Walter had forgot that he was there. Peter had taken two of the chairs and brought them together so that he could rest his bad leg, sitting quietly as he often did when he was in grievous pain. Turning, Walter said, “Sorry?”

“You were miles away,” Peter commented, lightly tapping his chair’s leg with his cane.

“Birthdays remind me that I’m a year older,” Walter lied.

“Any of that whisky left? My leg is being attacked by angry devils.”

“Yes, I think so.” He went to the drinks table, found a clean glass, and poured a measure of whisky into it.

“Thanks.” Peter downed half of it in one swallow.

“You ought to be careful of that,” Walter said, keeping his voice level, without judgment.

“So they tell me. Which is why I wait until I’m going up to bed. It helps me sleep.” He shifted his leg, searching for comfort. “I should have gone back to London tonight, with Edwin. But I couldn’t face bouncing about in the motorcar for hours on end. Cowardly of me, wasn’t it?” he added wryly.

“Why? This is where the four of us grew up. You. Edwin. Leticia. Myself. It will always be home.” But it was in fact Edwin’s house. The eldest son’s inheritance. He himself lived here because Edwin preferred London. It had been a thorn in his side for ten years, this kindness, but Jenny loved Witch Hazel Farm, and so he had said nothing. It was a small sacrifice to make for her sake.

“Jenny and I are going up to London tomorrow,” he went on. “You and Susannah can come with us or stay on here for a few days.” Walter considered his brother. The damaged leg was beyond repair. And there was no doubt his pain was real. Still, of late there were times when he had the feeling that Peter’s nightly whisky dulled more than the ache of torn muscle and smashed nerves. “All’s well between you and Susannah?” he asked lightly.

“Yes, of course it is,” Peter answered testily. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

“No idea, old man. Except that she was a little quiet this weekend.”

Peter shifted under Walter’s gaze. “We’ve been talking about adopting a child. She has. It’s complicated.”

Walter looked away. “I didn’t intend to pry.”

“No.” Changing the subject, he said, “Is Harry looking forward to school? He doesn’t say much about it.”

“I expect he is. He knows his mother is against it. For her sake he doesn’t dwell on it.”

“Jenny’s a marvelous mother. Edwin was saying as much the other day.” Peter hesitated. “Harry’s only just seven, you know. I don’t see why you can’t wait a year.”

Walter turned on him, suddenly angry. In the light of the blue lantern above his head, his expression was almost baleful. “It’s what Father wanted. Harry’s the only heir, it’s what’s been arranged since the day he was born. You know that as well as I do.”

Peter said gently, “Father has been dead these six years. Why are we still under his thumb?” When Walter didn’t answer, he went on, “He got it all wrong, you know. The eldest son to the land—that’s Edwin, and he’s no farmer. The next son to the Army—that’s me. And I hated it. The next son to the church. That’s you. And you lasted barely a year in your first living. I think, truth be told, that you found you weren’t cut out to convert the heathen savage, either.”