For most of the journey from Plymouth, the road was barely passable. It was narrow, muddy and so full of potholes and ruts that the carriages were frequently stuck fast in the muck. Twice, two of the horses broke their harnesses trying to break free and, once, a wheel came off one of the luggage wagons at the rear, sending the prince's belongings careering down to the bottom of the hill. They had made three overnight stops at inns along the way, in Exeter, Bath and Gloucester. Everywhere large crowds came out to wave or stare as they passed by. The whole of England was curious to see 'Bony's brother': after all, the country had been at war with Napoleon Bonaparte for years and years.

William Spears had been sent down by Lord Powis to act as lookout. He had been sitting with his feet dangling over the edge of Ludford Bridge since first light. It was so cold that he felt his backside must have frozen to the stone bridge. His hands had long since lost all feeling no matter how hard he pressed them under his armpits. His nose dripped. His ears under his new black top hat smarted with pain. His empty tummy rumbled. At last, above the hypnotic sound of the floodwater pouring over the weirs, he heard the distant rumble of carriage wheels and the snorting of the horses as they reached their home stretch.

A moment or two later, the first coach appeared around the corner, and the coachman, bleary-eyed and spattered from head to toe in black mud, raised his horn to his lips and sounded three short blasts to let the travellers know they had arrived at Ludlow. Dinner at last, thought William, racing off through the lanes on rather stiff legs to tell Lord Powis that Lucien Bonaparte, the new tenant of Dinham House, had finally arrived in town, and to claim the two pence he had been promised.

The eight carriages, each drawn by four grey horses, crossed the river Teme at a cracking pace, passed the woollen mill, went through the narrow gate in the walls and climbed the steep hill of Broad Street into the town. At the summit, they turned sharp left, and entered the market square, setting every cock and hen squawking in their cages and every dog barking and running along at their wheels. This only encouraged the coachmen to drive faster: they cracked their whips, scattering the dogs away in all directions with their tails between their legs. The men and women at the market stalls had scarcely had time to look up from their business and turn their astonished faces towards the extraordinary parade than the coaches had skirted the square, followed the road round by the stark grey ruins of the castle, and pulled in to the driveway of Dinham House, where the arrival of so many coaches all at once cast dark shadows into the basement kitchen and set Mrs Stringer, the housekeeper, into a tizzy.

'The Lord preserve us, it's Lucien Bonaparte here already,' she cried, coming up the kitchen stairs as fast as her short chubby legs could carry her. She patted her hair into place at the hall mirror and looked out the tall windows. Lord Powis was already standing there, helping the prince and his party down from their carriages. There seemed to be far more people than she had been told to expect. 'Here in Ludlow,' she gasped, 'and the meat scarcely ten minutes in the oven. Annie Spears,' she shouted, 'where are you, girl? Have you set the fires yet?'

Annie Spears, the parlour-maid, came running out into the hall. She was quite red-faced for she had been admiring herself and her new uniform in the parlour mirror. She had never seen a full-length reflection of herself before and was secretly pleased with what she saw.

'No, ma'am, I can't,' she replied, breathlessly. 'Sam – I mean, Samuel Price – is still up the chimney.'

'That boy!' declared Mrs Stringer. 'I'll swing for him.'

'I've been telling him, ma'am, to get a move on, but he says he can't work any faster.'

'We'll see about that.' She pushed past Annie and strode into the drawing-room. Kneeling down in front of the hearth, she shouted up the chimney.

'Samuel Price, do you hear me?'

There was a muffled response.

'If you don't get down here this instant, I'll light the fire in the grate and see how you like it up there then.'

Samuel Price was perched on a dark ledge high up beyond the first floor. His elbows and knees were streaming blood from pushing himself up the long twisting soot-covered flues of the chimney and his eyes and mouth were so full of smuts and soot that he could neither see nor speak. His lungs had given out and he just needed a few more minutes to catch his breath before beginning the long painful descent back into the drawing-room.

'Chimney-boy? Do you hear me? I'm counting to ten. One, two, three ...'

There was a distant thump, and then a scraping sound that reminded Annie of the rats which she heard scratching in the yard behind the tanners' cottages where she lived. A light sprinkling of soot fell down into the grate. A moment or two later, the bare feet, the ragged trousers and finally the black face of Samuel Price appeared panting but smiling in the hearth.

'What's your hurry then, ma'am? That's the last one done and it's not even dinner time.'

'I'll give you dinner,' snapped Mrs Stringer, sarcastically. 'Don't you know the prince Bonaparte has just driven up and will be looking to come in here directly?'

'Bonaparte? You mean Napoleon, our mortal enemy, what Admiral Nelson and the whole of the British navy have been trying to beat all these years? Napoleon? Here in Ludlow?'

'No! Not Napoleon!' Mrs Stringer was in no mood for explanations. She grabbed Sam by the shoulder and dragged him out. 'Come out of that grate, you silly boy. Where's your master got to then? He's not up the chimney too, is he?'

'Master Bessell up the chimney? Not on your life. He's round the Angel Inn, more than likely.'

Mrs Stringer hauled herself to her feet and steadied herself against the mantelpiece. The boy looked in a bad way, wheezing dreadfully.

'Spears, take that boy to the kitchen and give him some bread. Then get yourself back to work. Not that way,' she shouted as Samuel nipped across the wooden floor leaving a trail of black prints behind him. 'The back stairs, if you please – and mind you don't touch anything.'

Annie led Samuel down to the basement. The kitchens were a flurry of activity with more people than Annie had ever seen working there. A man was uncorking bottles of wine and laying them out on a tray with glasses, the cook was slicing up a huge yellow cake studded with red cherries, and the maids were bobbing up and down in front of her as they carried off tray after tray of food and refreshments for the new arrivals.

'Who brought that dirty boy in to my good clean kitchen?' scowled the cook as soon as she spotted Annie and Samuel standing by the door.

'I did,' said Annie, her voice hardly more than a whisper. 'Mrs Stringer says he's to have some bread, if you please, ma'am.'

'Not before he's washed hisself. I won't have hands like that touching the food in my kitchen. What's your name, chimney boy?'

'Samuel Price, ma'am, Sam to those that know me.'

'Well, Samuel Price, you wash your face and hands out there at the back and then Spears here will give you something to eat.'

There was a well in one of the sculleries off the main kitchen. Annie pumped up a bucket of cold water which Sam dabbed uselessly at his sooty, blood-streaked knees.

'Are they sore?' asked...