‘Oh,’ she cried, seizing the opportunity to display the warmth of feeling he seemed to think she lacked. ‘The poor creature. They’ve shot it already.’

Osbert and Ellen had been by the river while the shooting was going on and were making their way by the shortest possible route back to the place where Ellen had left her boots. They had not expected to run straight into the shooting party; and indeed would not have done so but for the unexpected delay, for if things had gone according to plan everyone would by now have moved on to the lake where it was customary to shoot the duck.

They stopped in some embarrassment but were unable immediately to think of any way round to their destination.

‘We’ll just have to run for it,’ said Ellen.

Her skirt was still tucked untidily into her belt, her long white bony legs were bare and her hair, most of which had escaped from the pins which had once held it in a bun under her flat black felt hat, hung straggling over her shoulders. She was unable to walk fast because her feet were bare and Osbert, pale with exhaustion beside her, was impeded not only by the fact that the insides of his boots were very wet but because clasped in his arms, her head limp on his shoulder, was his duck.

Aline hurried towards them.

‘My poor child,’ she said tenderly. ‘We’ll get you another.’

They started at her, wet, uncomprehending and alarmed. Charles Farquhar who had followed Aline now stood looking down at Osbert, who, reminded of the earlier drawing-room threat whose jocularity he had quite failed to see, tightened his grip on the duck and stared back. The head which lay on his shoulder, its greenish-grey beak touching his thin neck, did not move, but the lower eyelid on the side exposed to view slid suddenly downwards, exposing one bright black eye.

‘D’you mean to say it’s alive?’ asked Aline sharply.

‘Of course it’s alive. It’s tired, that’s all.’

Charles Farquhar gave a short laugh; at which the duck raised her head and began to tremble.

‘We’d better go,’ said Osbert, setting off in his squelching boots across the field.

‘You ought to get dry,’ Aline called after him, her concern now rather half-hearted.

‘I’ll see to it, m’lady,’ said Ellen breathlessly, skipping over the cowpats with her bare feet.

‘Who on earth is she?’ said Charles Farquhar.

‘God knows,’ said Aline, disheartened.

Cicely, having been told by Glass what had happened and that her grandfather wanted everybody to go home, was about to do so when she caught sight of Osbert and Ellen in their hasty and bedraggled progress across the field. She called to them to stop.

‘Are you all right? What happened?’

‘We found the duck. It’s just that we got a bit wet. Ellen came to help me.’

‘You’d better hurry home and change before anyone else sees you.’

‘Why is everyone waiting about? Has something happened?’