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Judith leaned forward. “A local subscription. You begin it, then persuade anyone who has spent the past fortnight eating your food and drinking your wine to contribute.”

Sir Lionel’s brows rose. “You want me to solicit money from my guests?”

“They solicit food from you with remarkable success without reciprocation.”

“That is hospitality.”

“So is feeding people who are actually hungry.”

His mouth twitched.

Judith pressed her advantage. “We could appoint someone trustworthy in the village to administer the money—Vicar Hewitt perhaps, though I would want Mrs. Hewitt involved because she possesses more sense. Assistance could go first to families where mills or workshops have closed, and to those whose parish relief has been refused.”

“That sounds suspiciously organized.”

“Organization is not a moral failing.”

Sir Lionel folded the newspaper. “You have evidently thought a great deal about this.”

“Yes.”

“Because of the Bells?”

“No, not just because of the Bells; this is for all of them.”

Her uncle studied her for a long moment, and Judith forced herself not to fill the silence. “What has brought this to mind now?”

There was the dangerous question.

She chose a truthful answer. “I am tired, sir, of listening to gentlemen discuss unrest as though it arose spontaneously from bad character. Men are angry because many of them are hungry, unemployed, and denied any lawful influence over the decisions affecting them. If gentlemen of property want peace, perhaps they ought to demonstrate that property does not render them indifferent.”

Sir Lionel’s expression became cautious. “That begins to sound political.”

“It is political.”

“Judith…”

“I am not advocating insurrection.”

“I should certainly hope not.”

“Nor am I for universal revolution, the burning of Parliament, or whatever other horror Lady Dunsmore believes occurs whenever a labourer has an opinion. I am saying that if we fear violence, we ought to remove as many reasonable grievances as we can before angry men decide violence is their only means of being heard.”

Sir Lionel looked at her more seriously now. “Have you been attending reform meetings?”

“No.” That, at least, was entirely true.

“Writing to reformers?”

Judith’s heart gave one disagreeable thump. “Uncle, I write to many people.”

“That was not an answer, Judith.”

She lifted her chin.

Sir Lionel rubbed his forehead. “You have always been too clever for my peace.”

“You are the one who educated me.”