The dinner took place in a warm and friendly atmosphere.
Emily's food was impeccable, and the new wine Mr. Severton—in high spirits—opened was a perfect match.
But the main highlight of the evening was Sergeant Thornton's stories.
Objectively speaking, he couldn't be called talkative. He was one of those people better at listening than talking.
When Mr. Severton spoke of Blissbury's history and the works of art associated with it, he would appropriately nod or express admiration.
At the same time—as if to prove he was not listening with half an ear—he asked questions from time to time.
There wasn't a single idle question among them. He asked things Blissbury's new manager needed to know, as if he had come here for more than just a vacation.
Mr. and Mrs. Severton were very pleased with this attitude.
In fact, they had been a little uneasy about the new manager.
Blissbury was more than just a source of income for the Severtons. Over the long years they'd managed this estate—the pride of Feltham—they'd come to love it as their own home.
And what if the new manager, following the latest fashion, got rid of all the beautiful antiques that filled the estate? How could one assuage such regret then?
But as they watched him during dinner, they realized that Sergeant Thornton, like them, was eager to preserve traditions rather than mindlessly introduce innovations.
The dinner—attended by the Severtons and the Harrisons, pastors of the local church—was spent in continuous conversation about Blissbury.
After everyone had devoured Emily's perfectly cooked lamb chops, almond pudding was served, followed by pancakes with marmalade.
Emily's dishes, which she had outdone herself preparing today, made the conversation even more lively.
The only person who fell out of this perfect picture was Eloise.
Normally, she would have taken another rib of lamb as if nothing had happened, ignoring her mother's stern look that *a lady shouldn't eat so much*.
But today, Eloise ate almost as much as a monk preparing for repentance.
*"When will this end?"*
For the first time, she realized that the dinner she always looked forward to with joy could be such a torment.
Pretending to cut a now-cold rib of lamb, Eloise looked at Sergeant Thornton, who was seated beside her father.
*"How shameless he is."*
When he was alone with her, he spoke in a threatening tone. But in public, he pretended to be an impeccable gentleman.
This duplicity made the piece of lamb she'd swallowed with difficulty seem to rise up in her throat again.
Luckily, everyone was so absorbed in discussing Blissbury that no one noticed Eloise's condition.
---
Dinner ended with pancakes. Now everyone moved to the living room.
Mr. Severton, who had taken a liking to the new manager, opened another bottle of wine from his stock, and the conversation flowed again amid merry laughter.
*"It's time to retire, I think."*
Mrs. Severton was always insistent that a lady should withdraw quietly at a decent hour to ensure a good night's sleep.
Of course, Eloise never followed her mother's advice.
But today, for the first time, she *wanted* to.
However, she couldn't let the wine go to waste—so she drained her glass in one gulp and was about to say she would go to her room, when suddenly...
"By the way, Sergeant Thornton, you served in the same battalion as the famous Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave."
Eloise froze at Mr. Severton's words.
When the first letter had arrived about the new manager, this was what had interested her most.
But after she'd been caught drawing a nude man with Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave's face, she could no longer ask Sergeant Thornton about him.
Otherwise... it was not difficult to guess how he would look at her.
Eloise quickly sat down in a chair in the corner. She couldn't ask questions, but she could certainly eavesdrop on the conversation.
"I was curious too. You served in the 57th Infantry Battalion, didn't you? So, Sergeant, you must have seen Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave often."
At the mention of the war hero, Pastor Harrison's eyes lit up. At that moment, Mrs. Harrison clasped her hands.
"Oh, why do men like to talk about the war so much? It *just* ended—why bring it up again?"
Perhaps because she had lost her brother in the war, Mrs. Harrison wasn't thrilled with talk of battles.
"But our Albion won the victory."
Pastor Harrison took his wife's hand—as if calling her to silence—and smiled at Sergeant Thornton.
"If you don't mind, Sergeant, I'd like to hear more about the heroic deeds of the Fifty-Seventh Infantry Battalion."
Sergeant Thornton gave him a wry smile.
"Frankly, it's not a very interesting story. A soldier's life is a hundred days of forced marches for one battle. The heroic moments you expect actually happen only a few days a year."
"And yet you performed a miracle."
Pastor Harrison did not give up, showing with his whole demeanor that he wanted to hear *something*.
Eloise's heart went out to Pastor Harrison.
*"I want to hear something else about the lieutenant colonel."*
The stories she'd read about Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave in the old newspapers were one more astonishing than the next.
How he'd deciphered the enemy code and caught the spy, saving the prince's life. How he'd single-handedly broken through the battlefield under a hail of bullets to save a besieged comrade. How, thanks to his brilliant tactical sense, he'd moved an infantry battalion so quickly he'd been nicknamed the ghost of the battlefield.
But Eloise wanted to hear something *simpler*.
How he spent time with his friends. What books he liked, if any. Or at least what his favorite food was.
She knew it was impolite to inquire about the personal life of someone she'd never met. But her curiosity was stronger than propriety.
Eloise pricked up her ears, hoping to hear about some unknown side of Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave.
But to her surprise, Sergeant Thornton said almost nothing.
Mr. Severton and Pastor Harrison did most of the talking, retelling what they'd read in the papers, and he only occasionally nodded in agreement.
But they—already quite merry with wine—didn't seem to notice this.
Eloise, sitting in the corner, was burning with impatience. The men's conversation was ignoring everything that interested her so much.
*"Oh, my God, I want to at least know what dessert he likes. Or at least what kind of ink he prefers to write with—blue or black!"*
Eloise prayed silently, deciding she would pray hard in church that Sunday.
At this point, Mrs. Harrison—who, despite herself, was tired of talk of war—said:
"After all, weren't we all fooled by that coward, Lieutenant Colonel Ryan?"
"Darling."
Pastor Harrison, who had been speaking enthusiastically at the time, tried to stop his wife. But it wasn't enough to silence the offended woman.
"I heard the war council is discussing revoking his award because of his retreat at the Battle of Ingon. You were in that battle too, Sergeant, weren't you? What do you think? Prominent figures say Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave's retreat was too hasty. Of course, I understand. He can't help but fear death."
Mrs. Harrison seemed to harbor a deep dislike for Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave.
Otherwise, she—known for her gentle nature—would not have expressed her antipathy so openly.
"The soldiers from the other units held out to the last..."
Mrs. Harrison finished, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
*"Mrs. Harrison is understandable."*
At the Battle of Ingon, the 57th Infantry Battalion had emerged almost without losses—but the unit in which her brother served was unfortunately not so lucky.
Her brother had died in that battle.
Mrs. Harrison was already of an age, so her brother had not been a youth. But age does not determine the value of life.
Eloise understood that when faced with the death of a loved one, one wants to blame someone. But she believed that the direction of this blame was wrong.
So she glanced furtively at Sergeant Thornton.
---
The night was already quite late, and the flames of the candles placed around the living room—along with the fireplace—cast dancing shadows on his face.
His face, covered in thick shadows, changed expression with every flicker of the flame.
It seemed sometimes dispassionate, sometimes filled with deep sadness.
Looking at his face, Eloise clenched her fists.
*She hoped he would break his silence and stand up for his commander.*
It would be natural.
After all, he, too, was one of those who had saved his life thanks to the wise decision of Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave.
Eloise wasn't the only one who thought so.
Pastor Harrison—who had fallen silent for a moment after his wife's words—and the Severtons all looked at Sergeant Thornton.
He, feeling their gaze on him, put down his glass and began to speak.
Everyone thought he was about to start defending Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave.
But—
**"Your wife is right. I, too, believe that Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave's actions at the Battle of Ingon are reprehensible."**
He spoke, assessing Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave's actions in such an icy tone that even Mrs. Harrison flinched.
Silence fell over the living room.
But Sergeant Thornton, oblivious, continued:
**"I feel sorry for those who hailed him as a hero. He is a vile man who, casting aside all patriotism, acted only to save his own life."**
No one could find a response to this harsh criticism.
At that moment—
"I don't agree with this opinion."
Eloise's voice entered the living room, as icy as Sergeant Thornton's.