“Well, it was more than just unchecked shooting, though that played its part,” Pat added. “The American West is being civilised, towns built where the birds once bred. I suppose it’s the march of progress, but it marched over the passenger pigeon.”

“But they can’t have killed all of them.” Miss Carruth’s pretty mouth was round with shock. “Not millions.”

“We observe game seasons and hire gamekeepers for good reason,” Pat said. “And yes, millions. There are certain sorts who like to go out and pull the trigger till the birds lie in heaps that are left to rot. I don’t, myself, consider those people guns.”

“One might think you were describing the Prince of Wales and his set in those disparaging terms,” Lady Anna observed coolly.

“I am.” That had clearly been intended as a snub, and Pat had no great desire to pick a fight with her hosts’ daughter, but this was not a subject on which she was prepared to equivocate. “And I’ll repeat it to anyone’s face. It displays gross self-indulgence, and no respect.”

“Is there respect in killing single birds?” Miss Singh asked.

“Someone killed every bird, fish or animal I’ve ever eaten,” Pat said. “And at least the partridge I shoot has a chance to dodge, unlike the chicken whose neck I wring. Of course, you don’t eat chicken either. Do you know, Miss Singh, I have far more respect for that stance than I do for those who eat meat but shudder at killing. In fact, I think you’re quite right.” Miss Singh’s brows went up. Pat opened her hands. “Not right, as such, but your position is entirely consistent. If I condemned shooting wild birds, I could hardly approve of eating domesticated beasts.”

“And conversely, if I believed that eating animals was right, it would be foolish to balk at shooting them. In other words, we hold the same view, but from opposite perspectives.”

“It sounds like it.” Pat offered her a smile. Miss Singh smiled back.

Miss Carruth clapped her hands. “That is agreeing to disagree. Goodness me, ladies are civilised. Now tell me, if I eat meat but am terribly squeamish about hunting, where do I come on your spectrum of opinion?”

“You fall off it, because you don’t have a leg to stand on,” Pat said. It came out a little drily. Miss Singh laughed aloud, and Miss Carruth gave the most delightful gurgle, just as if she were in on the joke too.

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

The next day dawned bright and extremely early, since the sun rose at around five o’clock this far north. Pat was woken by the dawn chorus, made a perfunctory effort to get back to sleep, then lay in bed, thinking about the previous night.