House of Lords?’

Beatrix gave a snort. ‘I think he just ignored the whole thing, which is very Papa-like.’

Rob gave a low whistle. ‘Your lives would doubtless have been very different if Henry had acknowledged the title.’

Beatrix looked sideways at him. ‘I’m not actually sure my sisters are aware of it. Papa has certainly never spoken of it. I only know because I overheard him talking to Aunt Charlotte one night. Apparently all the money from the sale of the house and estate went to pay off death duties accrued from the old earl. If I remember correctly, Papa’s words were, “I thank God every day that I never put such a burden on my children.” I know Aunt Charlotte agreed.’

‘So why haven’t you told your siblings?’ Rob asked, the surprise in his voice very clear. ‘I mean, technically, your brother Sam is next in line.’

‘I’ve no idea whether Sam knows,’ Beatrix replied. ‘I think that’s between Papa and him. It’s simply a title, after all.’ She gave a shrug before adding, ‘Perhaps he has, but what would telling everyone else have achieved? Papa chose not to acknowledge or use the title long before we were born. I think he didn’t want any of us forced into wedlock just to keep the money flowing into a bottomless pit. And anyway, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being a lady - having to be on my best behaviour all the time.’ She gave a small shudder, before abruptly stopping, panic spreading across her face. Rob had taken another few steps before he realised she wasn’t beside him. He turned and looked at her enquiringly, immediately noting her sudden alarm. ‘I’ve no idea why I’ve just told you all that,’ Bea muttered. ‘I’ve never told a single soul…’ Shook her head in disbelief.

He stepped back towards her. ‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ he promised. ‘You can trust that I do not make a habit of betraying a confidence, whatever the provocation…’ He paused before adding drily, ‘Surely you’re aware that being a lawyer is second only to being a priest.’

With a small, reassuring smile, he turned back and strolled on, leaving Bea to catch up when she was ready. After a few seconds, she resumed walking. What the devil had possessed her to share such a secret with him – a complete stranger? Something she’d never even told her twin. She stared at the back of his head in bemusement, absently noting how his hair shone in the light. It was curling well past his collar, likely having grown beyond what was fashionable after nearly seven weeks at sea. Beatrix found herself wanting to reach out and touch it, so much so that she instinctively curled her fingers into a fist.

She’d spent a mere twenty minutes with this man but somehow felt as though she’d known him forever. This wasn’t like her at all. Especially as the person closest to her in the world hadn’t even met him – had no idea that he was here. Bea felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as a soft breeze stroked her back, almost like a caress. Her heartbeat sped up at the sudden certain knowledge that whatever happened next, her life would never be the same again.

* * *

Naturally, Arnold had no problem lifting Billy’s skinny frame and placing him none too gently into the bed of a small cart that had certainly seen better days. The smell suggested it was customarily used to transport barrels of ale. Neither adult spoke to the boy as they climbed up onto the box and urged the horse out into the traffic. Billy stared around him, fascinated, despite his anxiety. This was the first time he’d been further than Torquay, and he suspected that once Mr Henry found out what he’d been up to, it might well be his last.

The horse trudged down winding lanes and up busy streets until Billy was hopelessly lost. He quickly realised just how naïve he’d been, thinking he could simply climb off the train and walk to this Pounds House. He wondered if Bristol was the biggest city in England. Truly he couldn’t imagine anywhere busier. Even London.

After what felt like hours but was probably about thirty minutes, Arnold directed the horse into a narrow, gloomy lane. Thankfully, after a minute, it opened up into a row of terraced houses. Frowning, Billy climbed to his feet, clutching the side of the cart to help him balance. ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ he asked, eying the rundown houses and overgrown gardens.

‘I did tell you it weren’t the prettiest area,’ Gladys answered matter-of-factly. ‘The ‘ouse yer lookin’ fer is right at the end. I reckon Arnold’s saved us a good ten minutes by comin’ this way. Sit down, lad, afore you end up arse over tit in the road.’

It was another five minutes or so before Arnold finally stopped the cart. He didn’t park it directly outside their destination, but a few yards further on. Billy quickly jumped down into the dirt.

‘Remember, Billy Wiggins, you’ve got ‘alf an hour. Then we’re comin’ in, whether you want us to or not.’