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come to help restore some order.’
    ‘I’m afraid not.’ Panic made Caroline abrupt. A maid brought in the coffee.
    ‘I understood you wish to work for the war effort. Reggie told me in his last letter. Why not here at Ashden? The perfect opportunity.’
    ‘I cannot agree, Lady Hunney. Books can wait until the war is over. And it will be over all the sooner if everyone, not just men, contributes to the battle.’
    Snap went the dragon’s triumphant jaws. ‘Then I have the perfect solution. You may join my committee.’
    Caroline knew she had fallen into the trap. ‘Committee?’ She fumbled with the sugar spoon, conscious of The Eye upon her, however sweetly The Face might be smiling.
    ‘Mrs Swinford-Browne and I are collaborating on entertainment for the troops at Crowborough and King’s Standing. Your sister Isabel has been kind enough to help us with her advice. However, we need someone to do typewriting and clerical work. It will give Reggie pleasure to think of us working closely together.’
    Trap? It was a pit and a pendulum, worse than anything Edgar Allan Poe could have envisaged. Refuse outright and she was dammed; accept and she was lost. She would say she would consider it. No, she wouldn’t be that hypocritical. ‘You’re very kind, Lady Hunney, but I don’t think it would suit me.’
    ‘Is being suited relevant?’ The voice was icy. ‘You must learn not to put yourself above tedious tasks just because you are Reggie’s fiancée, Caroline. It is your duty to help where you can.’
    Caroline seized at the first straw. ‘I need paid employment.’
    ‘And what paid employment, other than that which you have abandoned, will you find?’ A very slight emphasis on the ‘you’.
    ‘I’m sure something will present itself.’ Caroline felt like Mr Micawber.
    ‘Reggie—’ Lady Hunney began, but Caroline’s patience snapped.
    ‘I hear Eleanor is working for Dr Cuss,’ she said warmly. ‘That’s splendid news. You must be very proud of her.’
    Lady Hunney did not reply, and Caroline squirmed at her perhaps ignoble victory. She remembered how her ladyship had travelled through the war zone to find Daniel when he was believed dead and felt conscience-stricken.
    Eventually Lady Hunney spoke, and in quite a reasonable tone. ‘When this war is over, Caroline, the hospital will leave Ashden, and the Hunneys will live in the Manor again. As Reggie’s wife you will have a position tomaintain. Take care that you keep the respect of the village meanwhile. Work if you wish, but at something which clearly divides you from them. If you make yourself as they are, they will treat you accordingly. We cannot allow that.’
    ‘I respect your views, but can’t agree with them.’ Caroline knew her voice was shaky.
    ‘Then I bid you good morning, Caroline.’
    Was there a grain of truth in what she said? And who were we? The royal we? Herself and Sir John? Herself and Reggie? Surely not. Deciding to take a long walk to recover, Caroline told herself that for every grain of truth, there were ninety-nine of falsehood or at least blindness. Committees might do wonderful work, but all women should be involved in the war effort, not just educated and aristocratic women. What was so terrible about honest toil that the village might no longer respect her? She found herself walking in the direction of the school-house and decided to see whether Philip Ryde were free, though she felt guilty at taking his precious time. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and ushered her into the parlour of the school-house.
    Caroline was relieved that Beatrice Ryde was out. Beatrice cosseted her younger brother like a baby chick and viewed Caroline with deep suspicion, for Philip had been in love with her. Even Reggie’s ring on her finger had not served to soften Philip’s sister. Philip had a limp which excluded him from volunteering for the Army, but if he resented this his face did not reflect it. To Caroline it looked the same: