Lottie followed the group downstairs, her pace slow. Suddenly, she was feeling every one of her 48 years. The atmosphere in the main room was thicker than Christmas Pud, Joe muted like a small boy, Bill looked like one of those steam engines of his, about ready to billow smoke. She couldn't blame her husband really, young Joe had really made a mess of things. The Blacke matriarch gingerly tasted her brew. Did this girl know how to make a cup? or was that something servants did for her? Lottie silently thought on her son's choice of companion. Bloody 'ell Joe, a Carrington? Again, there would have been no problem with Rose Ward or someone similar.

"You made tea. That's nice."