“We could certainly take one another’s measure,” Miss Singh said. “I insist on that before any formal competition. I have grave suspicions that Miss Merton is being modest about her accomplishments.”

“I did win a county championship,” Pat admitted.

“Ha! I knew it.” Miss Singh smiled then. She had a remarkably lovely smile, one that lit her dark liquid eyes.

“It was at school!” Pat protested. “And I haven’t picked up a bow in years.”

“In that case, a match it shall be,” the Countess said. “Anna shot at school as well. Anna, perhaps you will organise the ladies’ shooting and we’ll have a tournament.”

Lady Anna did not acknowledge that with so much as a blink. Miss Carruth said, clapping, “What a good idea! I shall keep score for you.”

“Maybe Miss Singh could teach you to shoot a bow,” Pat suggested.

“If Miss Carruth is interested. Although it can be more difficult for ladies with substantial embonpoint.”

“Oh, I know,” Miss Carruth said. “Amazons used to cut off their bosoms, didn’t they? I shan’t be doing that.” She glanced down at her impressive bust. Pat couldn’t help following her gaze. “No, it would get in the way, wouldn’t it? I’ll stick to guns, I think.”

“It might be best,” Miss Singh agreed. “Miss Merton, I wanted to say that I hope I didn’t offend you earlier.”

“Me? Not at all. How would you have done so?”

“When we first discussed shooting. I feel strongly on the subject, so I express myself strongly.”

“I had four older brothers,” Pat said. “I’m used to people expressing themselves strongly and really, I see no reason why you shouldn’t. We can still be friends if we don’t share all our beliefs, can’t we?”

“I should think it depends on the belief,” Lady Anna remarked. “If Miss Singh believes that you are a murderer for shooting—”

“I did not say that,” Miss Singh said levelly. “But since you raise it, I do think the mass slaughter of two or three thousand birds at a time is an unfit pursuit for gentlemen. Or anyone.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Pat said. “Firing into a cloud of birds in the hope that some fall down isn’t sport. That’s what did for the passenger pigeon and in my opinion it is a criminal waste.”

“The passenger pigeon?” Miss Carruth asked. “What is that?”

“A bird that used to fly in such numbers that it blotted out the sun,” Miss Singh said. “Fifty years ago there were flocks of millions and the noise of their approach was like thunder. The last of them in the wild was shot last year, though I believe some pairs remain in zoological gardens.”

“The last? But what happened to them?”

“People killed them. Firing into a cloud of birds and watching them fall, as Miss Merton says.”