‘You will pardon me,’ he said. ‘I will not be long,’ and he walked across the lawn towards the house. The hedgerows were trim and the walks had been swept clear of snow. There was a murmur of noise and life, which grew louder as he came to the house until, standing in the formal gardens, he looked in through the glass at the candle-lit ballroom, full of people, standing and sitting and lying, on pallets and on camp-beds: cottagers he recognized, others from the village.

‘Here now, what are you about? You may come to the front, if you're wanting something,’ someone said to Laurence, making him start. A young gardener, stood before him, scowling and holding a rake as though he would be happy to undo something with it.

‘I am William Laurence,’ he said. ‘Is Lady Allendale here?’

She came out to him wrapped in a cloak against the chill: wool only, and not her furs. ‘Will, my dear,’ she said, ‘are you well? Have you come alone?’

‘We are encamped in the park, to hunt only,’ Laurence said. ‘We leave again as soon as the dragons are fed. Are you well? And my father?’

‘As well as anyone could expect, with all this upheaval,’ she said. ‘He knows a little of what has happened. He knows you are with the Corps again,’ she added, anxiously.

He said nothing; there was nothing to be proud of, in the service he was providing. ‘I am glad to find you unmolested,’ he said after a moment, feeling strangely reluctant. ‘We came over the village—I hope Lord and Lady Galman are well?’

Lady Allendale, too, hesitated. ‘Yes, they stay with us.’

He paused again, and reaching into his coat brought out the ring, still in the small envelope of paper he had folded around it. ‘I wish that I had not—I am sorry to bear ill tidings,’ he said. ‘Mr. Woolvey was killed, in London—I have kept it to send to Edith, when that might be possible. If her parents might—’

‘Yes, we had word,’ she said, low and unhappy, and took it from him. She curled her hand around the envelope, and her face looked drawn.

‘He died well,’ Laurence said, ‘if that can be said; he died bravely, at least, in service to the Crown.’

She nodded, and they stood silently; a little snow was falling, white flecks settling upon her dark cloak. ‘Tell me,’ he said, finally.

‘An officer came, and gave us the Emperor's compliments, and his assurances that we would never be harmed,’ she said. ‘None of the raiding parties have come here; even lately, when they are pillaging everywhere—’

‘Yes,’ Laurence said, stopping her. ‘I understand.’ Bonaparte had managed to pay him for his treason, after all.

‘We can shelter a great many more,’ she said quietly, after a moment. ‘Our stores, also, are untouched, if there are any you would like to send to us.’