There is little more delightful than to rise in the early morning and watch the sun wake the world. It was my habit to do so, lifting the hem of my skirt clear of the dew-damp grass as I strode up Roman Camp Hill, or the Camp as we called it, with the laverocks sweetening the air with their calls. I loved the freedom of movement, the sense of being alone with nature, and the feel of autumn air against my face.
That morning started no differently. I rose, dressed hastily and left the house by the side door, breathing deeply of the crisp air. Winter Lodge stood on the flanks of the hill, with our grounds spread around us and the slope rising in a succession of small fields and patches of woodland. High above, stars faded in the abyss of the sky, little eyes of God watching over us. I wonder
