“I must say, the food is not bad at all,” he said.

“And you don’t have to go out to ride the boundary fences right after breakfast.”

He leaned back in his chair, surveying the carved ceiling above us. “I’ve never minded hard work. I’m used to it. So what do people like you do all day?”

“Good question,” I said. “Usually fight off boredom or do charitable works. But you’re a man. You can take an interest in the estate and the home farm. Maybe you can teach the estate workers a thing or two about raising sheep. And we can always go out riding.”

He brightened up at this, until Edwina entered. “I hope you’re both ready for church,” she said.

Oh, Lord. I’d forgotten it was Sunday. So we had to change into our best clothes and march down the footpath to the village church, where the family had their own pews at the front. Nicholas and Katherine, looking remarkably demure in their Sunday clothes, eyed Jack with interest as we crossed the grounds together.

“So you’re the one who is going to inherit everything from Uncle Cedric one day,” Nick said. “You know, it’s jolly unfair. Our mother is also the child of a duke but she can’t inherit anything because she’s a woman. Don’t you think that is stupid and outmoded?”

“I expect it is,” Jack said. “But life’s not fair, is it? They tell me you’ve got a sister who can’t walk. That’s not fair either. And my mum died when I was a little kid. That wasn’t fair. The way I see it, you just have to get on with it.”

“You’re not going to like it here,” Katherine said. “You won’t know what to do and you’ll make a fool of yourself.”

“It won’t be the first time,” Jack said. “You should have seen me try to shear a sheep. I ended up with a bloody great ram lying on top of me. Now, that was really making a fool of myself.”

They watched him walk ahead with a mixture of hate and respect. I also realized that they had underestimated Jack Altringham.

As we returned home, Jack asked to meet Sissy. Nick and Katherine reluctantly took him to the nursery, and he didn’t come down again until the luncheon gong sounded. Sunday lunch was a magnificent affair that even Jack couldn’t complain about, starting with mock turtle soup, then a huge joint of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, parsnips and Brussels sprouts followed by trifle. The adults retired to rest after this meal and the children went outside to play. I followed and found Jack showing them what looked like a large hunting knife. Thinking that it would be a step in the right direction if they got on well together, I wandered off on my own, in the other direction through the formal gardens—the rose garden was still just barren stumps at this time of year—then up through those wonderful meadows of daffodils until I found myself at the top of the North Downs, with a view on either side and sheep grazing on grassy slopes.