“Oh, please, I don’t want to do only what is considered seemly. I’m not Lady Margaret here, remember? I’m Miss Scott, the practical daughter of the Reverend Scott, and used to getting my sleeves rolled up and getting wired in as Molly would say.”

The screech of a train on the Charing Cross viaduct rattling overhead towards the river made her jump. Clouds of thick black smoke belched from its funnel, dispersing into the already murky grey pall that passed for the London sky.

“If you are truly determined to muck in,” Susannah continued when the train had passed, “there are no end to the things you can do to help out. We have a mothers’ club on a Wednesday. I pay house calls most days to help with whatever needs done. Some of the dwellings are not for the faint-hearted, Lady—I mean, Margaret. When one is poor, cleanliness can be a luxury.”

“You mean the houses are dirty?”

“I mean the occupants smell, not to put too fine a point on it,” Susannah said, grimacing. “Very few of the houses have running water. People have to queue to fill buckets, as the supply is only turned on a couple of times a week. There is a public baths, but it costs thruppence for a cold tub and sixpence for the water to be heated, which for most people here is a luxury they simply can’t afford.”

“I had no idea,” Margaret said, too appalled to begin to imagine what the more intimate sanitary arrangements might be.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. When I first came here, I thought myself a battle-hardened follower of the drum, but there are still days when I am humbled by the deprivation I see. Here, take this,” Susannah said, giving Margaret a little muslin bag tied with tartan ribbon. “I make up these little sachets for Sebastian to carry with him. It’s filled with lavender. I have a tiny patch of garden at the back of the rectory where I manage to grow a few physic herbs. My nose is quite immune to smells, but poor Sebastian struggles, even after all this time.”

Margaret inhaled the sweet scent of the dried lavender and immediately sneezed. If Father Sebastian didn’t let his sensitive nose stop him, then she most certainly wouldn’t. “You say you followed the drum? Do you mean your late husband was a military man?”

“He was indeed. Frederick’s last posting was as a captain in the Light Division under Colonel Yea in the Crimean War. We had been married for five years, and most of it was spent on one campaign or another. I went with him everywhere.”

“You must have been very young when you married,” Margaret said, her admiration for Susannah increasing tenfold.