“I’m afraid we don’t have time for a cup of tea,” Belinda said. “We came to have another look and see if it might be possible to put in a proper bathroom—one with some privacy,” she added, giving him a knowing glance. “But we have to get back to Trewoma or they will wonder what has become of us.”

Uncle Francis leaned against the mantelpiece and took out his cigarette case. He extracted a cigarette, put it in his mouth and lit it without offering one to us. He took a long drag then asked, “So how is it? As extravagant as one hears? And lord of the manor, that blighter Summers? You know him, presumably?”

“From our youth,” Belinda said carefully. “We all used to play together as children.”

“Did you? He lived around here? I don’t remember him.”

“They rented a place in the summer. His father was a big shot in the City.”

“I must have been away at the time,” he said. “So he was a childhood friend. How convenient.”

“His wife too,” Belinda said.

“He married the Trefusis girl, did he? Of course I’ve been out of the county for too long but one heard rumors.”

“Yes, he married Jonquil, but unfortunately she died. Now he’s married to another person from my childhood, Rose Barnes.”

“Barnes?” Uncle Francis frowned. “The name rings a bell.”

“Granny’s old cook’s daughter.”

“Rosie Barnes? My God. The cook’s daughter is now mistress of Trewoma and I, a peer of the realm, am reduced to sleeping in a small sailing boat? What is the world coming to?”

Belinda laughed. “You were the one who was advocating communism this morning. Equality for all, remember.”

Uncle Francis stood looking around him. “Nice little spot this. Sheltered, private. But you wouldn’t really want to keep it, would you?”

Belinda laughed. “You are suggesting that I give it to my aged uncle, is that right?”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to. You did get the house in Bath and the money and jewelry after all. A mere crumb to a struggling relative would be a noble gesture.”

“You’ve had your share, Uncle Francis. I believe Granny settled a good amount on you when she sold Trengilly.”

“I told you, dear child. Most of it in the form of an allowance, doled out in spoonsful by a stingy and critical bank manager. Never enough to really enjoy myself or to get ahead.”

“You could find yourself a job,” Belinda said.

“At my age?”

“You are not that old. You can’t be more than fifty.”

“But I’m a peer of the realm. Our sort don’t take jobs. We own things. We ride to hounds. We give orders. I should be living at Trengilly. I should be lord of the manor here, not that upstart Summers and his cook wife.”