Miss Carruth giggled, a musical peal, as though he’d uttered a joke rather than a flagrant piece of spite. Pat flashed a look up and down the table. The Earl was scarlet, the Countess frozen, both silent. Lady Anna looked like a marble statue, as though she couldn’t hear a word; Jack Bouvier-Lynes’s expression was fixed in a slight smile; Jimmy to her right was rigid and silent. None of them spoke.

What on earth?

She took a breath, but Miss Singh spoke first, quite calm. “I should call Miss Merton the most modern of us all, as a sporting champion. Tell me, Miss Merton, are you allowed to compete on equal terms with the men?”

“We’re not,” Pat said. “An absurdity, since there can be no question of physical inequality in target shooting. I should very much like to see mixed competitions.”

“Allow us our delusions,” Bill said. “You’d trounce us all.”

“What a loyal brother,” Mr. Haworth said. “But I suspect Miss Merton is not among the usual run of womankind.”

His eyes ran over her as he spoke. Pat felt her mouth drop open, the blood rushing to her face. Bill said, “I beg your pardon?”

“In her talents, I mean. I very much doubt most ladies could acquire any skill with a gun.”

“I disagree entirely,” Miss Singh said. “Why should we not?”

“Quite,” Pat agreed. “I dare say any lady here could become a satisfactory shot with practice.”

“Perhaps we should make it a wager,” Mr. Haworth said. “Miss Merton to instruct Miss Singh in the art of shooting, the test to be if the lady can bring down, shall we say, a brace of partridge. Will you take the bet?”

“I will not,” Miss Singh said composedly. “I do not hunt.”

“You won’t put your convictions to the test?” Mr. Haworth spoke as though he’d scored a point. “What a shame.”

“Ooh!” said Miss Carruth, an excitable squeal. “Then may I?”

The expressions around the table suggested Pat wasn’t the only one startled by this. Jimmy said, “May you what, Fen?”

“Be Miss Merton’s student, of course.”

“That would be an awfully good idea, but I don’t think you should wager on it,” Jimmy said carefully. “It is a skill that takes some work, you know.”

“I could work,” Miss Carruth said, with just a fraction less bright enthusiasm in her tone.

“Of course you can,” Pat said. “I’d be delighted to give you a few lessons. Unless Jimmy would rather do it.”

“Oh, I’ll probably be an awful duffer, and I’d hate to make him impatient,” Miss Carruth said, with a giggle. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful teacher, Miss Merton. I doubt I could ever shoot birds, though, poor little cheeping things, even if they don’t have much of a family life.”