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remark, the little maid entered again with the tea tray and placed it on a table.
    ‘But you must stay!’ said Mrs Cavendish.
    ‘Please do,’ said Sir Charles. ‘I fear I am driving Miss Wraxall away.’
    ‘No, I assure you,’ said Delilah. ‘I have much to do.’
    ‘Just some tea and then you may go,’ said Mrs Cavendish. ‘I have some blackberry jam to give you for your father. You know how much Mr Wraxall likes my blackberry jam. Now, Sir Charles! Are you settled in among us again?’
    Sir Charles hesitated but decided not to say he was leaving. Had Delilah not been there, he would have told Mrs Cavendish in confidence. She was one of the few people in the village of whom he was fond.
    ‘I feel quite useless,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I came back expecting to find plenty of work to do, but on the contrary everything seems to be running smoothly.’
    ‘Mr Jenkins is a good steward,’ said Mrs Cavendish. ‘Will you be getting rid of him now you are back?’
    ‘That was the idea. But he has settled in so well that I do not wish to dislodge him. How do you fare, Miss Wraxall?’
    ‘Very well, Sir Charles,’ said Delilah. ‘I see you survived the wars without a scratch.’
    ‘I was very lucky. I fear I lost a great many friends.’
    ‘It must seem odd,’ said Delilah, ‘to return here with all those memories of death and bloodshed, heat and carnage and find us all quietly going about our tedious affairs as if the very security of England had never been threatened.’
    He looked at her in surprise. ‘Yes, that is the case.’
    ‘Two years ago, I went shopping on market day in Drufield,’ said Delilah. ‘It was bustling and cheerful. There were chapmen selling their wares and children darting in and out of the crowds, and acrobats and strolling players and men selling gingerbread. There was a lame soldier begging for alms, moving like a dark shadow among the crowd. People turned away from him. It was not that they were precisely uncharitable people, but simply that he looked so lame, so bitter, so angry that he was about as welcome as a death’s head at the feast. Then he cried out, “I fought for you. I fought for this. My comrades are over there, dying in that dreadful country while you frolic at your ease.” It was quite shocking, you know, such a cry of frustration and pain.’
    Sir Charles looked at her. ‘Did you give him anything?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Delilah, and fell silent. She had actually given the soldier the contents of her purse and so had returned home without buying anything.
    He studied her, marvelling again at her extraordinary beauty.
    ‘It is all very sad,’ said Mrs Cavendish. ‘I was at Lady Framley’s the other day, and one of her guests began to talk about the war and was shushed into silence. “Ladies present,” said Lady Framley severely, as if the poor man had said something indecent. And yet, when the threat of Napoleon was at its very height, how everybody did cheer the redcoats!’
    ‘I am afraid the English have always loathed their soldiers except in times of peril,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Do you not see the signs outside the taverns now, “No Redcoats”?’
    ‘There is no fear that monster will escape from that island he is on?’ asked Mrs Cavendish.
    ‘I hope not. But I believe there is still great support for him in France. One wonders why. The country is in a shocking state and there are many women working in the fields because their men are dead.
    ‘Perhaps we owe Russia as much a debt as we owe the great Duke of Wellington,’ said Delilah. ‘If Napoleon had not decided to invade Russia, perhaps his great army would not have been so enfeebled. Now, I must beg you both to excuse me.’
    Delilah curtsied to Sir Charles and made her way out, followed by Mrs Cavendish, who was shouting to her maid to fetch a pot of blackberry jam from the pantry.
    When Mrs Cavendish returned, Sir Charles was standing by the window, watching Delilah climbing into her