Mr. Haworth’s mouth twisted with incredulous mockery. Miss Singh’s face was so blank that the blankness was an expression in itself. Pat couldn’t help glancing round at Jimmy, who had shut his eyes.

“I’m sure I can help,” she said. “I’d be delighted to show you the ropes tomorrow.”

Mr. Keynes cleared his throat. “Speaking of grouse,” he began, and launched into an unstoppable hunting monologue that kept everyone including Maurice Haworth silent for the next five minutes, allowing the atmosphere to settle. Pat addressed herself to her plate with some relief, and wondered what on earth was going on.

***

THE LADIES DECAMPED to the drawing room after the meal was over. Pat had rarely been happier to leave a room. Jimmy hadn’t turned to speak to her once, and she’d had Maurice Haworth’s nasty little smile opposite her for the duration of the meal, which was enough to put anyone off her food. No wonder Lady Anna was thin.

It was a cosy room, wood-panelled and adorned with numerous gilt-framed pictures, ornaments, and whatnots, from a pair of china King Charles spaniels to a glass bell filled with dusty stuffed birds, a ship in a bottle, and a curved knife with an intricately patterned steel handle in a beautifully carved sheath. The decidedly Victorian trappings of an old-fashioned family home. Pat wondered what Miss Carruth might do with it. Would she sweep it all away for a modern look?

The Countess seemed somewhat strained as she sat down and waved at the maid to serve tea or coffee. Lady Anna was tense and silent; Miss Carruth wore her apparently permanent bright smile. Miss Singh sat up straight with her cup of tea. She did not look happy at all.

“Well, how nice,” Miss Carruth trilled, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere. “It’s always a relief to let the men have their drinks and cigars, isn’t it? Did you mean it about teaching me to shoot, Miss Merton? Do say you will.”

“I’ll do my best,” Pat said. “I’m not promising anything. Do you jump at loud noises?”

“I might,” Miss Carruth said with a comical expression.

And squeal, Pat was prepared to bet. She’d had her ears boxed to nip that habit in the bud. “That’s something you’ll have to get used to. But I dare say Jimmy will be happy for us to set up a target. Do you shoot, Lady Anna?”

“No.” One word, icy.

“How about you, Miss Singh?” Pat asked, mostly to be polite. “Would you care to have a crack after all? Only target shooting, of course.”

“I practice archery,” Miss Singh said, unexpectedly.

“Really? I used to handle a bow myself. That was a long time ago.”

“Oooh! Perhaps you could have a match,” Miss Carruth suggested.