Thursday 31st July 1808

.....home again, home again, jiggety jig!
After a humid morning in Spitalfields and a wander in the grounds of Somerset House, I took my leave of Mr McVay and mounted the carriage home. How it fairly rattled along and I feared it may overturn at any moment or come off the road. The coachman was indeed in some hurry or completely mad.
When I finally reached home, before entering I stood upon the steps of Thrushcock Grange and relished the peace and quiet of my surroundings and breathed in the fresh and clean air.
On entering the Grange, all was quiet too and I had the sudden feeling that something was amiss.
Jane came out of the parlour and as she saw me her eyes welled up.
"Whatever is the matter?" I entreated her.
" Betty Tert is dead," she sobbed, and she crumbled into my arms. We stood there a few moments and I was thinking that my coat would need cleaning after the canine sputum and now these salty tears, when she suddenly straightened...
"Oh, you have a visitor, shortly arrived and waiting in the parlour."
I handed her my handkerchief and opened the parlour door. Standing by the window, looking out upon the garden, was the unmistakeable figure of Danielle St Amour.