A gasp rippled through the listeners and shocked whispering broke out. Beside her Esther heard the hiss of Matthew’s breath and felt it on her cheek.

It sent a shudder of premonition down her spine.

She turned to look at him and saw that colour had suffused his face and that his dark eyes were fixed upon the Willoughby family.

‘Take no notice, Matthew. It’s all right for her to talk. She’s no sons to send and she knows Tom Willoughby’s too old to be expected to volunteer. She can talk – she’s safe.’

Through clenched teeth, Matthew muttered, ‘Shut up, Esther. What do you know about it, anyway?’

Irritated and angered by what she saw as a misplaced patriotic fanaticism, Esther swept Kate into her arms and stepped out of the pew. She hurried from the church before the squire and his party had reached them. No doubt that would give the congregation further cause to speculate about her and her family. It was an unheard-of discourtesy for anyone to precede the squire and his family from the church. Even the vicar, as she swept past him, gaped at her open-mouthed and did not gather his wits in time to speak to her before she was down the cinder path and out of the gate.

Esther walked home alone, alternately carrying Kate and getting the child to walk a short distance.

The smell of roasting beef greeted her from the range oven as she stepped into the house. Esther sighed. She doubted her husband would return until very late, and more than likely he would be in no state to eat a Sunday dinner.

At ten thirty that night, Esther was about to turn down the lamp and go up to bed when she heard singing in the yard. She hurried to the back door and opened it. In the bright moonlight, Matthew was standing in the middle of the yard, holding on to the pump for support and waving a bottle in one hand.

‘ “Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, Britons never, never, never, never . . .” ’ He sagged against the pump. ‘Hello, Esh-ter. Come and kiss your soldier husband.’ He slithered down to sit on the ground propped against the pump.

Esther moved forward slowly. ‘What did you say?’

‘ “Britons never, never, never . . .” ’ he began again.

‘No, no, not that. After that.’

His head wobbled from side to side. ‘I – I forget.’ He took another swig at the bottle as if he wanted to obliterate the remotest chance of remembering.

She took the bottle from him and flung it across the yard with all her strength. It smashed against the hen house and the frightened birds set up such a squawking that it sounded as if a fox had got in amongst them.

She bent over him – as always when she was angry, hands on hips, feet spread apart. ‘Matthew Hilton, have you gone and volunteered?’