“How fortunate you are to possess such a house and so much fertile land as this.” She pulled one hand from the shawl and waved at the vista: a glory of well-regulated fields, then shuddered remembering how the children in London shivered in the cold, huddled beneath bridges and in doorways.

Forgetting for a moment where she was, Philomena murmured as though Lord Thatcham could not hear. “There is little justice in the world, when children huddle six to a bed.”

His smile turned wintry. “I am perfectly aware of our good fortune in living here at Thatcham. I cannot cure all the ills of the world. How will it benefit the poor for more to join their number? Is it not better by far to make full use of such good fortune by growing food for the nation?”

Philomena went to speak, but he forestalled the words. “I am as aware as you, of the parable of the rich man and the camel, and the difficulty in passing through the eye of a needle. Perhaps you would have me throw John’s inheritance away?”

He smiled, cold lips twisted. “Perhaps the boy should find some children to huddle with?”

“You think me naïve, my lord,” she replied, angry now. “I did not mean to criticise. Pray, allow me to have some small understanding. You must be aware of the plight of the poor. Take Mrs. Cole, the woman you rescued from the train and the child, Betsy, as an example. What future can such a pair look forward to, do you suppose, in this world where some families have so much and others so little?”

“Your Mrs. Cole would manage better if she spent her money on food, rather than gin,” Lord Thatcham snapped. “In any case, the woman is on the way to better things, if I understand correctly. Was not Mrs. Cole, along with others, on the way to visit wealthy relatives for Christmas?” He looked full into Philomena’s face. She felt the blush of guilt flood her cheeks. This man saw straight through the stories she had told.

Guilt fuelled her irritation. “Not everyone has the benefit of education. How can Mrs. Cole know the best way to bring up a child? No one has taught her. She scrambles and scrapes to do the best possible, with no money and a dead husband. She does not deserve mockery.”

Lord Thatcham stopped walking and stood still, brows knitted together. “You are right.”

Philomena, surprised by this sudden suspension of hostilities, had nothing to say.

Lord Thatcham turned towards John, who lay happily on the ground, examining the frost on a spider’s web. “You remind me to value what I have.”

Philomena and Lord Thatcham stood side by side, close together, watching John. Philomena’s rage dissolved into contentment. Lord Thatcham’s words, full of acceptance and forgiveness, travelled straight to her heart. For a long moment, master and servant stood, almost as equals, watching over the child. Lord Thatcham stood close. Philomena breathed in the clean scent of soap and a faint masculine aroma of tobacco and wine.