‘I missed you at the weekend,’ she said, ‘we were going to have tea, remember? And I made a batch of scones.’ There was no recrimination in her tone. She was merely making light conversation as she studied his face, wondering what on earth could be wrong. He looked so worried and drawn.

He took a huge swig of the sherry, which rasped his throat, yet felt extremely gratifying. ‘I’m sorry, Amelia, really I am, but so many things have happened, and —’

‘I can see that. You need to eat.’ She wanted very much to do something practical. ‘Let me get you —’

‘No thank you,’ he said, ‘I had a meal back at camp.’

‘Not even some scones?’ she asked hopefully.

‘No. Sorry, not even that.’ He took another swig of the sherry.

‘What is it, Samuel? Please tell me. It might do you good to talk.’

Fuelled by the sherry and grateful for her company, he decided to break the news to her, the news about Ant. She had a right to know.

‘I’m afraid I wasn’t altogether truthful when I said the happenings at camp were nothing that need concern you. There is some news that I know will affect you …’

‘Oh yes?’ she said encouragingly as he halted.

‘It’s about Anthony Hill.’

‘Young Ant, yes, has something happened?’ She was immediately anxious. ‘He’s not got himself into trouble, surely? The poor boy’s so shy he could never cause a problem.’

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ he said. She wasn’t helping at all, he probably should have just blurted it out. ‘There was an accident, you see …’

‘Oh dear,’ a hand fluttered to her throat, ‘he’s hurt.’

‘No. Worse. He’s dead.’ The words came out far more brutally than he’d intended.

There was no reply apart from a sharp intake of breath. Eyes wide, she stared at him in shock. The hand that had fluttered to her throat was joined by her other hand, the fingers of both now tightly laced, knuckles rapidly whitening as if she was praying she’d heard incorrectly.

‘Several nights ago, he went for a walk on his own apparently, a track that led down to the river,’ Samuel explained. ‘It was dark, the track was steep and he fell. His body was discovered the following morning.’

Her breath was coming in a series of barely audible little gasps now. Rather like the panting of a distressed puppy, he thought, feeling oddly detached. And her eyes, still focused upon his, were welling with tears. He didn’t like to see her so distraught.

‘I don’t believe he would have suffered throughout the night, Amelia,’ he assured her, trying to ease her torment. ‘His neck was broken. Death would have been instantaneous.’