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fairer sex as brainless females.
    Marcus made his way into the kitchen where the birthday cake stood in a place of honour on the dresser, carefully covered by a muslin cloth. It was being admired by Letitia who lifted one corner of the cloth to show it to her brother in all its glory.
    ‘Mrs Bray has made a cherry Madeira,’ she explained, ‘because we thought the fruit mixture might be too heavy for Marie to digest, and it will be covered with thick cream at the last moment and decorated with fresh rose petals. Not to eat, naturally, but they will look astonishing.’
    Marcus ducked his head, inspected the big square cake and gave Mrs Bray a nod of approval. ‘Wonderful!’ he assured her.
    Mrs Bray said, ‘I shall pick the roses as late as possible and choose them as small as possible, then arrange them in two rows along the top edge. They’ll be slightly overlapping and that way they’ll look like frills.’ Her mouth quivered. ‘Poor Marie, God bless her! I can’t believe  . . . oh dear!’ She fumbled for her handkerchief.
    Marcus looked helplessly at his sister who said briskly, ‘No sad thoughts today, Mrs Bray. We must all appear cheerful no matter how bad we feel inside. If Marie sees anyone crying it will spoil her day.’ She patted the housekeeper’s arm.
    ‘I don’t know if I can manage it!’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘That sweet young girl  . . .’
    Marcus said, ‘Of course you’ll manage. You’ll be fine, you’ll see. We all will. And Miss Lamore is coming. That will be great fun.’
    Letitia said, ‘We’ll fetch you from the kitchen, Mrs Bray. You must be part of the audience when Miss Lamore sings. It’s going to be very exciting having our own private performance.’
    Mrs Bray had brightened and the handkerchief was now returned to her apron pocket. ‘I did wonder if the cake needed a pink ribbon around the sides. The cream will only be on the top, you see, and I do have a very nice ribbon on my best hat. It would wash, afterwards.’
    Letitia began to shake her head but Marcus intervened. ‘A pink ribbon would be the final touch, Mrs Bray. How clever of you.’
    Letitia smiled. ‘Marcus is right. He frequently is  . . . but we shall see tonight if his unusual birthday present was also an inspired idea. Did he tell you that she might have to stay the night?’
    Mrs Bray smiled. ‘Oh yes, that’s all taken care of. Thank goodness it’s summer and we won’t have to worry about hot water bottles.’
    Letitia left them to it and Mrs Bray said, ‘I was telling my old man about the party and everything and talking about you all. He said he saw Master Steven in The White Hart a couple of nights ago. Very excitable, he was, and what Bert calls hot-headed.’
    ‘I can imagine!’ Marcus knew she was being tactful. His brother frequently drank too much and became rowdy. Once he had been thrown out. ‘Don’t tell me he was—’
    ‘Oh no! Nothing bad, sir,’ she hurried to reassure him. ‘My old man was impressed with him. Said he would make a good soldier. The army needs men like him. That’s what he said – and he knows because look what it did for our lad. A real hot-head, he was. In all sorts of trouble – but not now.’ She smiled. ‘We’re very proud of him if you must know. The army was the making of him.’
    ‘The army ! Good grief.’ Marcus had only been half listening, but now he stared at her. ‘What has the army done to deserve my brother?’
    ‘It’s his spirit, sir. Your brother. He’s high-spirited. That’s what he reckons. Bold, that was his word. Bold and  . . . and forceful. They were his very words. Good in a military man, that is. A bit of training and they’d knock him into shape. Leastways, that’s what my old man reckons.’
    That evening the taxi drew up outside the door of number twenty-three exactly on time. Rose glanced out of the window and gave a cry of surprise. ‘Oh Lord, Pa! Here’s Mr Bennley, come for me after all! Well,