‘And it’s come about because of her wretched son. I’m not a fool, Kate. I suspect that the man you call Harry Trader is really Sir Harry Lyndon. I’ve lived in London long enough to know the names of the wealthy local families. She should be ashamed of him, and you should be ashamed of telling me lies.’

‘What untruths have I ever told you, Mama?’

‘You told me that Augustus Spears was the owner of the premises where you opened the soup kitchen, but from what has happened it seems obvious that it was your Harry Trader, who is now detained in prison.’

Kate stared at her mother in surprise. ‘How did you know?’

‘Your papa never discussed his actual clients, but I learned a great deal about the criminal world from him and from reading the newspaper. I suspect that you are more interested in Sir Harry Lyndon than you care to admit, and quite frankly, Kate, that has to end.’

‘I don’t know where you got that idea, Mama. I am not romantically involved with Harry and never will be.’

‘It seems to me that you recovered quickly from your infatuation with that Indian soldier. I suspect it will be the same with Harry Trader, or Lyndon … however he likes to style himself.’

‘I haven’t forgotten Ashok Patel. I’ll never forget him, but we are worlds apart. He might have been killed in the conflict, for all I know, and the thought of that breaks my heart. But you can rest assured that I am not about to throw myself at another man, saint or sinner, so let’s not talk about it any further.’

‘Oh, well, if that’s your attitude,’ Arabella said huffily. ‘Send the girl to help me dress. I will come downstairs, but I am still determined to go home.’

Kate could see that she was getting nowhere and she managed a smile. ‘We’ll see, but there is someone in the village who is very keen to meet you.’

‘Who would that be?’ Arabella asked suspiciously.

‘Mrs Elaine Courtney, the vicar’s wife, expressed a desire to meet you. I told her of your excellent work with the ladies’ committee in London, and she invited us to visit her at the vicarage tomorrow afternoon.’

Arabella shook her head. ‘I don’t know about that. I have no interest in this house or the village. I want to go home.’

‘And you shall,’ Kate said patiently, as if dealing with a fractious five-year-old. ‘As soon as the time is right we will return to Finsbury Square, but in the meantime why not give the ladies of this village the benefit of your considerable experience?’

‘Well, if you put it like that, I suppose it won’t hurt to meet this person.’