The party consisted of the Earl, Jimmy, Mr. Keynes, Mr. Bouvier-Lynes, Bill, and Pat, plus three well-trained dogs and the beaters with the game-cart and hampers. They started at a cover on the edge of a spinney. The wind was fairly stiff and the birds wary, making for tricky shooting. The Earl, used to the weather, bagged four birds; Jimmy and Mr. Keynes both took three. Bill, who was sadly out of practice, only winged a single partridge and cursed himself for an incompetent; Mr. Bouvier-Lynes wasted his shot entirely; and Pat brought down seven.

“Magnificent, old girl,” Bill told her, with a clap to the shoulder. “By God, you get better and better.”

“I’m awestruck,” Mr. Bouvier-Lynes said. “When you’ve finished instructing Miss Carruth, will you accept a new pupil?”

“Superb,” Jimmy agreed. “I did tell you, sir.”

“He said you’d outshoot the best of us, Miss Merton, and he was right.” Lord Witton seemed himself out here, in his weatherbeaten shooting garb, walking his lands with a countryman’s leisurely stride. He looked decent, dignified, happy, not the silenced old man of last night.

By the time they’d had their late breakfast from the picnic basket, Pat was on first-name terms with Jack and Preston, it being a great deal easier for gentlemen to relax if they could treat her as an honorary man. She took a fervent part in the analysis of weather, terrain, cartridge, and distribution of game, then sat back as the conversation became more general.

Jimmy didn’t seem as able to forget his troubles as his father. He had the miserable, strained look that he’d been wearing for much of the visit. Bill too had a set look to his face, and spoke as though his mind wasn’t really on what he was saying. Jack and Preston were both cheerful enough, though Pat doubted they’d be seeing the former for many more shoots. Still, one could not think poorly of a man who took failure in such good part.

The morning’s shooting was excellent, but by noon the wind was decidedly getting up, and there were clouds scudding over the sky. They ate luncheon under a spreading oak tree and discussed the likelihood of storms.

“There’s weather on the way. It’ll come by nightfall, I should think,” the Earl said.

“So we’ll take advantage now?” Jimmy asked. “Suits me.”

Everyone agreed with that, although Jack’s nod wasn’t wildly enthusiastic. They set off to their next location, walking along a path that ran by a small, brisk river and was only wide enough for pairs. Bill and the Earl were leading, followed by Jack and Preston, which left Pat to bring up the rear with Jimmy.

“I think he’s got blisters,” she said with a nod to Jack where he walked ahead.