"Well, all I can say is that I hope you're just letting this Mr Partridge get on with his job, Edith. If there's one thing men can't stand, it's to be badgered and nagged." Mary bent to cut a rose from one of the overladen bushes and set it in the basket hung over her arm. She'd waltzed through the door two days previously and declared all of Edith's flower arrangements thoroughly old-fashioned, and consequently in need of complete overhauling. Thus the morning walk in the garden with her through which Edith was currently suffering.

At least the rest of the house was having a more enjoyable day. Anne had carted Evie and Vicky off to the village fair for sticky buns and precisely one ride on the merry-go-round each, and Pip had managed to rearrange his fishing trip with Andrew. If Edith hadn't known better, she might have thought it had all been engineered.

She rolled her eyes, forcing herself not to grit her teeth. "Mary, Partridge and I share the job. It's how it's always been, ever since Anthony's been away. I'm in charge of the estate just now. That does necessitate some discussion with the estate manager, occasionally."

"It sounds thoroughly boring," Mary replied, pausing to survey the rest of the flowerbed, hand raised to shield her eyes from the morning sun.

"Well, I'm sure I could list any number of elements of your life that sound thoroughly boring, Mary," Edith smiled thinly, "but because I'm trying to be polite, I shan't."

For a few minutes, they walked on in silence, the only sounds the crunching of their boots on the gravel path. Through common unspoken agreement, they turned through the archway into the walled garden, and sat down on one of the wrought-iron benches.

Still looking out over the garden, Mary announced, "Anthony thinks you're overworking, you know. And from what I've seen, I agree with him."

"How do you know that?" Edith asked. "What Anthony thinks?"

Mary stood and walked over to one of the pear trees, examining the leaves closely. "You've got a touch of pear scab coming here, you know."

"I'll mention it to the gardener when I go in." Edith huffed impatiently. "When did Anthony tell you he thought I was overworking?"

"When he came to tea, before he went back to the Front." Mary said it so casually, as if it were a perfectly normal state of affairs, that Edith couldn't help gasping.

"Did he - did he ask you to come up?" Of course, that would be perfectly typical of Anthony, manoeuvring everyone to look after her and the children and the estate. Really, she couldn't work out if she wanted to kiss him or shake him!

"Don't be ridiculous. As if I'd ever allow myself to be put on babysitting duty," Mary sniffed. "Anyway, have you heard from him yet? Six days back at the Front - you must have done."

"Yes."

"What did he have to say?" Mary rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, three pages of ardent prose addressed to the estate, and two brief, polite sentences at the end asking after you and the children?"

Edith flushed and bit her lip. "Um, something like that, yes…" In fact, it had been rather the opposite. Anthony was - always had been - a ridiculous romantic, and these days his letters were far more focused on family matters than anything sensible or business-like. Delightful, yes, but worrying too - as if Anthony thought… Edith, determinedly, forced herself not to finish that thought.

Clearly, something of the truth had shown on her face, because Mary raised her eyebrows, her face thoroughly shocked. "Oh Lord, don't tell me he's one of those men who sends filth through the official censors!?"

"Not… filth." Edith allowed herself a secretive little smirk. "He's just… an exceptionally devoted husband."

"That's sickening." Mary shook her head.

"I'm sure." Seeking to change the subject, Edith wondered, "When's Richard due?" To provide some sort of bulwark between the two of us, at least. Can't leave it all to Pip and Anne.

"Friday evening." And was that a blush on Mary's cheeks, too? Curiouser and curiouser. "He's taking the afternoon off and catching the three o'clock train."

"Goodness." Edith smirked. "Now that really is filth…"

Mrs Cox, pausing in the herb bed adjacent to the walled garden to pluck some thyme for that afternoon's jugged hare, heard the sound of mingled female laughter and nodded in relieved approval.

"Thank you for coming, Mr Forrester. You'll stay the night, I hope?" In her pocket, Edith crossed her fingers. Really, at the moment, Locksley was fit to burst at her seams with people, even if they were all useful, helpful ones. Even Mary, to her surprise. And now here was Forrester, ready to look over the ledgers and discuss the Strallan affairs at large.

To her relief, Forrester shook his head, raising a hand to fend off her offer. "That's terribly kind, Lady Strallan, but my wife will be expecting me home."

"Of course." Edith beamed as they turned to walk through Locksley's hall. "How is Mrs Forrester?"

"Very well - I shall tell her that you asked after her."

"Please do. The next time Major Strallan and I are in London, you must both come to dinner with us." But Heaven only knows when that will be! "And at least allow us to offer you luncheon now?"

"That I shall heartily accept - on both counts, my lady."

After a very good luncheon of onion soup, rack of lamb and Locksley pears, courtesy of Mrs Cox, Edith, Forrester and Phillip - on a half-day's absence from school in honour of the meeting - sat down together in the study.

"…And of course," Forrester mentioned, at the end of a long discussion on some of the Manchester properties, "the changes to Major Strallan's will have taken effect, as he asked."

"I'm sorry?" Edith asked, at roughly the same time as Pip yelped, "What?"

"Forgive me, my lady, I thought… Ah." Forrester coughed, uncomfortably, eyes sliding between his clients with more than a hint of guilt. "Well. This is rather awkward, I…"

"Not at all." Edith forced her voice to be calm and relaxed, for Pip's sake if nothing else. At Forrester's continued look of anxiety, she pressed on, untruthfully, "Of course, we discussed it all before he left. It had just… momentarily slipped my mind." She smiled reassuringly at Pip, squeezing his hand for good measure. "And I'm sure that in all the r-rush of going back to the Front, the Major… simply forgot to write and remind me."

"Yes." Forrester seemed tremendously relieved as he seized on that explanation, even if Pip didn't look quite convinced. "I'm sure. Really, the additions only concerned Miss Evelyn, my lady. I have a copy hereabouts, if you would like to…"

"Yes. Yes, that would be very useful. Thank you."

As Edith read, her heart clenched. Mary on a visit, and now this too? Of course, it was sensible, to make sure that one's daughter was specifically provided for in one's will. It might even be considered sensible to send one's wife's sister to her, when there was so much work to be done, and so few people to do it.

And yet…

She couldn't help fretting that something was wrong, that Anthony was frightened, that he thought that this time he might not come home to them.

I mustn't worry before there's a need. I mustn't worry before there's a need.

It was no use whatsoever.

"Have you thought any more about what we were talking about, Phil?" Andrew bumped shoulders with Pip as they ducked out of the laboratory and joined the flood of other boys pouring down the stairs and out into the quad.

Pip nodded tightly as he hoisted his satchel further up his shoulder, skirting around a bunch of snotty-nosed first formers before replying. "Of course. Been thinking about nothing else." Clearly, Papa was preparing for the worst - and Pip wouldn't deny that he was bloody angry about it. And if his father was willing to throw himself into the jaws of death for no reason whatsoever, then why did Pip himself have to be the responsible one?

"So are we on, then?" Andrew pressed, turning to face him. "Because if we are… well, I don't think we should be hanging around. No school Monday. If you told your people you were staying with me on Sunday night, and I told mine that I was staying with you, and we didn't mention the school holiday to anyone, we could slip away on Sunday morning and already have joined up by the time anyone even realised we were gone."

Pip hesitated and then gave another sharp nod. "We're on."

"Papa!" Vicky squealed and threw herself at her father's legs before he'd even had time to shut the motor's door.

Richard barked out a laugh and abandoned his suitcase to haul her up into one arm, bumping a rough kiss against her dark head. "Hello, angel. Where's Mother?"

"Here," Mary announced at the door. "Victoria Mary Carlisle, your papa is not a children-tree!"

"No," Richard agreed, kissing his daughter again, "only ever a Victoria-tree." He reached his free hand out for her and Mary squeezed it. Her husband's eyes ran over her, a quick possessive glance that warmed Mary all through. "Everything all right here?"

"Yes, perfectly." Mary let him kiss her cheek. "Office all right?"

"Fine." It was their language - focus on business, on the practical and the real - and Mary felt her whole self calm in a way she had not even realised was needed. "Shall we all go through?"

When Lady Carlisle had gone to bed, and while Mother and Granny were still in the nursery, soothing a restless Evie, Pip slipped up to his bedroom and retrieved the knapsack he'd packed in readiness for the days to come, before ducking out of the library's French windows onto the terrace and down into the garden. If he'd thought of taking anything more than his school clothes shoved into his satchel, Mother would have instantly smelled a rat. So the plan was to stash his things out in the shrubbery, and collect them on the way out the next morning.

He tucked the bag safely under some overhanging ferns and rose to go back inside - before freezing at the sound of a man's voice.

"Phillip?"

Pip straightened immediately, and scanned the house, until Sir Richard Carlisle stepped out of the shadows, smoking a cigarette, head tilted to one side in evident suspicion. And damn if Pip hadn't forgotten all about him. "Oh, Sir Richard. Hello." As casually as he could, Pip climbed the steps to meet him.

"Everything all right?" Sir Richard wondered, and before Pip could freeze in horror at being caught so early, the older man continued, "Your stepmother says you've been a great help, since your father's been away."

Pip's smile was tight. "We don't generally go in for all that 'step' rubbish - but thanks."

"I see." Sir Richard took a step back and to the side, forcing Pip to turn too, as if they were circling each other, to keep him his eye-line. "Well, if we're being brutally honest with each other, I don't tend to go in for all that 'sir' rubbish, either. Not unless absolutely necessary."

"I see."

"Quite late for a walk in the grounds, isn't it?"

Pip shrugged and turned back for the French windows. Sir Richard fell into step next to him. "Concerned about your father, I suppose."

Pip stopped and the accusation slipped out, bitterly, before he could stop it: "Are you going to pat me on the head and tell me not to worry?"

"Is that what Edith's doing?" Edith, as if Pip were a grown-up, and not Mother's son at all. Pip shrugged and Sir Richard continued, with a dry edge to his voice that Pip supposed was meant to indicate humour, "That's her all over, I'm afraid. Haven't you worked that out yet?"

It irked, that. As if Pip wouldn't have noticed a few things about his own mother, after living with her for so long. She never complained when she was ill, still had a child's sense of humour - and would crucify herself before she let him or Evie feel the least bit worried or uncomfortable. No matter how impossible that might be. In any case, it didn't seem as if Sir Richard was going to wait for a response. Through a cloud of cigarette smoke, he stated, "Well, if you're concerned, good. If you weren't, I'd think you haven't been paying attention."

Pip rolled his eyes. "So where does that leave me?"

"With a damn important job." Sir Richard stared hard at him. "One which doesn't involve joining up."

There was dead silence for a moment and then Pip croaked out, with a fair attempt at bravado, "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh. Right. My mistake." Casually, Sir Richard stubbed out his first cigarette and lit another, offering the case to Pip as he did so. Pip shook his head mutely. "Is hiding knapsacks in bushes in the dead of night some sort of quaint Yorkshire custom that no one's told me about, then?" Sir Richard wondered lightly, and Pip had the absurd realisation that he was being laughed at.

Anger flared suddenly in him and he snapped, savagely, "Why don't you mind your own bloody business, Sir Richard?"

Sir Richard exhaled a cloud of smoke before replying, in a calm, level voice that was nonetheless utterly terrifying. "Because I care for your mother and will be forever indebted to your father." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Oh, and if you swear at me again? You can quite forget about being taken seriously."

Pip gritted his teeth together so hard he could practically feel them creaking. In determinedly calm tones, he replied, "Fine. You know, in seven months, I'll be eighteen and old enough to join up anyway."

"Then wait seven months. Why sneak away like a cowardly thief in the night if you think you're doing the right thing?"

"I am not a coward."

Sir Richard's smile was cool and mocking. "Really?" he drawled, silkily. "Then why on Earth don't you prove it? Goodnight, Phillip."

"Are you - " and Christ it sounded so childish - ! - "Are you going to mention any of this to Mother?"

Sir Richard chuckled, in a way that made Pip feel ten years old and stupid with it. "Oh, I don't tattle. As you say, it's none of my bloody business. If you want to be treated as an adult, you need to make your own decisions."

"Oh, there you are." As Richard shut the door of the guest room behind him, Mary - sat up in bed pretending to read - shot him a look that was half-affection, half-impatience. "I thought you'd got lost."

"No, I was having a chat with Phillip." Richard began to remove his tie as Mary shrugged herself further up against the pillows.

"I can't make that boy out," she frowned. "Obviously devoted to Edith, the Lord knows why… but other than that… perfectly impenetrable."

"Yes," Richard agreed blandly.

Mary raised her eyebrows. "And you're not going to say any more than that, I suppose?"

"Perfectly correct." Richard slid his braces down over his shoulders and bent to kiss Mary. "And I'm not particularly interested in him, at this moment." He shrugged out of his shirt and mounted the bed properly. "You did say you'd make it up to me," he murmured, kneeling over her.

"I did, didn't I?" Mary gave him a coy little smile and reached for the buttons on his trousers. "Go on then, Sir Richard. Do your very worst."

Much later, Mary rose from the bed, wrapping herself in Richard's discarded shirt, and hobbled over to open the window, letting in a cool summer breeze to dry her sweat-dampened skin. Richard joined her, lifting the thick weight of her dark hair away to kiss the back of her neck, and Mary relished the feel of his naked body pressed firmly to her back. "Well," he murmured, "I don't know about you, but I needed that."

Mary closed her eyes in amusement, but her voice was stern when she replied. "Don't be vulgar. You'll make me forget why I missed you."

Richard's hands wandered underneath the shirt. "In that case, I think another demonstration may be required…"

"Is Edith all right, d'you think?" Richard asked, much, much later on, twining his fingers in Mary's hair. Mary, splayed atop him, leaned up to kiss the hollow of his throat - a rather mild response for a woman being asked about her younger sister while abed with her husband. But then, said husband had rather earned himself a few inappropriate questions tonight.

"Running herself ragged, but there's nothing new there. Can you think of any way to distract her, while you're here?"

"No, but we could collect the others and drive out into the countryside tomorrow? Pack a picnic basket? Leave Edith to have some time to herself?" Rather domestic, he knew, but it was all he could think of at the present moment. And it might at least allow him to keep Phillip under his eye, if tonight's little chat hadn't quite worked.

"All right, if we must."

"And I thought I might stay on, next week, if you were planning to."

"Oh?" Mary frowned at him in the moonlight. "Will the paper be all right?"

"I can telephone, and Edith's said she'll find me a desk, if I want one." And then, as close to admission as he would get, "I think Phillip needs another man about the place, just now."

"Goodness." Mary smirked. "I had no idea you had such a hankering to play 'Uncle Richard'."

In retaliation, Richard lifted a hand and smacked her bottom. "I shouldn't laugh too hard, sweetheart. If I'm Uncle Richard, then you're - "

Mary walloped him soundly over the head with a pillow - and after that, there was no more talking.