‘Cecily Pyke is rather a silly woman,’ observed his wife, seated beside him and evidently having given the matter some thought, for she had sat silently since they had left Booker-Reid’s house.

Alasdair stirred restlessly but did not turn his head towards her. ‘Because she does not tend to your point of view?’

Eleanor laughed at this, though he had not intended it as a joke. ‘I merely meant she is rather naive, always jumping to the defence of the poorer classes as though she has a better understanding than others of what such lives are like.’

‘Her husband is a Methodist preacher when he is not a parliamentarian and their congregation are tenant farmers and drovers and their wives. Perhaps she feels this gives her some insight.’

‘No doubt she does think that, though I am equally sure it is misplaced. Can she really believe she has a superior understanding of such things than Judge Thistledon? Than men who sit in parliament?’

‘I really cannot say.’

This was intended to close the conversation, but it had the opposite effect. Eleanor sat up, turned a little towards him, seemed about to confide in him, though what she might confide he could not for the life of him imagine.

‘Alasdair, what did Charles Booker-Reid mean when he alluded to your father benefitting greatly, when we talked about the railways?’

‘How can I possibly say what any man has on his mind? Why do you not ask him?’

‘I am asking you, as my husband. He implied there was some irregularity. I merely wish to know why he would suggest such a thing—it is not unreasonable.’

‘Not unreasonable?’ And now he turned to face her. ‘My father bought and sold land and became moderately wealthy, as many men did at that time—is that what you wish to know? My father came from humble origins but he made his way by sheer hard work and some good fortune. He did not spend his time sitting on a roof gazing at ships in the harbour through a telescope—’

His wife gave a tiny gasp at this allusion to her father but he went on:

‘—and if you wish to cast aspersions on my dead father’s name, you would do well to remember that it is his money that set me on my political career and paid for the house in which we live.’

‘My dear, I merely—’

‘And, furthermore, if the wife of a dear friend happens to express her sympathy for the plight of a poor unfortunate wretch who has been forsaken by society, then I, for one, do not find it naive; I find it admirable evidence of Christian charity.’

It was curious how the words now tumbled out of him. Words he had no wish to utter yet here they were.

‘No doubt you already knew Drummond-Smith was to accompany Reid on the tour to Newcastle—’

‘I? How could I possibly—’