“Daniel? The Pierces didn’t have much in common with the rest of us, once they’d been sent away to school. They were home on holidays, of course, but you didn’t walk up to the Pierce house and ask if Daniel or Anthony were in, did you? Their lives had changed more than ours. But on the whole, I think Theo liked Anthony better. Myself, I liked Daniel. He was always nice to me. Nicer sometimes than Theo.” She looked away, her mind elsewhere. Finally she added, “Theo was my brother, and I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he could sometimes be very selfish at that age. I’d like to think it was the influence of those he ran with, back then. What one couldn’t think of, the others could. I was glad when Theo outgrew them. I think that’s why my parents agreed to let him be apprenticed so soon at Kenton Chairs, and they were right, it was best for him in many ways.”

“If your brother saw Daniel Pierce on the street—let’s say in Hastings, or somewhere like that—would they stop to chat?”

“Well, it would depend, wouldn’t it, on the occasion. If Daniel was alone, and Theo as well, they might speak. If Daniel was with a lady or friends, they’d nod in passing, I’d think. But Theo would let Daniel take the first step. It would be proper, you see.”

It would be proper, Rutledge thought, for the workingman to defer to the brewery owner’s son, in the matter of recognition in a public arena. Old habits died hard, even after the upheaval of the war.

“There was nothing between the two men that might make your brother uncomfortable, encountering him again after all this time?”

She considered that as Rutledge opened the door of the tea shop for them. Silence fell in the busy room, and every eye turned their way.

Mrs. Winslow hesitated, as if she’d been caught fraternizing with the enemy, her face turning pink.

Rutledge took her gently by the arm and said in a voice intended to carry but apparently for her ears alone, “I think a cup of tea will make you feel much better.” He summoned the woman waiting on tables, and asked for tea and a selection of pastries. Then he guided Mrs. Winslow to a seat by the window. She turned to him with anxious eyes, and he said only, “The rector will never forgive me if I don’t keep my promise. You shouldn’t have had to make such a visit alone.”

“My husband—” she began.

“Yes, it would have been difficult for him. But a friend, perhaps?”

He could see from her expression that she had few friends. He could understand why.