Captain Mandeville threw his cigarette into the fire. He made his way to the sofa and stood behind Lady Mandeville. While Charlotte engaged Sir Charles and Mrs Hart in a conversation about one of her favourite subjects – the weather machine in the Lake District – Captain Mandeville leaned over the back of the sofa. He kissed his mother on the top of her head before resting his chin on her shoulder. They were close enough to the door for Lou to hear the quiet words that passed between them.

‘I’m sorry, Thomas,’ Lady Mandeville said. ‘But your aunt and I, we read in the newspapers about the unrest in Europe. They all assure us that war is coming. I worry about you … oh, I know you will tell me that I shouldn’t, that you are old enough to look after yourself … but I can’t help remember what happened to your poor Uncle Frederick. Please, won’t you come home?’

‘Mama,’ Captain Mandeville said softly, ‘the army really is no different from school. I spend my days playing polo and barking orders at men, just as I did as house captain. Why, I have been out to India and Africa, and I don’t have a scratch to show for it. If there ever were a war – which I am not saying there will be – but if there were, I’d be sure to stay well away from the enemy’s lines. I’m sure Father could arrange a desk job for me somewhere or –’

‘You in a desk job!’ Lady Mandeville interrupted. ‘I am sure I will never live to see the day. I know my son, and I know that he cannot sit still for more than five minutes at any one time before jumping up to search for adventure.’

Captain Mandeville laughed. ‘I suppose I ought to know better than to attempt to fool you who know me better than anyone else. But I have no appetite for war and will be sure to stay out of trouble. So, you see, there really is no need to worry yourself on my account.’

Yes, there is, Lou thought as she watched Lady Mandeville lean into her son. He was a full-grown man, but he allowed his mother to stroke his hair. Lou shrank away from the door, embarrassed at having gate crashed a moment of private tenderness. She pictured Stephen sitting beside Mum on the couch on the day their dad left, holding her for hours as she cried, telling her over and over that he would take care of her, that he would never let anybody hurt her again. Mum’s brave little soldier.

‘Louisa!’ Charlotte called and rushed to the door. ‘Whatever are you doing out there on your own? Come and meet my father.’

Before Lou had the chance to compose herself, Charlotte took her hand and dragged her towards Sir Charles. He rose from his chair.

‘Miss Arnold, we meet at last,’ Sir Charles said, shaking her hand, his broad features breaking into a smile. ‘My daughter hasn’t stopped talking about you all afternoon. Apparently, you are to be her very good friend. You have my deepest sympathies. My daughter is about the silliest creature on God’s good Earth.’