Further Surprises

 36

Further Surprises

    Major Kernohan’s second dinner at Ainsley Manor was, of course, very different from his first, for Berthe had not expected visitors. And certainly not an extra four large gentlemen visitors—though Luís had warned her that Mr Roland might care to stay. However, she did nobly by them.

    “We do not get such good soup at Miss Blake’s,” said Bunch confidentially to her escort.

    “It is, indeed, wonderful soup,” replied the Major.

    “Yes. What are the things it is made of called, again, sir?”

    “Chestnuts,” he said calmly.

    “Chestnuts—des marrons,” said Bunch to herself. “Hildy,” she said across the Major: “alors, si ce sont des chestnuts, c’est quoi, un marronier?”

    “A chestnut tree, Bunch. But one may also call it a chestnut, just as one would say a willow, or an oak.“

    Bunch scowled. “English is not a logical language. An oak does not have oaks, it has haycorns!”

    There was a short silence.

    “Very illogical,” said Major Kernohan. “I have always found French, for example, to be a far more logically constructed language.”

    “We think so, too, do we not, Bunch?” said Hildy in huge relief.

    “¡Sí, sí!” she agreed. “I have only once tasted a soup as good as this,” she noted.

    “Aye. That hare soup she made us in Brussels, that time,” agreed Luís. “From that scraggy thing that Paul shot with Georges de Breuil. I would not have said that anything at all could have been made of it, but Berthe performed her usual spell over it!”

    “No, though that was good. This was after that. It was a thin soup with oranges in it,” she said earnestly.

    “Oranges?” said Hildy dubiously.

    “Oh, aye, receet of Madre’s. They must be Seville orangeth,” said Luís, lisping slightly.

    “Of courthe!” said Gaetana immediately.

    “Ho, ho, very witty,” he noted. “Er—cannot tell what else she puts in it, think she boils up a stock. Well, yes, it is definitely a very brown soup, though clear. Hardly ever makes it. Depends on the oranges, you see. Fairly sophisticated dish. –Would not have though it would be to your taste,” he added to the small person at his right.

    Bunch reddened. “Just because I am young, does not mean that I may not have tastes as sophisticated as yours. And personally I do not find that scraping out the insides of a—un os à moelle is at all sophisticated!”

    “Of a what?” said Roly weakly.

    Bunch took a deep, annoyed breath and began: “Englishmen are not taught—”

    But the Marquis interrupted smoothly: “Marrowbone, my boy. I like ’em, too. But they are not to all tastes.

    “Oh. Er—no,” he agreed, eyeing Bunch cautiously. “Don’t care for them that much meself; but Papa is very fond of them.”

    “My papa was, too,” put in Lord Welling unexpectedly. He had not spoken, so far, except to assure Mrs Goodbody, who had placed him at her left, that he had plenty of soup, and to ask Hildy, at his own left, if she had sufficient.

    Everybody looked at him, very naturally, and he flushed and said: “I don’t remember much of him. But I remember that he would take me on his knee and give me a taste of his marrowbone. Liked ’em for supper,” he explained, redder than ever.

    “Aye, so he did!” said the Marquis with a smile. “I had forgot that. Poor old Meredith and his marrowbones!”

    “Meredith? What a very charming name,” said Mrs Goodbody, smiling.

    “Aye: pretty, is it not?” said Rockingham. “There is usually a Meredith in the Standish family: old family name. But I don’t care for ‘Vernon’—all his mother’s idea,” he explained with a grimace.

    “I think Vernon is an exceedingly pretty name,” said Gaetana very firmly, smiling across the table at its blushing possessor. He blushed even more.

    “Yes, but you are half a foreigner, my dear young lady,” noted the Marquis.

    “Whilst I, of course, am wholly a foreigner,” murmured the Major.

    Hildy laughed. “Indeed! And I am sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but you are fated to remain so, for there are families who have been living in the district for three generations, who are still thought of as newcomers!”

    “Aye: hidebound lot, round here,” said Rockingham, grinning. “Er—your mother does intend to come down for Christmas, I suppose?” he said to the Viscount.

    “Yes, sir! Has she not written you?” he gasped in horror.

    He sniffed, and rubbed his chin. “I wouldn’t call it written. Had a missive about a month back. Semi-illegible. All smudged and splattered in tear marks, and not only on black-edged paper, but fastened with a black riband and a dashed black seal, into the bargain!”

    “She makes the servants melt the wax and mix black ink in it,” he said glumly.

    “So your Mamma is in mourning, is she, sir?” said Hildy kindly. Wondering why he was not also in his blacks: it must be the death of a near relative, if Lady Welling had gone as far as black wax.

    Rockingham snorted, and the ladies looked at him in some indignation.

    “Er—well, yes, Miss Hildy,” said the young lord uncomfortably.

    “My dear Lord Welling, I do trust it was not a near relative?” said the kindly Mrs Goodbody.

    The Marquis snorted again.

    “No, indeed, ma’am,” said the young man uncomfortably. “Er—well, it was the brother-in-law of a distant cousin.”

    “Very distant,” noted Rockingham.

    “Ye-es... Well, Mamma had always kept in touch.”

    “Aye: writes ’em all the news of who has died,” explained the Marquis sourly. “Writes it me, too, under the mistaken impression that I’m interested. –Oh, and by the way, who the Devil was Frederick the Fourth?” he said to his young relative. “Never heard your Mamma was connected to any royal house, not even these damned obscure Germans that call a stretch of territory half the size of Cornwall a dashed kingdom.”

    “The Hammonds,” noted Gaetana detachedly, “are, of course, a much older house than that of Hanover.”

    “Quite,” he said, unmoved. “—Well?”

    “Did—did she mention his death in her letter, sir?” he gulped.

    “Aye. Well, it was mostly about that. What I could read of it.”

    Lord Welling looked across the table at him plaintively. “It was one of her King Charles spaniels, Cousin Giles. The—the grandfather dog.”

    The Marquis went into a terrific wheezing fit. “Aye, she will have her blacks on for him!” he choked. “For a twelvemonth, I dare say!”

    “Dear Lord Rockingham, for a pet dog?” murmured Cousin Sophia.

    Rockingham had recourse to his handkerchief. “Oh, certainly,” he said, emerging from it, grinning. “It’s her hobby, y’see, ma’am. Never out of her blacks, is she, Vernon?”

    “No. Though I have a vague memory of seeing her in pink, when I was a child.”

    “Aye, must have been before poor Meredith died.”

    “Yes,” said Welling glumly.

    Hildy endeavoured to frown at Lord Rockingham, which was rather difficult, as she herself very much wanted to laugh. “But she does intend to visit at the Place for Christmas, Lord Welling?” she said kindly.

    He looked at her gratefully. “Oh, absolutely, yes, Miss Hildy! Why, she would not miss Christmas at Daynesford for anything!”

    “Always comes,” said the Marquis glumly. “Saves her the expense of opening up her own house. Puts the servants on board wages.”

    By this time certain persons at the table were thinking that it was a great pity that Paul Ainsley was not present to moderate his friend’s forcefulness. Major Kernohan, indeed, had some time since embarked firmly with Bunch on a discussion of the viands to be expected in the next course, and Berthe’s cooking as compared to the slops (Bunch’s word) provided at Miss Blake’s school.

    Gaetana frowned, and said to Rockingham: “Of course Lady Welling would wish to celebrate the festive season at the seat of head of the family, Lord Rockingham. It is very natural that she should do so, and were I but a man, I should very much welcome the chance to invite the members of my family to my principal seat. And we ourselves are expecting all of Tia Patty’s family, and, indeed, Mrs Parkinson and her family, to join us here for our Christmas celebrations.”

    “A very commendable sentiment in you, my dear young lady,” he said instantly. “May I help you to more of this delicious potage de marrons?”

    “Thank you, Marquis, but I have had sufficient,” she said grimly.

    Deering and Thomas thereupon began to clear for the next course, Deering having to pause as he did so and assure Lord Rockingham that there would, indeed, be burgundy. During the slight interval that ensued, Miss Elinor Ainsley interrogated the Kernohan brothers narrowly on such points as whether their papa had a butler, how many footmen they had, and the size and style of their house. She was about to ask whether they kept their carriage when the Major, having observed the agonized expression on Mrs Goodbody’s features, diverted her by asking whether Miss Blake encouraged her to keep up her French. Bunch immediately plunged into a dissertation upon the dullness of having to do extra English lessons whilst the other girls of her age did French. Ending up by informing him, with a glance at his arm, that she could write English quite well, now.

    “C,A,T, ‘cat’,” noted Luís.

    Bunch opened her mouth to wither him, but diverted herself. “That reminds me, Cousin Sophia,” she said loudly up the table: “did you know that Luís and Gaetana and Mr Roly went out to shoot those wild cats up on our northern boundary?”

    “Yes, I did know that, Elinor, my dear,” said the little lady quietly, “but it is not a topic one discusses at the dinner table.”

    Bunch might have disputed this, indeed she looked as if she was going to, but Dorian immediately said: “Indeed, no. Quite ineligible. But I dare say if you were to ask Roly privily after dinner, he might give you an account of it.”

    Bunch was a little afraid of Mr Dorian, for of course he was so smartly dressed, and besides that, it had not taken her long to spot that both his mind and his tongue could be quite sharp. So she said: “Oh,” and looked doubtfully at Roly. “Would you?”

    “If you like. And you can handle my splendid shot-gun, that Aurry gave me, if you wish,” he said, grinning.

    “Oh, yes!” she gasped.

    “Not, however, while it is loaded,” noted Dorian.

    “Of course it will not be loaded, inside the house!” she said scornfully.

    “Not if Roland wishes to see his next birthday, certainly,” agreed Aurry calmly.

    Roly grinned. “I am not such a gapeseed.”

    Hildy was then requested to explain this expression to Bunch, but was saved by the appearance of the saddle of mutton.

    “Hah!” said Lord Rockingham, rubbing his hands. “Yes, splendid! Set it there, Deering, I will carve.”

    “I would advise against it,” murmured Gaetana on a malicious note. Luís choked.

    Rockingham looked at her uncertainly. “Miss Ainsley, we know your indomitable spirit, but surely you are not volunteering yourself for the task?”

    “Ladies don’t carve!” said Bunch scornfully.

    “That is certainly what I was always brought up to believe,” Rockingham agreed. “However, I am not one to discourage enterprise.” He offered Gaetana the carving knife.

    “No!” she gasped, shoulders shaking. “I meant—your enthusiasm—for this mutton—is misplaced, dear sir!” –Luís was in agony. Hildy had her hand over her mouth.

    “What?” said the Marquis weakly. “I’m very sure that if Berthe cooked it, my enthusiasm is no such thing.”

    “Marquis,” said Hildy in a strangled voice, “it is one of Mr Makepeace’s hump-backed runts, that he suh-sent us to tuh-try!” She went into a paroxysm.

    “Oh!” he said, grinning. “You had me nicely, there! –What’s that?” he asked as Thomas set out a covered side-dish.

    “Some buttered parsnips, my Lord,” he said, bowing and raising the lid.

    “Des panais! I hate them!” hissed Bunch agonizedly.

    “Never mind, there are some Brussels sprouts in this dish,” discovered Roly.

    “I hate choux de Bruxelles, too!” said Bunch in despair.

    “Bunch, querida,” said Gaetana, as Lord Rockingham began to carve, “Berthe was not expecting you.” –As she said this she noticed in dismay that Thomas was setting out a large platter containing two brace of roast pheasant at the far end of the table: very evidently Berthe had not expected Major Kernohan, either.

    “Glazed carrots, Miss Bunch,” said Deering unemotionally, setting down another vegetable dish between her and Luís.

    “Oh, good!” she said in relief.

    Luís began to carve the pheasants. “This looks good!” he said happily. “Dare say they is those birds we shot t’other week, when we was out with Charleson,” he noted to the table at large. “She had ’em hanging, I saw. –Come along, Bunch, querida, you like this: du phaisan, tu sais. And pass us the Major’s plate, will you?”

    Certain members of the company watched numbly as he put a large section of pheasant on the Major’s plate and passed it up the table to have large slices of mutton put on it by Lord Rockingham.

    By now Thomas had set a covered dish in front of Mrs Goodbody, which proved to contain some pommes de terre Dauphine. They were Bunch’s preferred receet, so with those, her glazed carrots, her mutton with a little gravy and her smallish helping of pheasant breast she was very happy.

    So happy, indeed, that she forgot that she had previously offered her services to the Major and was very disconcerted when Lord Rockingham said quietly, after he had finished carving mutton for everybody: “Pass me that plate, Kernohan.” And neatly cut up the Major’s mutton and took his pheasant off its bones and cut that up, too.

    “Thank you, sir,” he said simply.

    “I’m sorry; I forgot!” gulped Bunch, crimson-faced.

    “Pray do not regard it,” said the Major, smiling at her. “I wonder if you would help me to a little of those carrots at your left? They look delicious.”

    “Yes, they are. Berthe glazes them with porto and sugar.” Bunch helped him to carrots and, though they were not precisely huge, kindly cut them up smaller for him.

    “Thank you,” he said.

    His brothers exchanged glances, smiling a little. Aurry would eat anything, but it was true that he was not particularly fond of carrots.

    As an afterthought Bunch cut his parsnips and choux de Bruxelles in pieces for him, too.

    So, what with the good offices of Miss Elinor Ainsley and the excellent manners of the Marquis of Rockingham (whom certain people had forgiven on the spot for the teasing of Lord Welling over his Mamma’s morbid hobby), the Major got through the meal very well. He himself had not been the slightest bit concerned about the matter but he had seen that both his brothers had been on tenterhooks, in fact Roly’s face had filled with pure dismay when Deering had brought the fine saddle in. So he felt very grateful to Lord Rockingham on their behalf, and his liking for the man was much strengthened.

    With the dessert course Deering placed a little sweetmeat dish in front of Hildy. She looked at it, and blushed.

    “Why, where did those come from, Deering?” asked Mrs Goodbody.

    Deering bowed and said: “Major Kernohan brought them, madam.”

    “Why, how very thoughtful, Major!” she cried, beaming. “For Hildy does so love them. And we have tried, but cannot find any for sale in either Dittersford or Daynesford.”

    “He bought them in Ditterminster,” explained Bunch. “At a confectioner’s quite near the cathedral. He bought me a marzipan mouse, too!”

    “You are very kind, Major Kernohan,” said Hildy in a low voice.

    “Well, eat one, Hildy!” urged Bunch.

    Blushing and smiling, and not daring to look up at him, Hildy ate a crystallized violet.

    This time not only Mrs Goodbody and Mr Luís might have been observed to be smiling, but also the Marquis and Miss Ainsley. Dorian was a little taken aback. Of course, he knew that Aurry found Miss Hildy a pretty and entertaining little thing, but... Well, was he serious, at all? There had been other girls in the past whom Aurry had found pretty and entertaining. It would not do for her family to get the wrong impression. He shot him a dubious glance. His brother wore an expression of mild gratification only. Well... But Aurry always had been one who could keep his countenance.

    The ladies had been in the small salon only long enough for Bunch to object strenuously to the mere idea of bed, and for Mrs Goodbody to give in weakly to the extent of saying well, possibly until the gentlemen came in, and for Bunch thereupon to detail the saga of her journey on the stage, during which she had apparently sampled every item of food the other passengers had carried with them, when the gentlemen rejoined them. Immediately Bunch bore Roly and Luís off to look at the shot-gun.

    The Marquis went to the pianoforte and quietly played some Mozart, but not as if he expected anyone to listen to him. And, indeed, for once Mrs Goodbody did not, for she was reiterating her thanks to the Major for having rescued Bunch and generally lamenting the whole thing. Dorian, however, went over to the piano. The Marquis brought his piece to a conclusion and mentioned that he believed Dorian played the flute. In some surprize, he agreed he did, and Rockingham then invited him to bring the instrument when he and his brothers came to dine at the Place. Dorian’s admission he had left it in Bath was countered by the information that there was an instrument he could use, if he would care to try it. Dorian bowed to force majeure, though noting weakly he was very out of practice.

    Welling had seated himself very near Hildy, though so far he had not managed to say anything to her apart from how warm the salon was. At this he said abruptly: “Do you play, Miss Hildegarde?”

    “No,” replied Hildy mildly.

    That seemed to finish that.

    Rockingham was looking hopefully through the Manor’s music for a piece that Dorian might be encouraged to practise, for it would be no trouble to send the flute over to him, and Dorian was quailing in his smart Hessians as the quality of the Marquis’s determination dawned on him, when the door opened and Paul and Jake came in.

    “Oh, dear,” said Mrs Goodbody faintly.

    “Shall I fetch her, Cousin Sophia?” murmured Hildy.

    Mrs Goodbody nodded mutely, and Hildy hurried out.

    “What is it?” said Paul cheerfully. “You look as if we were a pair of ghosts: surely you expected to see us back tonight? Sir Clinton Gerrity always dines early, you know. –Major; Mr Dorian: how very nice to see you. Why, it is Lord Welling, is it not? Welcome to Ainsley Manor.” He shook hands with them and went over to the fire, rubbing his hands before it. “Well, Giles, I have done it!” he said. “You will shortly see a selection of Makepeace’s hump-backed runts in the Manor’s fields!”

    Rockingham smiled at him, but laid down the sheets of music and went over to Gaetana. “I suggest you get it over with, Miss Ainsley,” he said. “Or shall I?” –with a twinkle.

    “No, thank you very much, but I had better,” said Gaetana, swallowing. She took a deep breath. “Paul, Bunch has come home.”

    Paul raised his eyebrows. “For Francisco’s wedding, I collect?”

    “Sí,” she said limply.

    “Second sight,” murmured Rockingham. “Bad as your butler.”

    “My dear Paul, she came all the way to Ditterminster on the stage!” quavered Cousin Sophia.

    “Sensible,” he noted. “If an expensive choice. I am surprized it was not a cart.”

    “I fear it was in some sort my fault,” said the Marquis courteously. “I should not have bestowed such—er—largesse on her when she left for school.”

    “No,” said Gaetana: “you cannot be held responsible for the consequences of your kind action. And I think she must have been planning it for some time, for we were surprized she had not spent her guinea.”

    “Premeditation,” said Paul thoughtfully. “I rather think that compounds the felony. Where is she?”

    Gaetana gulped. “Luís did offer to put her over his knee, querido, only—only we thought we should wait.”

    “Gracias,” he noted grimly.

    “Hildy is just getting her, my dear,” quavered Mrs Goodbody. “It—it was terribly naughty of her—oh, and we have sent one of the grooms to Miss Blake’s, for although Major Kernohan very kindly sent her a letter, his Lordship thought it best we should—”

    “Major Kernohan?” said Paul in bewilderment. “Do I apprehend we have you to thank for—er—the miscreant’s safe arrival?”

    “I did very little,” he said, smiling.

    Gaetana explained rapidly. Paul expressed his fervent thanks to the Major and also to Rockingham. The latter merely shrugged and advised him not to neglect to put her over his knee.

    “Ah,” Paul then said grimly, as Hildy led the miscreant in.

    “Hullo, Paul, querido!” she said cheerfully. “I’ve come for Francisco’s wedding. And only guess, the Major bought me a marzipan mouse! I was going to save it to show you, only I got hungry. And can you put me over your knee quick? Because Luís said he thought he heard an owl, and Mr Roly says I may sight at it with his shot-gun! –Hullo, Jake, I’ve missed you; I’m so glad to be home!”

    Paul took a deep breath. “Come into my study.”

    Bunch accompanied him, looking entirely cheerful.

    There was a short silence.

    “Will he beat her?” gulped Welling.

    “Sure to,” noted Jake drily.

    “He will not beat her very hard, though, I assure you, Lord Welling!” said Gaetana, laughing a little.

    The Marquis had returned to the pianoforte. “Has to. Never does to show weakness in these circumstances.”

    “No,” said Hildy, biting her lip and trying very hard not to laugh. “And as you see, Lord Welling, Bunch fully expects it.”

    “Aye: she is a plucky little thing, ain’t she?” he said in huge admiration.

    Rockingham was sorting through the music again. “Ah!” he said. He played a little tune. “Not bad, I think?”

    “That—that is a piece of Paul’s guitar music, surely?” said Gaetana weakly.

    “Mm.” He fiddled around a little and then said: “I’ve got it, I think. Listen.” He played the little Spanish piece through.

    “That was lovely! How clever you are, Marquis!” cried Hildy.

    “Thank you, Miss Hildy. Now, talking of weddings, why do you not call Francisco in, and we shall have a little Spanish concert, eh?”

    Hildy gulped.

    “Truly, Lord Rockingham, you would not care for it,” said Gaetana limply.

    “Perhaps I would not, but why must you insist on denying me the interest of hearing the style?”

    Gaetana flushed. “I—I was not— Very well, then. It’s all right, Hildy, querida, I shall get him.”

    The concert got under way. Paul returned without the miscreant, and sat down, quietly picking up his guitar and joining in.

    Francisco was in full flow, and Mrs Goodbody, who had not previously had the privilege, was sitting there with an expression of stunned anguish, as also Lord Welling and Mr Dorian Kernohan, when the door opened to admit Deering with a very odd expression on his face.

    Paul got up, laying his guitar down, and put his hand on the singer’s shoulder. Francisco stopped, looking disconcerted. “What is it, Deering?”

    Deering replied very weakly indeed: “Mr Ainsley, permit me to announce Don Pedro Fernández de Velasco, Don Carlos Fer—”

    “What?” cried Gaetana.

    “¡Dios!” gasped Francisco, looking round frantically, evidently for a place in which to hide himself.

    Deering struggled on nobly: “—Sir Harry and Lady Ains—”

    “That’ll do: no need for all that nonsense!” said a jovial voice from behind him.

    “¡Madre!” screamed Gaetana, flying up.

    Deering stood aside and a burly, red-cheeked, smiling man in a many-caped greatcoat, his hatless head revealing silvering red curls that must once have been as carroty as Bunch’s—or, indeed, Floss’s and Marybelle’s—shouldered his way in with his arm protectively round the waist of a short, plump, smiling lady in a dark brown fur cape and a cherry-red bonnet cunningly trimmed with more dark fur and bunches of cherries. Gaetana threw herself into her arms, and burst into tears forthwith.

    Paul, laughing, forthwith threw himself into Sir Harry’s arms and the two embraced heartily. –Lord Welling’s eyes, at least, stood out on stalks, and Hildy had a feeling hers must be doing likewise. The more so since Sir Harry was the living image of her brother Hal!

    Sir Harry then embraced his daughter, and Lady Ainsley her oldest son, looking searchingly into his eyes after she had done so, and then patting his cheek with a little laugh and saying something in Spanish which Hildy did not understand, but which Paul seemed to think was quite agreeable.

    “By Jove, it’s Cousin Sophia, ain’t it!” Sir Harry then said, coming forward with his arm round his daughter’s waist. “Would have known you anywhere!” He embraced her heartily and Mrs Goodbody promptly burst into tears on his shoulder.

    Meanwhile, Paul was bowing very low before the older of the two gentlemen past whom Sir Harry had jovially shouldered his way. “Don Pedro: welcome to England,” he said—in Spanish, but Hildy got that. Don Pedro was a little taller than Paul and very slender, and had the—really, the most aristocratic face that Hildy had ever seen! Snapping black eyes and a high-bridged nose in a firm-chinned, narrow face, wide over the cheekbones— She realized with a little shock that it was very much the same bone-structure as Gaetana’s, though Gaetana did not have the nose.

    Then Lady Ainsley came forward and Gaetana turned, and said: “Madre, this is—”

    “But of course: this ith our darling Hildy!” she said, with a lovely smile; and Hildy was enveloped in soft fur and a delicious scent, with a soft kiss on her cheek. And she did not know why, but she burst into tears, too.

    Marinela did not seem at all surprized, just patted her cheek and said: “¡There, there, querida!” and Hildy sniffed and smiled shakily, and said: “Oh, Aunt Marinela, how lovely to meet you at last!”

    Lady Ainsley laughed a little, patted her cheek again, and said to Gaetana: “Querida, you must to greet your Tio Pedro and your Primo Carlos,” and as Gaetana turned to do so, rustled forward and said in her lovely, soft voice: “Giles, my dear, dear boy, it hath been a so long time!” And forthwith enveloped the Marquis of Rockingham, who had been about to bow, in the fur.

    “By Jove, managed to say the fellow’s name without lithping, she’s improved!” said Sir Harry with a loud laugh. “Well, so this is little Hildy, eh?” He kissed her cheek enthusiastically. “Let me look at you! –Here, the hair’s exact, ain’t it?” he said.

    Jake had come forward, smiling. He said “Ain’t it, though?” and held out his hand.

    “What? Nonsense, dear old fellow!” said Sir Harry, hugging him strongly and kissing his cheek.

    “Dago trick,” said Jake, grinning, nonetheless hugging him back. “Thought you was drowned in the Bay of Biscay or fallen down one of them crevasses in the Pyrenees.”

    “No such thing!” he said indignantly. “You did not imagine we was going to miss seeing you get leg-shackled at the last, did you?”

    “Well, you very nearly missed Francisco’s, it’s in three days’ time,” he noted drily.

    “Of course!” replied Sir Harry. “Knew we should make it!”

    Paul was introducing the two Spanish gentlemen to Hildy and Gaetana. If Don Pedro was the grandest gentleman Hildy had ever met, in fact every inch a grandee, Don Carlos, who was very much taller, and had a look of Luís, was quite stunningly handsome. Not as beautiful as Hilary Parkinson, true; but quite overpoweringly good-looking. He had grey eyes, which surprized Hildy a little in a Spaniard, but his papa’s nose, and an even firmer chin, in a rather squarer face. Sir Harry now appeared to recollect they were with him, for he said: “Oh—yes.” And adding something in Spanish, led them over to Cousin Sophia and presented first her and then the Marquis, first himself wringing the latter’s hand.

    Don Pedro bowed politely to Lord Rockingham. Rockingham bowed very low and made a short speech in Spanish—very formal-sounding indeed.

    Don Pedro expressed elaborate thanks, then switched to French and begged to be allowed to present to Monsieur le Marquis his son, Don Carlos— He reeled off what seemed like the young man’s entire set of names. Don Carlos bowed very low indeed and on the Marquis’s holding out his hand to him with a friendly smile, kissed it! Hildy almost fell over. Then Don Carlos, in excellent French, just like his father’s—very lowering, the whole thing, Hildy could not help reflecting—expressed his undying gratitude for Monsieur le Marquis’s goodness. Rockingham replied formally that it was his entire pleasure and Don Carlos was not to regard it.

    “Yes, well, never mind all that!” said Sir Harry breezily, just as Hildy had perceived that his two offspring looked as bewildered as she was beginning to feel. “Where’s that rogue, Francisco? Francisco!”

    Francisco emerged shyly from beyond the pianoforte and was promptly embraced by first Sir Harry and then Lady Ainsley. He forthwith burst into tears and went down on one knee before her, sobbing over her hand.

    “Emotional fellow, y’know. Spanish servants,” noted Sir Harry, shaking his head. “Here, who are these?”

    Hurriedly Paul introduced Lord Welling and the Kernohan brothers. Sir Harry expressed himself very pleased to meet poor Meredith’s son—Lord Welling, blushing, appearing most gratified—and noted to the Major: “Oh, aye? Ain’t you Francis Kernohan’s nevvy? Saw him in Brussels when he was with Wellington.”

    The Major bowed and murmured that his uncle had mentioned it.

    “Harry, dear,” said Cousin Sophia: “they are dear Wilhelmina Parkinson’s relatives.”

    “Eh?” he said.

    “One must presume she was formerly Wilhelmina Kernohan, Harry,” murmured his son.

    “Eh? Oh, good Lord! The fair girl with the damned yappin’ little dog!” he said. “’Course I remember her: her and you and Patty was ever bosom bows, eh? So she married the cit, in the end?”

    “Harry, you must know she married Mr Parkinson: they were renting the town house from you,” said his eldest son with a laugh in his voice.

    “What? Oh—Parkinson!” he said. “Well, why did you not say so, dear boy? Uh—oh: Marinela, viens ici, ma mie, tu voudras sans doute faire la connaissance des neveux du Général Kernohan; et Pedro, mon cher, veuillez me laisser vous présenter—”

    Major Kernohan bowed to Lady Ainsley and expressed himself in Spanish delighted to meet her, forthwith apologizing for his poor grasp of the language.

    “You speak Spanish very well. But we can to speak English if you weesh,” said Marinela, smiling and leaning on her husband’s arm in, Hildy was very startled to note, exactly the way that Lady V. had leaned on Mr Dorian’s! “For Don Pedro doeth to speak it very well, though he will protest he doeth not!”

    “I am very pleased to meet you again, in these much happier circumstances, Major Kernohan,” said Don Pedro with a slight bow. He had an accent but it was not nearly as strong as his sister’s. Very lowering indeed, thought Hildy glumly.

    Major Kernohan bowed very low and said: “Sir, the pleasure is all mine. May I present my brother, Mr Dorian Kernohan? Dorian, I have the honour to present—”

    Hildy and Gaetana exchanged startled glances.

    “He hath met him in the warth. They fight near the hacienda which Pedro sometimeth habits when he keels the pigs,” explained Lady Ainsley pleasedly, beaming at them.

    “Hunting lodge,” murmured Paul. “I see, Madre.”

    “Also Carlos was weeth heem,” she noted as Carlos and the Major then shook hands, smiling.

    “Evidently.”

    “Madre, why are they here?” hissed Gaetana.

    “Ssh, querida,” she murmured: “your tio will think you have no mannerth!”

    Gaetana rolled her eyes madly at Hildy. Hildy gulped.

    “Here, Paul!” demanded Sir Harry loudly: “where’s the rest of ’em?”

    Paul took a deep breath. “The children are at school, Pa, did you not get my letters?”

    “’Course I got your dashed letters!” he said indignantly. “Read every word of ’em, too! Though there was no need to tell me all that stuff about the estate: it’s yours to do what you like with, dear boy, y’know!”

    “And he would not know a sheep from a mangel-wurzel,” noted Jake drily.

    “Sheep, eh?” said Sir Harry in a vaguely pleased voice. “Well, what about Patty and the older girls? Thought I was goin’ to see all me cousin’s girls!” he added aggrievedly.

    “Tia Patty has taken them up to London, sir: I did write you of all our plans.”

    “Shopping,” said Hildy.

    “Oh, aye, bride-clothes?” he said. Hildy nodded and he asked: “Well, why the Devil didn’t you and Gaetana go with ’em?”

    Hildy blushed brightly and Gaetana immediately put an arm round her waist and said: “Harry, you are not to march in and start bullying Hildy!”—Over by the fireplace Rockingham, who was merely standing by quietly, smiled a little.—“We did not go because we prefer the country life. And Hildy has had the influenza: we thought London would not be a good idea.”

    “¡Querido, they write all of thees!” said his wife loudly.

    “Did they?” he said, scratching his head. “Well, what about Luís? Don’t tell me he’s buyin’ bride-clothes!” He shook all over.

    “No, he is here, Pa. I think he’s in the gunroom.” Paul caught at his sleeve, “But before you rush off, you should know that Bunch is also here.”

    “Eh? You just said she was at school!”

    Marinela broke into Spanish. apparently addressing it to Paul. Gaetana also broke into Spanish, apparently addressing it to Marinela.

    “Here, that’ll— I said, that’ll DO!” roared Sir Harry.

    When the echoes had just about stopped quivering, he said sternly to his wife: “Thought I told you, no Spanish except to Pedro and Carlos, here? And you can forget Carlos, now I think of it: he’s got to practise his English.”

    “Sí, sí—”

    “Just be quiet. What did she do, run away from the damned place?” he said grimly to Paul.

    Paul swallowed. “Sí. –I’m sorry, Pa: I mean yes.”

    “She only did it because of Francisco’s wedding,” explained Gaetana.

    “Eh?” he said. “Here, you mean to tell me you was goin’ to let ’em miss out?” he said indignantly.

    “Harry, the school term does not end until the week before Christmas. And I have already said they may all come home early for Jake’s wedding. Bungo’s headmaster was not best pleased, as his written English is still far from up to standard. And before you say anything, Francisco has refused to delay the wedding any longer.”

    Sir Harry made a scornful noise, scowling.

    His children looked at him uncertainly.

    But suddenly a cool voice said: “Did you not abrogate your responsibilities in that direction when you put them in Paul’s charge? And correct me if I am wrong, but I believe you did so in order for him to see they got a decent education and started learning to behave less like a pack of little savages. It appears to me that taking them out of school for a mere whim would scarcely have that effect.” Rockingham strolled up to Paul’s side and gave Sir Harry a sardonic look. “And in any case it is entirely Paul’s affair.”

    To certain persons’ astonishment, the hearty baronet tugged at his neckcloth and said: “Uh—er—mm. You’re right, dammit! –I’m sorry, my boy, of course you was doin’ the right thing,” he said glumly to Paul.

     Paul bowed. “Thank you, Father.”

    “Englishifying ’em,” he muttered with a scowl, spoiling his effect somewhat.

    “As Giles says, that is what you wanted, sir,” noted Paul.

    “Aye, aye,” he said with a sigh.

    Don Pedro here came up to the Marquis’ side and said something pithy in Spanish to his brother-in-law. Sir Harry winced, but said only: “Well, all right: where is the little pest?”

    “I sent her to bed. But whether or not she will have stayed there—” Paul shrugged.

    “I theenk we look for her, no?” said Marinela, squeezing her husband’s arm and again pressing her bosom against it. “Come, Harry.”

    “She’s already been over Paul’s knee,” noted the Marquis sardonically as they exited.

    Sir Harry merely grunted. But his voice floated back to them from the passage: “Well, I suppose he’s not makin’ such a bad fist of it, eh?” Marinela replied enthusiastically in Spanish. Sir Harry’s voice could then be heard replying in that language.

    Paul smiled a little and, closing the door—Hildy was soon to realise that Sir Harry never closed a door, possibly it was where Luís had the habit from—politely urged his uncle and the Marquis to the fire. They sat down on a sofa and Don Pedro immediately engaged Cousin Sophia in hugely elaborate polite conversation.

    Hildy looked weakly at Gaetana. Gaetana shrugged.

    The Kernohan brothers soon took their leave in order that the family might enjoy their celebrations in privacy, collecting up Roly with some difficulty from the gunroom, where he was found deep in confabulation with Sir Harry, Luís and Bunch over the merits of various sporting weapons therein (none of which Sir Harry had laid eyes on, it might be remembered, for something like thirty years). Lady Ainsley was merely sitting placidly by fire, still in her furs, possibly listening but possibly not.

    “Well! What a scene!” concluded Dorian with a laugh.

    “Mm. One presumes, as Sir Harry does not appear to have my disadvantage, that he was never taught to write,” murmured Aurry.

     “Eh?”

    “Surely you realised that not only were they not expecting Sir Harry and Lady Ainsley today, they were not expecting them this week, even; and they had no expectation at all of being honoured by the presence of Don Pedro and Don Carlos!”

    “No!” agreed Dorian with a grin. After a moment he added: “That was odd, now I come to think of it—would you not say, old man?”

    “Oh, certainly. For Don Pedro strikes me as very much the sort of stately-mannered gentleman of the old school who would not neglect every courtesy,”

    “Aye, stiff-rumped old so-and-so, ain’t he?” he agreed cheerfully.

    Beside him in the curricle, Aurry’s teeth flashed in the darkness. Dorian’s eyes twinkled, but he did not say anything more..

    “Luís was saying that Don Carlos is not half a bad shot,” volunteered Roly, bringing his horse up close to the curricle.

    Aurry sighed. “Pray do not, however, detail every last foot or feather they pursued together in Spain, I do beg, Roland.”

    “Here! Talk about stiff-rumped!” he said indignantly.

    “It’s just that it’s so damn’ boring, old man,” said Dorian in an apologetic voice.

     Roly glared.

    “Especially when they was not even shot by yourself, but by another!” he choked.

    “Oh, very amusing, Dorian,” he said crossly. “No, but Luís intends to shoot over towards Willow Court day after tomorrow: Charleson will give us a meal, y’know! Why do you not come, old man?”

    Dorian hesitated.

    “Yes, do if you wish, dear boy: I shall be merely supervising the plasterers, it will be dull work,” said Aurry. “In especial as they know much more of their business than I!” he added with a laugh.

    “Supervising the plasterers in the intervals of clearing out that damned jungle of a kitchen garden by your own unaided efforts!” he retorted smartly.

    “Er—well, they tell me it is a good time of year to do it,” he said apologetically.

    “Don’t give me that, Aurry!” said Dorian dangerously.

    Aurry laughed but said: “Seriously, you go.”

    “Well—I should like to. I suppose they will be out? I mean, with their relatives but lately come?”

    “Don’t see why that should make any difference,” said Roly, somewhat puzzled. “Dare say Sir Harry may wish to come out with us, in any case. Seems a very decent sort of a man.”

    His brothers choked.

    Roly stuck his nose in the air and rode on ahead.

    “All the same, it is dashed odd,” murmured Dorian after a little.

    “Mm, I thought so.”

    “And here, what is all this about you having met this Don Pedro?”

    “Oh, there is nothing in that, dear boy. We had been fighting over some of his lands, and the senior officers were quartered in his hunting lodge. Uncle Francis had asked me to dine with them the evening Don Pedro and his son paid a courtesy visit. I was very surprized the old gentleman remembered me—I would suppose it was Uncle Francis’s name that he must have recalled.”

    “I see.” After a moment he said: “Was you not quartered in this hunting lodge, then?”

    “I?” said Aurry with a laugh. “No, indeed!”

    Dorian was silent.

    “What is it?” said Aurry in some surprize.

    “Nothing. –Handsome family, are they not?”

    The memory of the handsome Don Carlos bowing over the blushing Miss Hildegarde’s hand was suddenly vivid in the Major’s mind. “Very,” he said grimly.

    Dorian shot him a dubious glance, but continued to chat cheerfully on the events of the evening. Soon Roly drew back alongside and joined in. He, at least, did not notice that Aurry was rather silent.

    Very naturally Gaetana and Hildy had no further opportunity for private talk that evening. However, next morning when they came down for breakfast they discovered there was no-one but themselves present: Paul had breakfasted much earlier and gone out with Jake, Luís had just finished his breakfast and was exercising his dogs, and Cousin Sophia, Bunch and the travellers were all still asleep.

    “Hildy,” said Gaetana thoughtfully as the girls embarked on the special rolls, sprinkled with finely chopped onion, which Berthe had baked in Sir Harry’s honour, “why on earth do you suppose Tio Pedro and Carlos are here?”

    Hildy shrugged. “Don’t ask me, they are your relatives.”

    “Hildy, you are being deliberately provoking!” she cried.

    Hildy gave her urchin grin. “True. –These rolls are delicious.”

    “Sí, they are Harry’s favourites,” she said absently. “He claims he found the originals in the Jewish quarter in Amsterdam and persuaded Berthe to reproduce them… Hildy, perhaps I was imagining things,” she said, frowning, “but I know Lord Rockingham speaks very little Spanish, and it seemed to me that—that he had that speech to Tio Pedro ready prepared!”

    “Well... I don’t know, Gaetana: perhaps young boys who are to grow up to great position are taught polite speeches of greeting in several European languages?”

    Gaetana looked dubious. “Er—well, I suppose… But what on earth was all that ‘eternal gratitude’ business on Carlos’s part?”

    Hildy shook her head. “I am as puzzled as you. Um, possibly Don Carlos had the word wrong?” she suggested delicately.

    “No, because otherwise the Marquis would hardly have replied as he did!”

    “You are right… Gaetana, were you not a trifle overawed?” she said, swallowing.

    “Entirely!” said Gaetana with a shudder.

    “I had no idea that Lord Rockingham could... Well, of course he does have a great position, one is apt to forget that,” said Hildy on a glum note.

    “Sí... I have puzzled and puzzled,” she said crossly: “but there is no answer! Why should Carlos express gratitude to his Lordship?”

    “Oh, that’s easy!” said a cheerful voice.

    Hildy gave a shriek and threw her roll into the air.

    Sir Harry came into the room, beaming. “Good, petits pains juifs!” he said, rubbing his hands. He retrieved Hildy’s roll, placed it on the table, and came round to kiss both girls heartily. He then sat down, inspected the coffee-pot and shouted:  “DEERING!” at the top of his voice.

    Deering came in: he must have heard quite easily, there was not only the volume but Sir Harry had left the door open.

    “More coffee, you fat rascal, and Miss Hildy has only milk in her cup, what is you about, to let the coffee-pot go empty like this?”

    Deering bowed impassively and replied: “I beg your pardon, Sir Harry. Miss Hildy does not care for coffee. I shall bring a fresh pot for you at once. Would you care for some ham, or cold beef, perhaps?”

    “No. Don’t like English breakfast. –Here, is it local ham?”

    “Certainly, sir,” he said, bowing  again. “A Daynesford ham.”

    “Well, they cannot touch un bon jambon de Westphalie,” he said to the girls. “Dare say I might try it, however. –And tell Berthe la bonne moutarde: she’ll know.”

    “Certainly, sir,” he said, bowing himself out.

    Sir Harry took a petit pain juif to be going on with and spread it lavishly with butter. “This salt?” he said to his daughter.

    “No, Harry, it is fresh.”

    “Good. Don’t care for salt butter.” He ate a large portion of the roll and said: “Yes. Blotted copybook, of course.”

    Hildy just stared, but Gaetana said: “Oh—Carlos?”

    “Yes, ’course. Er—political. No need to go into the details,” he said, eyeing Hildy uneasily.

    “Je suis bonne républicaine,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

    “Oh! That’s all right, then!” Sir Harry went into the details. During them Deering brought the coffee in, and Gregory the ham. Sir Harry poured for himself and his daughter, still talking.

    “Well, that explains why he is here,” said Gaetana with a twinkle, when he had come to a halt and was attacking the ham.

    Sir Harry nodded with his mouth full of ham.

    “Though not how you got him out of Spain, sir,” noted Hildy.

    “Sharp, ain’t she?” he said through the ham. “Went down to the coast, had a word with Pedro’s man, got us onto a sherry boat, no trouble.”

    “In the barrels, one would presume,” noted Gaetana.

    “No such thing!” he said, glaring. “Uh—well, Carlos had to pretend to be a sailor for a bit. Came off all right and tight, though.”

    “Well, that was very interesting,” said his daughter airily.

    Sir Harry eyed her suspiciously.

    “Now, if you would explain the reconnaisance éternelle envers Monsieur le Marquis, we should be vastly gratified, Pa,”‘ she noted.

    “Oh, didn’t I? Thought I had. That’s easy! Giving him a little house.”

    There was a short silence.

    “Lord Rockingham is giving Don Carlos a little house?” croaked Hildy, seeing that Gaetana was incapable of speech.

    Sir Harry nodded, and took another petit pain juif.

    “But why, sir?”

    “Why should he not?” he said airily. “Place is empty, no-one else wants it. They have a new dower house, y’know. Quite fine: Sir Vyvyan’s architect designed it for them, I bel—”

    “Pa, you cannot mean Lord Rockingham is giving Carlos the old dower house!” cried Gaetana loudly.

    “Yes, I just said!” he said in some annoyance. “Girl has beans in her ears,” he muttered.

    “Uncle Harry,” said Hildy cautiously: “that is not a little house, exactly. Well, it is not large, but it is a very pretty Tudor house of, I dare say, half a dozen bedrooms.”

    “Four. Oh, plush mash’er be’room,” he said thickly.

    Gaetana was very red. She ignored this last and said tensely: “I cannot believe it! Lord Rockingham give Carlos a house? The families are not even acquainted!”

    “Of course they are!” he said huffily.

    There was a short pause.

    “No, well, old Pedro’s... uncle? Well, yes, uncle, I think,” he said, “was acquainted with Rockingham’s grandfather. –Henry, is that right?” he asked.

    Gaetana looked at him angrily but Hildy said calmly: “Yes, that is correct: Henry Hammond was this Lord Rockingham’s grandfather. He lived to a great age, I believe. His Lordship was much attached to him.”

    “Aye. Fine old gentleman. High in the instep, y’know, but a man of character,” he said, shaking his head. “Terrible pity the son didn’t take after him. There was an… uncle? No, no, generations of girls with only one boy in the Hammonds, of course. Well, I think it was some sort of a cousin: same tendency: cruel, y’know. Came from his grandmother’s side of the family, it was said. Pedro’s uncle knew Rockingham’s grandfather when he was attached to the Court of St James’s.”

    “Harry, that still does not justify the Marquis’s giving Carlos a house!” cried Gaetana.

    “Proves the families is acquainted, however.”

    “That is all he was endeavouring to prove, Gaetana,” Hildy pointed out mildly.

    “Yes, ’tis. –Logical mind she has, eh?” he noted. “Unusual in a girl .”

    Gaetana took a deep and annoyed breath. “It is only unusual in a girl because boys are taught to think logically from the moment they can walk, and girls are not! But Hildy has had an excellent education.”

    Sir Harry took the last petit pain juif. “DEERING! –Never here when you want ‘em,” he muttered.

    Gaetana was very red and hot-looking but as Deering came in, did not say anything further until her father had ordered more rolls, butter, and coffee and the butler had retreated. Then she took a deep breath. “Why has his Lordship given Carlos a house and whose idea was it?” she said fiercely.

    “No notion. Er—believe there was an exchange of letters,” he said airily.

    “Lord Rockingham wrote to Carlos?” she cried scornfully. “I do not believe it! And—and whose was the initiative?” she added in a shaking voice.

    “No idea. And I doubt if anyone wrote to Carlos. But at one stage old Pedro turns up—just when we were sayin’ we had best stir our stumps, and your Madre had wrung them last carpets out of old Tia Rosita, the old— Never mind. And says he has had a letter from Wellington.”

    There was a short silence.

    “From—from the Duke of Wellington?” said Gaetana faintly.

    “Aye. Well, don’t look at me! Some diplomatic nonsense. Furthering relations, or some such. And he had best come to England with us.”

    There was another short silence.

    “Who?” said Hildy

    “Mm? Oh, old Pedro! We had already made up our minds to get young Carlos out of the damned country. Boy had been virtually in hiding for I know not how many months.”

    Gaetana stood up and leant threateningly over the table. “Harry, if you do not instantly reveal why the Duke of Wellington wishes to see Tio Pedro and what this has to do with the Marquis of Rockingham’s giving Carlos a house, I shall go into strong hysterics!”

    “Good God, don’t make that face, girl,” he said, wincing. “One would swear you were old Sir Vyvyan reincarnated. –Great look of m’father, too, and that ain’t a face as I ever wish to see again, waking or dreaming!”

    “HARRY!” she shouted.

    “Ssh: servants will hear you.”—Here Hildy’s jaw sagged.—“Well, I’m trying to explain, mi querida, but it’s dashed difficult, because what with his damned coy circumlocutions and his polite periphrases, Pedro ain’t that sparklin’ clear at the best of times. And of course it stuck in his craw like nobody’s business, to be accepting a favour from Rockingham.”

    “Mere acquaintances as their respective ancestors were, yes,” agreed Hildy.

    “Lord Rockingham’s politics,” said Gaetana through trembling lips, “have nothing in common with the Duke of Wellington’s. I cannot conceive why—” She broke off, gulping.

    “Dare say Giles may have wished to do my family a favour,” said Sir Harry blandly. “Well, why not? –Here, have you been baking those dashed things?” he said in annoyance as Deering came in with further supplies.

    “Not precisely, sir. But Madame Berthe wishes me to advise you,” he said as Sir Harry picked up a petit pain and dropped it with a gasp, “that they are straight out of the oven.”

    “That was Deering’s round, I fancy,” said Hildy with enjoyment as the butler closed the door.

    Gaetana smiled a little but said: “I still do not understand.”

    “Well, nor do I. But if it is diplomatic, not political,” said Hildy thoughtfully, “I can see that Lord Rockingham and the Duke of Wellington may well have seen eye to eye.”

    “That’ll be it,” agreed Sir Harry in relief. He took a roll, more circumspectly this time, and blew on his fingers.

    “Yes, but—but how did they even know that Carlos was in need of help? And—and... Harry, if this is some deep-laid plot between Paul and Giles, I shall find it out!” said Gaetana with angry tears in her eyes.

    “Of course it ain’t! Plain as the nose on his face Paul was as stunned as you were when old Pedro walked in on you!”

    “I thought that, too, Gaetana,” said Hildy anxiously.

    “Aye. And it ain’t a secret, y’know. Well, I know the Fernández de Velascos ain’t up there with the house of Alba, and so forth, but old Pedro ain’t nobody, y’know! Anyone in diplomatic circles must have known about Carlos’s little spot of bother this age!”

    Suddenly Hildy cried crossly: “Oh! The cat!”

    “Who, Hildy?” said Gaetana in bewilderment.

    “Countess Lieven,” she said grimly. “It was one evening at Almack’s, and you and Paul were dancing together, and she came up to Lady Lavinia and Susan and me and said what a pretty sight it was. So of course I was immediately on my guard. And then she said: ‘Such an intriguing family: indeed, une famille intrigante, one might almost say! And when may we expect to see some more of your Spanish connexions in London, Miss Hildegarde?’ And Lady Lavinia gave her such a look! I was quite bewildered, and thought perhaps she meant yourself and Lady Ainsley, sir, which did not make sense, for she had been present only a few days before when Paul had assured Lady Jersey you would not be in England for some months. Only now I see!”

    “Aye, Lieven would know all about Carlos, of course. And what he knows, she knows. –‘Famille intrigante’, eh?” he said, shaking all over. “That is not half bad!”“

    “Regardless of whether the whole diplomatic world knows about Carlos’s troubles,” said Gaetana angrily, “I do not believe Lord Rockingham would give him a house for nothing!”

    “I said: dare say he may have wanted to do the family a favour,” her father returned blandly.

    Gaetana drew an angry breath.

    “And—and I suppose Don Pedro would wish to thank the Marquis, and—and if the Duke of Wellington wishes to see him, then he is killing two birds with one stone, and—and that explains his visit,” said Hildy, very weakly.

    “Aye, only it ain’t Wellington as wishes to see him,” said Sir Harry, carving ham. “Sure you do not wish for ham, Hildy, my dear? It is not half bad.”

    “Harry, stop talking in RIDDLES!” shouted his daughter furiously.

    “I wasn’t. You never listen, that’s your trouble,” he returned mildly. He put a huge forkful of ham in his mouth. Gaetana glared furiously as he chewed it slowly. “Uh—mm,” he said, having swallowed. “Wellington wrote the initial inquiry. Well, it was him as met him, y’see.”

    “Uncle Harry,” said Hildy with a nervous glance at Gaetana, “you did give us the impression that it was the Duke who wished to see Don Pedro.”

    “Uh—did I? –Here, ain’t it sweet when she calls me ‘Uncle Harry’?” he said, beaming.

    Gaetana ignored this and said tightly: “Then who, pray, does wish to see Don Pedro? His Highness the Prince Regent, I presume?”

    Sir Harry nodded placidly, buttering a petit pain juif. “Got it in one.” He put the better part of the roll in his mouth.

    “BALDERDASH!” screamed Gaetana furiously.

    Hildy jumped up and ran round the table to her, putting an arm round her shoulders. “Ssh, dearest!”

    Sir Harry chewed placidly.

    The door opened and a calm voice said: “Harry, what ith going on?”

    “You can hear you all over the house,” contributed Bunch, squeezing in beside Lady Ainsley. “Well, Gaetana, mostly. And you shouting at Deering.”

    “For, not at,” said Hildy, eyes twinkling. “Good morning, Aunt Marinela; I do hope you slept well?”

    “Oh, yes, thank you, Hildy, querida, and our bed ith so comfortable, it wath not damp at all!” she beamed.

    “See: I told Cousin Sophia Harry wouldn’t need that silly bed in the dressing-room,” said Bunch immediately.

    “That’ll do,” said Sir Harry mildly. “Here, aren’t you goin’ to give your old Pa a morning kiss?” he added in some indignation as Miss Elinor Ainsley then pulled up a chair and inspected the coffee-pot. “First morning back and she’s takin’ me for granted already!” he noted.

    “Have you had a shave?” returned Bunch suspiciously. Hildy bit her lip.

    “Of course I have had a shave!” he retorted indignantly. “Don’t think I would come down for breakfast when there are ladies in the house without a shave, do you? Francisco was there like a shot with the shaving water before I had barely blinked!”

    Bunch got up and came to deposit a kiss on her father’s cheek, with a remarkable lack of interest. Sir Harry returned the kiss heartily and patted her bottom enthusiastically. Unmoved, Bunch returned to her seat and took the last of Sir Harry’s petits pains.

    Sir Harry then bowed Marinela ceremoniously to a chair—she had kissed her older daughter and Hildy and had then just stood there, apparently waiting for him to do so—and reseated himself. He opened his mouth but before he could bellow Deering had entered.

    When the family had placed their orders and Marinela had remarked with approval how warm the breakfast room was, Gaetana said on a sulky note: “Well, what is this about the Prince Regent?”

    “Mm? Oh, yes: it’s Prinny that wants to see Pedro, not Wellington,” said Sir Harry in a bored voice. “Have not seen the fellow for this age: they tell me he has become fat as a balloon. York, too.”

    “Never mind His Highness’s figure!” said Gaetana angrily. “Madre, is this true?”

    “Sí, sí: the Prince wisheth to give your Tio Pedro a medal. –Or ith it an order?” she said to her husband. He shrugged. “Something of the sort, my darling,” she said, smiling her lovely smile.

    Gaetana’s lips trembled. “Madre, why?” she said pathetically.

    “Becoth he did so much to help the English troops, mi querida, why else?” she replied calmly.

    “It ain’t on account of Carlos’s goin’s-on, at all events!” said Sir Harry with a chuckle, wresting the carving knife off Bunch. “I will carve. I WILL CARVE!”

    “Harry, stop IGNORING me!” screamed Gaetana, bursting into sobs.

    Hildy was still beside her: she put her arm round her again. “Ssh. I don’t think he is, Gaetana, I think he’s told us all he knows.”

    “Yes,” he said in relief, nodding. “Have.” He put a huge helping of ham before Bunch.

    “Gaetana,” said her mother placidly: “you must not to upset yourself like thith.”

    “Madre,” she said tearfully: “he—he has been deliberately evading our questions, all morning!”

    “I haven’t,” he said, vastly injured. “Don’t imagine Pedro tells me all his business, do you?”

    There was a short silence.

    “Well, no,” said Gaetana feebly, “but—but you are still being evasive!”

    “Look, I don’t know anything more about Carlos’s damned house!” he said, beginning to get heated.

    “Dear Gileth hath very kindly offered Carlos a little house,” noted Lady Ainsley. “Bunch, querida, that ith too much ham.”

    “I’m hungry!” she retorted angrily, guarding her plate with both arms.

    “Querida, I am sure they do not to teach you that at Meess Blake’th. –Harry,  querido, you forget Bunch ith but a child.”

    “I’m BIG!” she cried angrily. “I’ve GROWN! And I’m hungry! I’ve been travelling for miles too, remember!”

    There was a short silence.

    “I would not have said a reminder to the company of the fact was the most tactful thing you might have said, however,” noted her father coldly.

    Bunch gulped. “No. Well, I am hungry.”

    “Sí, sí, my darling,” agreed Marinela. “But do not to feel you must to eat it all, just becoth Harry hath given it you. –Harry, could I not speak Spanish just to Bunch?” she added plaintively in that language.

    “No, English,” he said, scowling.

    Marinela sighed. “Sí, English. –Did you understand, Bunch, my dearest?”

    “Um—no. Do you mean I may keep the ham?”

    “I collect your mamma means,” said Hildy quickly, perceiving that the Ainsleys were yet again side-tracking themselves, and that Gaetana was looking very annoyed over it: “that you must not feel obliged to eat it all, if you feel it is too much for you, merely because it is on your plate.”

    “It is not too much for me! –Madre, I’ve grown!”

    At this point Lady Ainsley bit her lip and Hildy, who had believed herself to be alone in perceiving that Bunch’s offhand, not to say truculent, manner this morning was caused by a very natural feeling that her parents had deserted her, saw that she was not. And on second thoughts, she was very sure that Sir Harry was aware of it, too.

    “Sí, my darling,” Marinela then said: “you have indeed grown, and fact I think you weell be taller than Gaetana.”

    Bunch looked pleased. “Yes. See this dress?” She embarked hungrily on her ham.

    Her mother nodded.

    “Amabel made this lace,” she explained, waving at her chest with a forkful of ham. “It is not real lace, but tatted lace, made with a shuttle! And the dress is scarcely three months old, but it is short on me already!” She beamed.

    They could all see this, for two inches of the warm petticoat she was wearing under it were visible.

    “Indeed you have grown, my darling,” said her mother placidly. “And later perhaps we can…” She waved her hands helplessly. “To make longer the skirt.”

    “Unpick the hem!” said Bunch, suddenly beaming.

    “Sí, sí, mi querida.”

    “Yes, well,” said Hildy desperately, “it is definite that—that the Prince Regent wishes to see Don Pedro, is it?”

    “Apparently, mm,” agreed Sir Harry. “—Where is that man? DEERING!”

    Marinela said something to him in Spanish.

    “Er—mm,” he said on a dubious note.

    “Then it ith just that dear Giles wisheth to do us a favour,” she decided serenely.

    “One out of three,” muttered Sir Harry. “At least she got the ‘Giles’ right.”

    To Hildy’s surprise there was then a short pause in the conversation, as the footmen brought in more supplies.

    “Madre,” said Gaetana, going very red: “I was not aware that you were on first-name terms with the Marquis.”

    “Sí,” she said vaguely. “Un seul petit pain juif to start, Bunch, mi querida, and then you may take more as the appetite demandth. –Do I mean ‘demandth’, or ‘askth’?”

    “‘Demands’.” Bunch kindly explained this further in Spanish.

    Lady Ainsley listened carefully, nodding, but just as her niece was feeling herself to be at screaming point, added: “I have met Gileth—Giles—two timeth.”

     “‘Twice’,” corrected Sir Harry.

    “Twice,” she said placidly, taking a roll. “One time he bringth Harry the ring of Sir George, that time I am in Bruxelles with the children. Giles cometh to visit me and stayth for three months. Until Harry ith back safe,” she added cheerfully.

    “Aye, that’s it. Very taken with the little ones, he was,” he said, pouring coffee.

    “Sí,” Marinela agreed calmly. “The other time he cometh to Amsterdam, I theenk for no reason except he ith bored and weeshes to—” She lapsed into Spanish, looking enquiringly at her husband.

    “Wishes to run the blockade in the Channel. Aye, that was it. You children were a little older, then.”

    “I don’t remember any English milord visiting us in Amsterdam,” objected Gaetana, very flushed.

    “Not that time! No, no, first time we was there! You would have been younger than Bunch is now!” He lapsed into Spanish. He and Marinela had an extended discussion, apparently over the point.

    Hildy and Gaetana glanced at each other, and quietly left the room.

    “You see?” said Gaetana angrily as they went into the morning-room. “He is impossible!”

    “Ye-es... I must admit it is extremely difficult to penetrate that manner and find out exactly how much he really knows, or—or how much of what he says is the truth,” said Hildy, swallowing.

    “Exactly. –Prince Regent!” she said scornfully.

    “Gaetana, that is both so wholly mad and so wholly logical, it absolutely must be true!” said Hildy desperately.

    “Very well, now explain the house for Don Carlos!” she said angrily.

    Hildy gulped. “Dear Gaetana, very evidently it is because the Marquis wishes to do your family, and thereby yourself, a favour.”

    “He will not blackmail me that way, you can be very sure!” she retorted fiercely, cheeks aflame.

    “No... Your mamma seems to like him very much.”

    Gaetana did not reply.

    “Gaetana,” she said desperately: “surely it must be obvious to you that Don Pedro is every bit as grand a gentleman as Lord Rockingham, even if he is not quite his equal in rank, and—and that any alliance between the two families would be entirely well thought of in Society.”

    “You forget,” she said grimly, “that when the Marquis of Rockingham first visited my papa, it was in Boney’s camp!”

    “Ye-es... But Sir Harry was spying for the other side,” she said weakly.

    Gaetana’s hands trembled, but she said grimly: “Precisely. It is not exactly an occupation which is entirely well thought of in polite society.”

    Hildy gulped.

    “Put it like this,” finished Gaetana on a bitter note: “on the day that the Prince Regent receives Harry rather than Tio Pedro, and confers a medal on him, I shall reconsider my answer to Giles Hammond, and not before!”

    “Sí,” said Marinela thoughtfully, later that day, patting Hildy’s hand. “Thank you for telling me, Hildy dear.”

    “Yes, my dear, much the best thing!” agreed Cousin Sophia, nodding hard.

    Bunch looked up from her unpicking. “I could have told you all that, Madre!”

    “Most, but not all, I think, mi querida. –Show me the skirt?”

    Bunch, who was at the moment in her heavy woollen petticoat and a shawl, brought her green dress over to Lady Ainsley.

    “Oh, very good, querida!” she beamed.

    “Yes; I know how to unpick. I unpicked lots of monograms, did I not, Hildy?”

    “Yes. And she has embroidered a beautiful— It’s not a secret, is it?” said Hildy in some alarm as Bunch turned puce and glared.

    “No, but I wished to tell her!”

    “Well, and so you must,” said Marinela. “Hildy hath not said what you embroidered. But I did not know you had learned the embroidery, my lamb?”

    “Amabel taught me. And Maria helped teach. –I’ll get it!” she decided, beaming. She abandoned the dress and rushed out.

    Lady Ainsley picked up the dress and looked at it, smiling. “Maintenant parlions français, n’est-ce-pas?”

    Hildy agreed to this in some relief and Marinela explained to her in that language her own belief that Gaetana’s feelings towards the Marquis of Rockingham were not only those of a principled young woman who was the daughter of a spy.

    Hildy and Cousin Sophia listened attentively. Finally the little elderly lady said, nodding, in careful schoolgirl French: “Yes. It is as I had supposed. And very natural, when the gentleman is so much older. But dear Paul has been encouraging the Marquis to visit as much as he pleases, and I think Gaetana is beginning to feel much more at ease with him.”

    Hildy nodded. “Yes. They fight sometimes, but—but I think that is only when Gaetana has recollected that—that she has determined not to encourage him.”

    “Or when she is suddenly shy because she has recollected that he is an older gentleman!” said Cousin Sophia, with a tiny laugh.

    Hildy looked at her dubiously but Marinela smiled and nodded and said: “Oui, bien sûr. It is understandable that she becomes nervous at the thought of marriage. But once we can overcome this silly notion that she is not good enough for him, that will solve itself in the course of nature!” She laughed just a little, and to Hildy’s surprize Cousin Sophia joined in.

    Bunch came in at that, panting, waving her pillowcase. “See? I did it all myself! And see those little knots? They call them French knots in England, Madre, and Amabel said I picked them up very quick!”

    Marinela duly admired the pillowslip—now washed and ironed so that an earlier grey appearance had quite vanished—and Bunch went off to lay it by in its drawer.

    Hildy returned to French and asked her aunt whether she knew any more of the business of Don Pedro’s medal or order, but Marinela said regretfully that she did not. And that although Harry had certainly had letters from England they were all in English and he had refused to translate. “But it is clear that there is some plot afoot. I only hope,” she said, frowning, “that they all do know what they are about, and that it will be best for dearest Gaetana.”

    “Yes. Gentlemen,” said Cousin Sophia, swallowing nervously, “are sometimes not very wise.”

    Marinela agreed enthusiastically with this sentiment and expressed herself freely and at length on the point. During her speech Bunch returned but this did not halt her mother’s flow.

    “You may stop worrying, Hildy, querida,” ended Marinela calmly. Hildy’s lips trembled. “Non, non, il ne faut pas pleurer comme ça!” she cried. “Viens ici, ma petite! O, là, là!”

    Hildy put her head in Aunt Marinela’s lap and cried and cried. Cousin Sophia also had to produce a handkerchief and mop her eyes.

    “I think I came just in time!” said Marinela with a little laugh, when the tears had dried up at last.

    “Sí, sí, it’s Francisco’s wedding the day after tomorrow!” noted Bunch.

    Marinela smiled, and did not say that that was not what she had meant.

    ... “Bunch,” said Hildy nervously as they went upstairs together a little later: “you won’t repeat any of that to Gaetana, will you?”

    Bunch replied tersely that she was pas si bête. Though she herself did not see what all the fuss was about.

    “No,” said Hildy weakly.

    “If Gaetana marries the Marquis,” Bunch then said on an uneasy note, “where shall we live, Hildy?”

    Hildy put an arm round her. “Here, of course. This is your home, now.”

    “Ye-es... Sisters don’t have to go into dower houses, do they?”

    “Er—no. Well, in the case that—that the gentleman had a widowed mother and she herself was retiring to the dower house on his marriage, the sisters would then accompany her.”

    “Oh, good, so you will come and live in our dower house with Tia Patty!” she cried.

    “What?” said Hildy numbly,

    Bunch nodded excitedly. “Sí, sí, Hildy: when Hal marries Miss Daws and Tia Patty retires to our dower house, you will come, too! And Marybelle and Floss,” she added with less enthusiasm.

    “Bunch,” said Hildy weakly: “I’m afraid you have it all wrong. The lady who—who retires to the dower house must be the mother of the gentleman who—who owns the estate, not his—his aunt or mother-in-law,” she ended limply.

    “Sí... But Paul said Tia Patty must have it, and that is why he is putting it in order. So if she comes, you must!”

    “But—but Mamma has said nothing of all this,” faltered Hildy, turning very pale.

    “Oh, help,” replied Bunch simply.

    Hildy bit her lip. “Was it a secret?”

    “Yes, Paul said we must not say anything about it until Hal had popped the question and he had broached it with Tia Patty. –Is the word ‘broached’?”

    “Yes, nothing to do with the sort of brooch one wears.”

    Bunch nodded seriously.

    “I—I had no notion,” said Hildy in a voice that shook.

    “He’s fixing the drive to the dower house and everything,” Bunch reminded her. “Hildy, if Gaetana and the Marquis get married I can still live here, can’t I?”

    Hildy had to swallow, but she replied gamely enough: “Yes; has Paul not explained that?”

    “Well, ye-es…,” she said cautiously. “So we wouldn’t have to go into the Marquis’s dower house?”

    Hildy passed a hand through her curls. “No. –Oh, good grief! You are comparing your situation when your sister marries to mine and Floss’s and Marybelle’s, when our sister marries?”

    “Mm,” she said, nodding.

    “Oh, help!” said Hildy madly.

    “I can’t help it if I’ve got it muddled,” she said, scowling.

    “No, I know: very often when a young person of great intelligence thinks deeply about a subject they may take the wrong tack, simply because of their lack of experience.”—Bunch nodded gratefully.—“And the situation between our two families—well, three, if you count Don Carlos—is certainly complicated enough to warrant anyone’s becoming muddled!”

    “Sí. –Four.”

    “Four?” said Hildy numbly.

    “Yes.” Bunch counted on her fingers. “The Ainsleys, the Madderns, the Fernández de Velascos, and the Hammonds.”

    “Dios,” said Hildy deeply. “Four, indeed.”

    Bunch giggled and squeezed her hand. “You sounded just like Paul!”

    “Er—mm. Have you got it straight, do you think?”

    “Um—well, I think I see what we’ll all do, but I can’t see why,” she admitted.

    “No.” Hildy accompanied her into her room and sat down heavily on Bunch’s bed.

    Bunch looked at her hopefully.

    “There is no rational explanation, as such,” said Hildy finally. “When social mores are concerned, there are certain—er—données?”—Bunch nodded—“that one must just accept.”—Bunch nodded again. “Yes. Well, this business of Paul’s offering Mamma the use of his dower house is what has complicated it. Shall we leave it aside for the moment?

    Bunch nodded once more and Hildy explained carefully the usual disposition of dower houses. And what was and was not likely to happen with the Marquis’s new dower house. Avoiding the issue of the old one.

    “Good, I have it all quite straight now!” she said happily. “¡Gracias, Hildy!”

    Hildy gave her a little hug and Bunch suddenly squeezed her very tight, kissed her cheek fiercely and said: “I’m very glad you’re going to be living so near!”

    Hildy agreed weakly to this and tottered off to her own room.

    Instead of changing her dress for dinner, however, she just sat limply on the edge of her bed for some time. Coming to live in Paul’s dower house? Could it be right? Bunch had been so muddled, but— No, she could hardly have dreamed up something that unlikely, the more so since it was based on premises which very clearly the child had not even understood. When she found she was wondering just how soon Hal and Miss Daws might marry and therefore how soon she herself might come to live in the dower house with Mamma, so near not only to the Ainsleys but also, relatively speaking, to Lower Daynesfold, she got up, looking very cross, and gave herself a good shake, saying loudly: “Pull yourself together, Hildegarde Maddern!”

    In spite of this stern injunction, however, the excited beating of her heart scarcely abated and she was barely able to eat a morsel that evening. Her kindly relatives refrained from forcing food on her, putting her loss of appetite down to the series of surprizes they had all sustained.

    Gaetana, although she had been out on the hills with Luís for most of the day, had little appetite, either. Few of the company put her loss of appetite down to the series of surprizes she had sustained, however: to the majority of them it was clear that Gaetana was feeling strongly that she was being—not, perhaps, overtaken by events: more outmanoeuvred by more experienced players. And was thoroughly shaken by it.

    They were destined for one more surprise that week before Francisco’s wedding took place. The two young women and Bunch, all warmly wrapped up, went for a walk the following day and returned by way of the fiercely pruned shrubbery, rounding the house and emerging onto the sweep.

    “Cor!” gulped Bunch, transfixed. “A coach and six!”

    “Look at the livery!” gasped Gaetana, jerked out of her preoccupation. “Did you ever see anything so elaborate? Hildy, who can it be? A—a duke come to call on Tio Pedro?”

    Hildy had gathered some autumn leaves but now she dropped them. “A duke? If so, it is a— Gaetana, look at the crest upon that door and tell me I am not dreaming,” she croaked.

    “Er—a lion and— Is that a horse?” she said, peering.

    “The lion and the unicorn!” screamed Bunch. “It is! It is!” she screeched, jumping wildly.

    “Dios,” said Gaetana numbly.

    “Help,” gulped Hildy.

    As they stood there numbly a footman in an elaborate livery came out of the house and mounted into the coach. The equipage wheeled on the sweep and drove off.

    Ned Adams in person had been holding the leaders’ heads. “Who was it, Ned?” said Gaetana limply.

    “The Prince Regent?” said Bunch eagerly.

    “No, it were naught but a bunch of notes, like.”

    “His Highness the Prince Regent has invited us all to a musical soirée at Carlton Huh-Huh-House!” choked Hildy, falling about helplessly on the sweep.

    “Rubbish! We have not even met him!” cried Gaetana loudly, very cross.

    “I have: I curtseyed to him at Susan Dewesbury’s ball,” admitted Hildy. “Possibly you were in an alcove with Mr Edward Claveringham or Mr Grahame, at the time?”—Gaetana choked. Mr Adams looked disapproving.—“However, I do not think that one curtsey a royal invitation makes!”

    “Well, hardly,” said Gaetana weakly. “Though Paul has met the Duke of York.”

    “Ooh, is he very fat?” asked Bunch eagerly.

    “Very,” said Hildy kindly. “They both are.”

    “Aye, well, it weren’t neither of ’em,” noted Mr Adams. “Though them nags was sweating like it might have been the both on ’em. Five changes, they’d made, mind you. And will change ’em again at the Place.”

    “They are going to Daynesford Place?” cried Gaetana.

    “Aye, so they said. And from there straight on to Chypsley. Though we has sufficient nags in our own stables, and so I told ’em: if it were the poor old King hisself, we could— Now what’s come to her?” he said in bewilderment, as Gaetana gave an angry cry and rushed up the front steps.

    “Um—never mind, Ned,” said Hildy feebly.

    In the study Paul was sitting at his desk with a numbed expression, Sir Harry was warming his coat-tails at the fire, looking complacent, and Jake was lounging in the window looking sardonic.

    “What was that coach doing here?” cried Gaetana breathlessly.

    “Delivering invitations,” said Paul feebly.

    “To a musical soirée at Carlton House, no doubt!” she cried fiercely.

    “Er—not in this instance, no,” he said weakly.

    Hildy and Bunch came up breathlessly to Gaetana’s side. “What is it, Paul?” gasped Hildy.

    “An invitation from the Prince Regent?” gasped Bunch.

    “Er—yes. Of all things,” he said limply.

    Gaetana snatched the invitation out of his hand.

    “Quite nicely done: one to Paul and Gaetana, y’see, and Marinela, of course,” said Sir Harry complacently. “And these here are for Pedro and Carlos. –Had you thought of inviting Prinny to the wedding, dear lad?”

    “Sir, we are not on those terms! I have scarcely met His Royal Highness!” said Paul on a desperate note.

    “—For the third time of telling,” added Jake drily.

    “I was used to know York quite well,” said Sir Harry cheerfully.

    “OH!” cried Gaetana furiously, stamping her foot and throwing the invitation to the floor.

    Bunch swooped on it. “Ooh, isn’t it grand! Ooh, look, Hildy: ‘Orders will be worn!’”

    “It cannot really say that—”

    Bunch held it out eagerly. Hildy perforce read it. None of the Ainsleys objected but then she did not, to say truth, expect them to. “A—a private ceremony at Carlton House?” she said weakly. “In the presence of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent and—and the Spanish Ambassador?”

    “It is obviously the ceremony at which Tio Pedro will receive his order, Hildy, querida,” said Paul.

    “Obviously,” said Gaetana grimly, turning on her heel and walking out.

    Hildy gulped. “Ned said the coach was going on to the Place.”

    “Yes, dare say they will have invited Giles,” said Sir Harry airily.

    “May one ask why, sir?” she said politely.

    “Well, he has been dashed decent to Carlos, y’know!” he replied breezily.

    “Hildy, I would not,” warned Paul. “When he is in this mood, there is no getting anything out of him.”

    “Look, I don’t know anything!” he said loudly.

    “That might or might not be true,” noted Jake.

    “Well, quite!” agreed Paul on a grim note.

    “Pa, will you wear your orders?” said Bunch excitedly, having re-read the invitation several times, lips moving.

    Immediately Jake went into a terrific coughing, wheezing fit. “Not—all—of them!” gasped Paul, suddenly joining him in the fit.

    “Pooh,” said Sir Harry with an uneasy smile. “Don’t see what you’re all so surprized about,” he added. “Told you Pedro was up for a medal of some sort, didn’t I? Didn’t expect it would fall out of the air, did you?”

    Paul passed his hand across his face. “Just don’t, Pa.”

    “I wish I could go,” said Bunch wistfully. “Will the Prince Regent wear an ermine cloak?”

    Suddenly Hildy had a vivid vision of herself, Christa, Amabel, Marybelle and Floss returning in a damp procession from the Reverend Parkinson’s vicarage, the younger girls discussing a very similar topic. Less than a year ago!

    “Oh, my goodness,” she said in a faltering voice.

    Jake sprang to her side. “¡Hildy, querida! –Quick, get her a chair, you fool!” he snarled. Sir Harry obediently pulled up a chair.

    “I’m all right,” she said numbly, sinking onto it.

    There was a decanter and some glasses on a sideboard: Sir Harry poured brandy. “Here.”

    “No— I— Not spirits, sir,” she said weakly.

    “Just a sip, Hildy, dear, you’ve given us all a fright,” said Jake, kneeling by her side with his arm round her. He held the glass to her lips. Hildy took a tiny sip, choked and swallowed convulsively.

    “Oh! Dreadful!” she gasped. “No, truly, Jake, I’m all right,” she said, smiling weakly. “I’m not going to faint. It was just...” Her voice trailed off. “So much has happened in this last year,” she said limply. “Less than a year.”

    “¡Sí! We have come to England, and me and Bungo have learned to ride, and I’ve learned to unpick and embroider!” said Bunch, beaming.

    “Well, that last’s enough to turn anyone giddy,” noted her proud father.

    “Pray do not be horrid,” said Hildy weakly, as Bunch glared. “But—well, there have been so many—so many surprises, these past few days.”

    “Well, you all knew we was comin’,” said the baronet dubiously. Hildy closed her eyes.

    “Harry,” said Paul, biting his lip, “if you cannot hold your tongue, dear old fellow, I am afraid I shall have to ask Jake, here, to put a bag over your head.”

    “Like to see him try!” he said with a laugh

    “Aye, well,” said Jake, smiling, but patting Hildy’s back gently: “best have a little rest, Hildy, my dear.”

    Hildy opened her eyes. “I think I might. If you can promise me that no more royal coaches will drive up today, Jake!”

    “Aye, well, when he’s around,” he said with a sniff, “you never know. Could be a coach from Newgate, next. Only I think as I can more or less promise you the surprises are over for this week!” Forthwith he carried her upstairs to her room.

    Hildy felt so limp, what with all the surprises—the news that she would in the foreseeable future be residing permanently in the neighbourhood herself being not the least of these—that when she opened her mouth to say “Help” feebly to herself, nothing at all came out.