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strong mustard. She saw the surprise on the woman’s face and watched her look more closely at the sandwich.
    â€œIt’s well for some,” the woman said.
    â€œI work on a farm,” Daisy said. “We’re allowed to kill two pigs a year for ourselves.” She waited until her companion bit into the sandwich. “Of course, if you’d rather not.”
    â€œI didn’t mean that,” the woman said, embarrassed, and Daisy wished she hadn’t spoken. At the next station the woman gathered her things and left the compartment as though she had arrived at her destination, but when Daisy got off the train at Lancaster she saw her sitting, knitting, in another compartment. They pretended not to see each other.
    The evening papers were for sale at Lancaster; the headlines on the board read: LADY MOSLEY ARRESTED . Daisy bought a paper and read it while she waited for her train. She felt sorry for Lady Mosley; despite Diana Mosley’s open and enthusiastic membership in the British Union of Fascists, it was hard to believe she was really a traitor or a security risk. Daisy couldn’t believe that Lady Mosley was wicked; she paused and asked herself why she had been pleased when Sir Oswald Mosley was arrested and shocked when his wife was imprisoned. It was perhaps the baby that made his mother appear innocent; how could a woman with a ten-week-old baby be evil? And even if she were, it seemed very cruel to separate the baby who, Daisy assumed, was breastfed, from his mother. Not only was Lady Mosley a mother, but she was beautiful and upper class; it was unimaginable that she should be in jail.
    It was late evening when Daisy arrived at Windermere. James was waiting with a pony and trap.
    â€œAt last,” he said, taking her suitcase and putting it in the trap. Then, before he opened the door for her to enter, he took Daisy’s upper arms in his hands and looked into her face.
    â€œEven more lovely than I remember,” he said. “Of course, last time you weren’t wearing that fetching khaki hat.”
    â€œThere are,” Daisy said, “long periods of the day and night when I don’t wear it.”
    James sighed and Daisy laughed, although as she clambered into the trap she rather wished she had omitted the “and night” from her rejoinder.
    Daisy had never been to the Lake District before. Soon they left Windermere and turned off the main road onto one narrower and poorly maintained. Mist concealed the tops of the hills on either side. On the sparse verges beside the road and on the hills, damp sheep grazed. Daisy, who felt affection for some of her cows, didn’t much care for sheep.
    â€œLots of sheep,” she said.
    â€œPretty well all of Westmoreland that isn’t actually paved is ankle-deep in sheep shit,” James said, twitching the reins to encourage the pony. “I’m glad you’re a country girl; I’m tired of apologizing and telling girls to look where they step.”
    â€œAnd it’s still light,” Daisy said, with pleasure.
    The longer the evenings were, the happier she felt. She loved to go for a walk after dinner, strolling through the woods at Aberneth Farm, listening to the birds settling down for the night in trees that made patterns of the yellowing light. She did not even wish for a companion on these walks, although she sometimes thought it would be very pleasant to have someone waiting for her at home.
    â€œWe’ll be home before dark. At this time of the year it stays light until after ten and soon after there’s a lovely slow dawn.” From the way James spoke she knew he felt the same way she did about the long light months of summer. Daisy smiled at him. “And,” he added, “in winter you can sometimes see the northern lights.”
    â€œThe northern lights.” Daisy could feel her eyes open wide, but she was not so young that she felt the need to conceal her almost