‘Oh, come, come, Alexander.’ Lady Rockingham shook her carefully coiffured head. ‘Do you really imagine the lower classes can ever be different? My dear boy, you have to understand that in the main they are perfectly content in their ignorance. If one was to interfere in the way things are, who knows where it would end?’

‘The only thing they understand is a firm hand.’ It was the owner of the coal mines speaking again. ‘What does the good book say – “Spare the rod and spoil the child”? Well, the poor are like children, and a good beating brings them to heel.’

Alexander’s temper was rising. It was only his mother, after one quick glance at him, who prevented him letting rip at Enoch Wynford. Rising to her feet, Arabella said sweetly, ‘Well, I for one have had quite enough of politics for one evening. Ladies, shall we retire to the drawing room and leave the men to their cigars and port? Alexander, could I have a moment of your time, darling?’

The ladies having dutifully filed through to the drawing room where coffee and mint creams awaited them, Arabella detained Alexander by slipping her arm through his until the drawing-room door had closed. Standing in the hall, she looked up at her son who was a good foot taller than her, but before she could speak, he said, ‘Yes, all right, Mother. I know I should have just kept my mouth shut, but the rubbish they talk. “A good beating brings them to heel”, indeed. The man’s thoroughly objectionable.’

‘I agree, darling. He is.’ Arabella smoothed her dress before saying, ‘I merely thought you might like to escape and have an early night after travelling all day, that’s all I was going to say.’

Alexander looked down at his mother. Arabella Bembridge was still quite stunningly lovely at the age of fifty-five, her pale peaches-and-cream skin barely lined and her thick dark hair, although fading now, glossy and soft. Her grey eyes, so like his, smiled up at him, as he said, ‘And of course, your consideration for my well-being would have nothing to do with getting me out of the room before I upset Father’s cronies any further, would it?’

‘Cronies?’ Arabella wrinkled her little nose. ‘That’s such an army expression, Alexander. I prefer friends or companions.’

‘Heaven help him if he considers Wynford a friend.’

‘You know what I mean. And for what it’s worth, I can’t abide the man either.’

‘But you invite him to your dinner parties.’