Surprises, With Pines, A Proposal, & Farewells

 29

Surprises, With Pines, A Proposal, & Farewells

    Mr O’Flynn’s humble request to Mrs Maddern for permission to pay his addresses to Miss Amabel had been a considerable surprise, not to say a shock. She had, however, conceded he might call, and he might speak to Miss Amabel when he did so. Though it could not have been said she was yet reconciled to the thing.

    More surprises than this were in store for the family at Ainsley Manor, however: and several of them before the happy suitor was expected.

    Mrs Maddern had been nervous about telling Hildy that she and Paul had decided that Gaetana should after all stay at the Manor, while Hildy came home and then, if she felt strong enough, go to spend a few weeks with old Mrs Kernohan in Bath. But Hildy did not evince any surprise, let alone shock: she just said in a tiny voice: “Very well, Mamma.”

    Mrs Maddern put an anxious hand on her forehead. “Perhaps you should not have come down, today.”

    “I am quite well, Mamma,” said Hildy tiredly.

    Mrs Maddern sighed. “Yes. Well—well, I think perhaps you had best not stay up for dinner this evening, my dear. It will only be the house party, but— Would you not prefer to have nursery supper with the little ones, perhaps?”

    “Miss Morton has the migraine again,” replied Hildy listlessly.

    Mrs Maddern drew a deep breath. “That woman! She is no more use than she is orna— Well, never mind,” she said grimly, “the younger ones will all be off to school before very more days have passed, and then we may dispense with her ser— What is it, Hildy?” she gasped, as a tear rolled down Hildy’s cheek. “My dear, if you were thinking that we might— We could not possibly afford to keep her on as a companion to you older girls, you know,” she said in a lowered voice.

    “No; I do not even truly like her,” said Hildy, sniffing.

    “Well, what is it?” said Mrs Maddern in bewilderment.

    Hildy sniffed. “Nothing. Well, it is just that everything is changing, I suppose...”

    Mrs Maddern sighed very heavily and, sitting down beside her on the sofa, put a plump arm round her shoulders. “Yes. But we have discussed this sort of point before, my dear, I think? Kittens must grow into cats, and little ones must go off to school and grow up. We must all grow up, Hildy, dear.”

    “Yes,” said Hildy in the thread of a voice.

    Mrs Maddern hesitated, and then said: “When you were ill, dear Mrs Kernohan wrote the kindest letter, and I am sure she will not ask you to do more in Bath than go to the Circulating Library and—and possibly accompany her to the Pump Room—and she will let you read all afternoon, if you so wish!”

    Hildy smiled faintly. “Yes, Dorothea claims her Grandmamma Kernohan is an even greater bookworm than I.”

    This was not a particularly appropriate way in which to refer to a person’s grandmother, but Mrs Maddern did not comment on the choice of phrase. She just dropped a kiss on Hildy’s auburn head and said: “Very true, my love. So you will be quite comfortable with her. And she will send her carriage for you, you know, and Hal will accompany you all the way.”

    “Ye-es... But will he not wish to be out shooting or hunting?”

    Frowning awfully, Mrs Maddern replied: “Harold will do his duty, for once. Now, my dear, shall we order up a nuncheon? What would you fancy?”

    “Me?” said Hildy weakly.

    “Certainly, ‘you’!” said Mrs Maddern, squeezing her.

    “Oh—well—just a little bread and butter... And—and might I perhaps have a piece of fruit?”

    Mrs Maddern sighed, but consented to this.

    Master Ramón Ainsley was the first of the family to bid the Manor farewell—grinning cheerfully all over his freckled face and waving frantically from the box of the carriage, where he had insisted on placing himself, with his new boots on his feet and the watch presented to him by the Marquis of Rockingham safely bestowed in his pocket. And evincing no regrets whatsoever at having to leave his loving family and go off to a big school full of boys who would stigmatize his name as dagoish and whom he would therefore have to fight.

    Neither his brother nor his aunt had had the heart to pack him off before the engagement party, so he would actually be a little late for Winchester’s term, but this did not appear to daunt him, either. Both Paul and Mrs Maddern reflected silently that not only could they have sent him off before the party, they could have sent him off alone and Bungo would not have cared a fig. But of course they did not send him alone, Paul accompanied him. Though he had had to assure Bungo it was only for the first time and naturally a fellow’s elderly brother did not normally accompany a fellow to his school.

    As perhaps was to be expected, Mrs Maddern, Mrs Goodbody and Amabel all dissolved into tears on the front steps as the carriage departed with its jaunty passenger. Maria, and this was also not unexpected, had been crying all along. Rather more surprizingly, Miss Maddern suddenly gave a gasp as the carriage turned off the sweep, and saying disjointedly: “He looks so little!” rushed inside with her handkerchief to her nose.

    “Actually, he’s grown, these last few months,” noted Bunch Ainsley in a puzzled voice.

    Gaetana put a hand on her shoulder. “Sí. Come along inside, mi querida. What would you like to do today?”

    “I’m not paying any stupid visits!” she warned.

    “No, that is not what— I just thought there might be something special you might wish to do,” Gaetana said weakly.

    “Yes,” agreed Hildy anxiously.

    “Me and Floss are going fishing,” she said firmly.

    It was still quite early, but— “Is it not a little late in the morning?” said Hildy weakly.

    “Pooh! Come on, Floss!” They rushed off, pursued by a yell from the soon-to-be-reverend Thomas: “Just keep your fingers off my rods!”

    “I cannot understand it,” said Marybelle.

    “Well, she has known it was coming,” said Hildy dubiously.

    “Yes. And Bunch was never sentimental,” said Gaetana weakly. “It is just as well, I suppose.”

    “Yes.” Marybelle put an arm round Maria, who was still sobbing. “Come on, it’s not that bad, he’ll love school: Hal and Tom both did. And we’ll see him again at Christmas.”

    “That—is—months!” hiccoughed Maria.

    Looking helpless, Marybelle urged her sobbing form inside. Mrs Goodbody, blowing her nose, hurried after them and could be heard from the hall offering vinaigrettes and smelling-salts.

    Mrs Maddern blew her nose briskly. “Come along, my dears, we have a busy day ahead of us. –Tom, where are you going?”

    The almost-reverend paused. “Er—well, thought I might—er, well, there won’t be much sun on the stream today, Mamma, and—uh—just half an hour,” he mumbled.

    “Certainly not! You will come inside with me and permit me to go over your linen!”

    “But— Oh, very well.” Looking glum, Tom accompanied her inside.

    “If he had forgot something, or did not pack enough, I suppose there are shops in Oxford,” noted Hildy detachedly.

    “Yes, but possibly Tia Patty does not wish him to disgrace the family by taking patched linen to Oxford!” said Gaetana with a loud giggle.

    “Indelicate,” stated Hal Maddern coldly, walking down the steps.

    “Where are you off to?” gasped Hildy.

    “Well, if it is any of your business, Miss, Rockingham mentioned that there was a few rabbits over on his western border that needed sorting out.” He winked. “So I thought I might sort ’em. Charleson’s coming over, meeting him down the bottom of the drive in—” He squinted at his pocket watch. “Half an hour ago,” he noted cheerfully, striding off round the corner of the house towards the stables.

    “Typical,” said Hildy grimly.

    “Well, he would not be any use in sorting out Tom’s linen!” returned Gaetana with a loud giggle.

    “True. –No, I meant typical that he should arrange to meet Mr Charleson down at the gates when he knows it is the wish of Mamma’s heart to marry him off to Marybelle or Maria.”

    Gaetana bit her lip. “Either or, Hildy?”

    “Apparently. I cannot discern that she has a preference.”

    Gaetana took her arm and they went inside, giggling.

    The almost-reverend Tom departed on horseback for Oxford later the same day, bussing his Mamma and sisters cheerfully and assuring them they was never to fret, the bag-wig would understand it had been his sister’s engagement party that made him late.

    “He never told us he would be late for his term!” gasped Mrs Maddern in horror.

    “No, obviously, Mamma, for the bag-wig will quite understand, therefore it cannot signify!” said Hildy with a giggle.

    “Dearest, what—what is a bag-wig, exactly?” said Mrs Maddern weakly, leading the way inside, but coming to a halt in the front hall.

    Hildy gestured at the back of her head. “Did they not have them in your day, Mamma?”

    “Why, yes!” said Cousin Sophia brightly. “You remember, my dear, that very odd Mr Pomphret—”

    “Not a—a hairstyle, Sophia, a—a person,” said her cousin weakly.

    The two older ladies looked hopefully at Hildy.

    “Pray do not look at me, I have no more notion than you!” she said cheerfully.

    Sighing, Mrs Maddern said: “I dare say it cannot signify. And where on earth your brother Harold has got to—!”

    “He has gone to sort out Lord Rockingham’s rabbits,” said Hildy.

    “What?” she gasped.

    “The Marquis did invite him to, Mamma.”

    “But when he knew his brother was leaving for his College!” she gasped.

    “Typical!” said Hildy with a loud giggle.

    Gaetana also gave a loud giggle and the two of them went off to the little sitting-room, arms entwined.

    Mrs Maddern bit her lip. “They are so very fond of each other,” she said in a low voice to Cousin Sophia: “Can we perhaps have made the wrong decision, after all? Perhaps we should let Hildy stay on?”

    “No, indeed, my dear,” she said anxiously: “Hildy is so much looking forward to seeing her dear home and her dear cat again.”

    “But she has Diablo, now,” put in Marybelle dubiously.

    Frowning, Mrs Maddern replied: “Run along upstairs, girls. And Amabel, my love, if you would perhaps look to the girls’ packing?”

    “Yes, of course, Mamma.” Amabel shepherded the younger ones upstairs, Marybelle not neglecting to protest as they went: “But I am not a little girl. I can very well see to my own packing! And in any case, how will Diablo get on with Mrs Spofford, has anyone thought of that?”

    Mrs Maddern sighed.

    “Mrs Spofford will settle the hash of a mere Diablo in two seconds, Mamma, do not fret,” said Christabel with a smile.

    “My dear, what an expression!” she said, trying not to laugh. “Well, I am sure you are not wrong... Oh, dear.”

    Her daughter and her cousin looked at her anxiously.

    “I think Hildy and Gaetana are both a little overwrought: all this—this funning seems a trifle forced,” she said.

    Christabel thought so, too. “You are probably right, Mamma, but as soon as Hildy is at home she will calm down. And we must see to it that she has plenty of rest.”

    “Yes.”

    There was a short pause, and then Cousin Sophia said in a very low voice: “My love, have you mentioned the dinner?”

    “Well, no,” confessed Mrs Maddern. “I thought—well, once the little girls are gone, it will be time enough.”

    “But should not dear Gaetana be prepared?” the little lady whispered.

    “No, Cousin Sophia,” said Miss Maddern firmly.

    “No, my dear, if we do so she will be quite dreadful for the next se’en-night,” shuddered Gaetana’s Tia Patty, “and frankly I could not face it!”

    “Indeed,” murmured Christabel.

    “Oh,” she said, swallowing.

    Mrs Maddern patted her arm. “Take my word for it, Sophia, my dear. It is the best way to handle it. Why, dear Paul said so himself!”

    “Oh, well, in that case!” said Mrs Goodbody, beaming.

    Mrs Maddern also beamed, and led her upstairs on an errand not unassociated with linen.

    In the hall, Miss Maddern had to swallow a laugh. Darling Paul being seen as very much the master of the house in the two middle-aged ladies’ eyes was—was really— Suddenly she had to wipe a tear away, and she went off to the little sitting-room shaking her head ruefully at herself. But at the same time silently determining that it would not be she who broke the news to Gaetana that Paul had invited the Marquis and his party from Daynesford Place to dine before the Madderns left for their home.

    The unfortunate Mrs Maddern had, of course, already suffered a minor shock at the discovery that her older son would rather shoot rabbits than farewell his only brother. But today she was fated for a more severe one—though it was to be far from the last shock her system would sustain before they left Ainsley Manor.

    “I am not too late, I hope?” said Rockingham with a grin as Gregory bowed him into the little sitting-room.

    Mrs Maddern gasped, and dropped her work. “Lord Rockingham! Gregory, why did you not announce—”

    “He did,” noted the Marquis.

    Mrs Maddern swallowed.

    Hildy picked up her mother’s work, tactfully folding it up, as it was a torn petticoat of Bunch’s. “How do you do, Lord Rockingham? If you mean too late to see Bungo off, I am afraid the answer is yes.”

    “Lor’ no! Dare say he would not have appreciated me wavin’ me pocket hanker from the front step, y’know,” he said with a twinkle.

    Hildy dissolved into giggles.

    “Hildegarde, pray—” said Mrs Maddern faintly. “Oh—oh, my Lord, please, do be seated!”

    “Thank you, ma’am.” He pulled up a chair near to the sofa on which Mrs Maddern and Hildy were sitting and said: “It’s Miss Floss I hope not to have missed. Had to go up to London on business.”

    “She is still here, sir,” said Mrs Maddern very faintly, goggling.

    “Good! I’ve come to ascertain if she’s actually got that blessed bird to say his piece like a Christian,” he explained cheerfully.

    “With your team?” asked Hildy eagerly.

    “Certainly, Miss Hildy,” he said with a flash of his strong white teeth.

    “There! Said I not he was a man of his word, and would not forget?” she cried.

    “Hildy, please!” Mrs Maddern put her hands to her head in a distracted way. “Surely you cannot have driven over all the way from the Place simply for—for that, Marquis!”

    “Yes. Is she at home?”

    “Er—yes. I shall ring the bell,” said Mrs Maddern weakly. “Gregory,” she said as the man came in and bowed: “please send Miss Florabelle to me and—and ask her to bring the parrot.”

    The footman began dubiously: “But Mrs Maddern, you did say as—”

    “Never mind that! I am asking you to send them both along! Oh, and Gregory, we shall take tea: tell Berthe the orange cake will be needed.”

    “Yes, Mrs Maddern.”

    The minute the man had withdrawn the Marquis said to Hildy: “Which of ’em has blotted their copybook this time? Miss Floss or the bird?”

    Hildy swallowed. “Pierrot. He said something that—that no-one had any notion he even knew, in front of Mrs Purdue and Mrs Stalling.”

    The Marquis gave a snigger.

    “It was not funny!” said Mrs Maddern crossly. “And where he can have picked it up—! Why, one could understand it if it had been a French swear, for of course he is a French bird, but—but English!”

    The Marquis’s eyes met Hildy’s for a minute.

    “And before you say a word,” Mrs Maddern said crossly to him, very evidently forgetting he was a marquis: “no servant of mine would dare to teach him such a thing!”

    “That is true,” said Hildy on a regretful note.

    “I suppose—I do not dare—ask you ladies—what it was!” he gasped.

    “No,” Miss Hildegarde informed him. “You do not.” –Poor Mrs Maddern was simply speechless.

    The Marquis produced a flaglike handkerchief and blew his nose. “Where are the rest of ’em, today?” he asked cheerfully, stowing it away in his breeches pocket.

    The ladies had both been mesmerized. Hildy would have been very surprized to know that her own reflexions, which ran along the lines of what a very masculine and hearty sort of man he was, and what did Gaetana truly see in him, were finding an echo in her mother’s mind.

    “Oh,” said Mrs Maddern with something of an effort: “Christabel has rid out with Marybelle and Maria, sir: it is almost Maria’s last chance to give them a little help with their riding. For although dear Paul is an excellent teacher, he has no notion of how a lady should manage a habit.”

    “I see,” he said gravely.

    “And Luís and Gaetana have gone with Mrs Goodbody to pay a call on Mrs Urqhart. Had you heard she and Miss Jubb are to remove to Leamington Spa for a few weeks, sir?”

    “Eh? Place is a hell-hole! Why?”

    “Mrs Urqhart wishes to try the waters,” said Hildy in a terrifically neutral voice.

    The Marquis goggled at her. “Why don’t she go to Bath if she wishes to poison herself? At least she may do so in comfort there. –Lionel Dewesbury was telling me,” he explained to Mrs Maddern, “that a relative of his was sadly disappointed in Leamington Spa.”

    “Sadly disappointed? Indeed, sir?” she said faintly.

    The Marquis directed a wink at Hildy. “Must have been. Said it was a hell-hole.”

    Hildy choked.

    “And how do you go on, Miss Hildy?” he asked kindly while she was still choking.

    “Much better, thank you, sir!” she gasped.

    “Yes, indeed, thanks to your very kind care of her at the Place,” said Mrs Maddern on a firm note.

    “Well, it wasn’t my care, ma’am,” he replied.

    “Er—not precisely, but... And she has been reading me some of these delightful little poems from the book you gave her, my Lord!” she said with determined brightness.

    “Mm?” He leaned over and picked up the little book that lay at Hildy’s side. This necessitated, of course, the sort of near-contact with both ladies that was very far from being the thing, but by now Mrs Maddern just regarded it with a sort of wild resignation in her eye.

    “Oh!” he said, smiling, turning the pages. “This is my favourite. Did young Rommie sing it to you?”

    “Which?” Hildy peered. “Oh; yes, she sang it for me more than once: it was the most—well really, ravishing experience!” she admitted, very pink and smiling.

    “Yes. Sings like an angel. S’pose her voice will deepen as she gets older. Pity.”

    “A—a girl’s voice?” faltered Mrs Maddern.

    “Mm? Oh, Lord, yes, ma’am, as she ages she’ll lose that virginal quality: not be able to hit the higher notes. A woman’s soprano ain’t the least bit like a boy’s or a girl’s. –Can you carry a tune?” he said abruptly to Hildy.

    “I? Well—well, yes,” she faltered, glancing uneasily at her mamma, “I can carry a tune; but—”

    “Sing it,” he said, handing her the book.

    “Marquis, I—I sound like—like Sir Lionel, if anything!” she gasped in horror.

    “Good: he’s a bass. –Lovely voice,” he said to her mesmerized mother.

    “No, really!” gasped Hildy.

    “Well, not if it would embarrass you,” he said regretfully.

    Hildy replied on a dry note: “It would not in the least embarrass me, I merely do not wish to inflict pain on you.”

    “I can stand it.”

    “Hildy, I think you had better,” said Mrs Maddern weakly. “It is only a—a very little song, after all.”

    “Aye, and I will only sing one very little verse,” said Hildy grimly. She took a deep breath. “‘My love is like a red—’”

    “Stop,” said the Marquis.

    “See?” said Hildy unemotionally.

    “Not that, silly girl: you are pitching it too high, no wonder your family are caused exquisite anguish by your efforts!” he said with a laugh.—Mrs Maddern was in agony.—He hummed a little to himself. “Yes,” he said. “I will give you the note.” He hummed firmly.

    “That is very low,” said Hildy, swallowing.

    “Absolutely.” He hummed the note again.

    Hildy swallowed again, but sang obediently.

    At the end of the verse she perceived to her astonishment that the Marquis of Rockingham had his eyes shut and that her mother’s mouth had fallen open. In the doorway, Floss and Bunch were standing transfixed.

    “Finish,” said the Marquis with his eyes shut.

     Hildy finished the song, very softly.

     There was a little silence.

    “Hildy, we never knew you could sing!” gasped Bunch.

    “That sounded... real,” said Floss weakly.

    Rockingham rubbed his hands. “Aye, did it not! The silly girl has evidently been trying to sing soprano all her life, no wonder you all thought she could not sing! Miss Hildy, you are a true contralto, and by God I shall write to Elizabeth Naseby this very evening to tell her so! –Julian’s mamma, she has been looking for a contralto for her group this age,” he said to the stunned Mrs Maddern.

    “You—you are funning, Marquis,” said Hildy weakly.

    “I never fun about music. –Come in, Miss Florabelle, I never fun about a wager, either,” he said to her.

    “No, it is a debt of honour,” agreed Floss seriously. –Mrs Maddern shut her eyes for a moment. However, it was not too bad, for Miss Morton had evidently got both little girls into clean aprons. And combed their hair.

    “Exactly,” the Marquis agreed. “Can he say it?” he asked.

    “Yes. He has to be prompted, of course,” she said gravely.

    The Marquis nodded.

    “God save the King! God save the King!” said Floss to Pierrot.

    “God save the King! God save the King!” agreed Pierrot loudly in his strong Parrot accent.

    “Huzza!” cried Rockingham, striking his hands together.

    Bunch danced up and down. “You’ve done it, Floss, you’ve done it!”

    Rockingham got up. “Yes, indeed she has, and she shall tool the team up and down the drive right now. –You may just watch,” he informed Bunch.

    She nodded seriously: the Ainsley children understood all about other persons’ treats.

    “My Lord, will she—will she be safe?” faltered Mrs Maddern.

    “Aye, I’ve shaken the fidgets out of ’em,” he said briefly. “If you will excuse us, ma’am?” He bowed.

    Mrs Maddern looked weakly at Hildy.

    She got up quickly. “Do not be ridiculous, Lord Rockingham, we are coming out to see it!”

    “Yes!” agreed Floss with satisfaction. “May Pierrot come?” she added hopefully.

    “Not in my carriage, splendid bird though he is. Er, Bunch had best hold him.”

    Bunch possessed herself of the cage forthwith, and the party proceeded to the front sweep, Mrs Maddern not protesting, although she made sure that Hildy had her shawl tightly about her.

    Rather to the company’s surprize, Floss accepted the Marquis’s instructions meekly—there had been occasions with the trap, for instance, when she had been known to argue loudly with her instructor, which when it was Tom or Luís, did not go down at all well—and soon she was slowly tooling the curricle and four along the drive.

    “I would wager my necklet,” said Hildy with a smile in her voice, “that he has been flogging them along the roads for a good three hours! They are the least feisty beasts I have ever laid eyes on.”

    Mrs Maddern bit her lip. “They certainly do not appear very lively! –My dear, when one forgets he is a—a gentleman of great position,” she murmured: “is he not the dearest man?”

    “Yes,” said Hildy, smiling, as the curricle performed a laborious turn with the Marquis’s hands firmly over Floss’s, “and I do not care how stubborn and silly Gaetana may be, I am determined that if she is what he wants, he shall have her!”

    “Oh! My dear! I, too! I did not realize you felt like that, Hildy,” she said uncertainly.

    “Of course; he was so very kind to me when I stayed in his house.”

    “Yes... Well, my dear, in that case I shall not scruple to say that Paul has invited him to dine the evening before we leave!” she hissed.

    Hildy returned doubtfully: “It is a worthy effort, Mamma, but something more than that is needed, I fear.”

    Mrs Maddern replied grimly: “Possibly, but we are trying what wearing her down will do. Paul is determined to see as much of his Lordship as is humanly possible, these next few months!”

    Hoping fervently that the Marquis intended to remain in residence in the district for the next few months, at that rate, Hildy nodded.

    Rockingham duly took tea, and praised the orange cake, and, appearing not to notice that Bunch’s apron had suffered rather during the tea, gave each little girl a guinea to take to school with them, before kissing Mrs Maddern’s hand in the grand manner, warning Miss Hildegarde, not in the grand manner, that she was fated to become Lady Naseby’s contralto and not even to think of struggling against her fate, and exiting with a grin.

    “Well!” said Mrs Maddern, sinking back against the sofa with a laugh.

    “A whole guinea,” said Floss in wonder, staring at it.

    “Cor,” agreed Bunch in a hollow voice, staring at hers.

    “Marybelle will be as green as grass!” noted Floss.

    “Ye— Girls, you are both being indelicate, ladies do not— Just run along upstairs,” ended Mrs Maddern on a weak note.

    In their wake she confessed: “Oh, dear. Well, of course his Lordship’s intentions are—are everything that is amiable, but—but it is like being in the same room with a—with a very strong wind, do you not find, my dear?”

    “Oh, precisely, Mamma! But then,” said Hildy thoughtfully, “life in my uncle’s household must also be rather like that, I think. I do not think Gaetana will be affected by it, Mamma!”

    “Er—no, my dear. Although that was not precisely what I...” She looked at her dubiously.

    Hildy went very pink but said with a laugh: “I would not wager a groat on his not writing to Lady Naseby forthwith!”

    “Nor I, indeed,” admitted Mrs Maddern. “So you are not cross, my dear?”

    “I would be a little cross if I thought there was any possibility of Lady Naseby’s swooping on me and carrying me off to sing in her group, yes. But as it is, I dare say she will have found some other lady entirely by the time I am next in London!”

    “Yes,” said Mrs Maddern on a wistful note. “I dare say.”

    “I do sing, sometimes,” said Hildy abruptly.

    “What, my dear?”

    Hildy went very red. “Only when I am by myself in the woods, or, um, well, when no-one can hear me.”

    “Oh.” She looked at her doubtfully. “Should you wish to have lessons, Hildy? I am sure the Marquis is—is an expert, and if he says you can sing—

    “Lessons are out of the question,” she said, reddening.

    “What? No, my dear! Why, we are getting r— dispensing with Miss Morton’s services, and then Christa will be off my hands very soon, and—and Paul is insisting on bearing the expense of the girls’ schooling, and— Well, my dear, Amabel has her spinet, you know. I think it is your turn, now, Hildy!”

    Hildy smiled, and agreed that if Mamma thought so, she thought she would like to try some music lessons, then. If they could but find a teacher as convinced as the Marquis of Rockingham that she had a voice! But inwardly, she quailed rather. Her turn now? What an ominous ring the phrase had!

    Mr O’Flynn’s call at Ansley Manor was not of course a surprise, in itself—not, at least, to Mrs Maddern and Paul; Amabel remained innocently unsuspecting. However, the way in which the visit was to unfold would be quite a shock to all concerned.

    He had ridden over, as his cousin was sulking and had refused point-blank to allow him to take the pony-cart. It was a windy afternoon, with a great deal of high cloud, and the chill of approaching autumn in the air. Mr O’Flynn was glad he had worn his greatcoat. As he rode up the drive he perceived a coach and four standing outside the front door. Several stablehands were attending to the horses, and the coachman and another man who looked like a groom were being served with tankards by one of Mr Ainsley’s footmen. There was nothing absolutely extraordinary in this scene, though Mr O’Flynn wondered a little that the horses were not being taken round to the stables and the coachman and groom had not been asked into the servants’ quarters to refresh themselves. The scene, indeed, was more nearly appropriate to the yard of a large posting-house than to the sweep of a gentleman’s country residence.

    As he approached, he perceived that there was a coat of arms on the coach’s door. Mr O’Flynn was not particularly well versed in heraldry but he did see that it was not the Hammond coat of arms: had he not been privileged to have seen the Marquis’s own carriage, there was also the fact that Ditterminster featured a large and sufficiently handsome hostelry named “The Hammond Arms” which had the said arms emblazoned on its sign. Presumably the visitor had come from farther abroad than the Place, and Mr O’Flynn, who in view of his errand was understandably very nervous anyway, thought that perhaps he had chosen an inconvenient moment, and should not stay.

    He had not, however, had time to do more than formulate this thought when there was a stir at the front door and from it emerged four large footmen in a livery that he did not recognize. Mr O’Flynn stared. Largeness in footmen was not remarkable but blackness certainly was, and all four of these footmen were very black. Their blackness being the more remarkable in that they were all wearing smart white wigs.

    Upon seeing these footmen, the coachman and groom hastily downed their ale, the stablehands bestirred themselves, and while Mr O’Flynn watched numbly, the footmen climbed into the coach, the coachman climbed back onto his box, the groom got up beside him, and the equipage turned and moved off. –Mr O’ Flynn nervously drawing well in to the side of the drive to let it pass.

    It was very odd. Why had not Mr Ainsley offered to stable his visitor’s horses? And why had the visitor brought the four footmen? Mr O’Flynn approached the steps cautiously, wondering if he should stay or go.

    He had not yet made up his mind when a young groom ran up to him grinning and touching his forelock, bade him good-day and grasped his horse’s bridle helpfully. Mr O’Flynn dismounted automatically. “Er—your master has visitors, I perceive?” he said weakly to the young man.

    “Oh, Lordy, no, sir! Well, unless visitors be a-comed in a big black chest!” he said with a chuckle.

    Mr O’Flynn stared, but an older man came up, bowed, admonished the fellow and said apologetically: “I’m sure as I beg your pardon, Mr O’Flynn, but we do be  something at sixes and sevens, just for the moment. That were a coach from Chypsley, and they would not hear of staying, nor yet of changing their horses, which I made bold to tell ’em we could do for ’em at the Manor, whatever they is used to elsewhere,” —Mr O’Flynn perceived the man’s nose had been put out of joint—“but would be off immediate! With scarcely a rub-down and a taste of oats!”

    Mr O’Flynn had now recognized the brother of his cousin’s head gardener, so he said, but rather weakly: “I see. Well, I am sure they did not mean any slight to your—your hospitality, Adams.” He was so disconcerted by it all that he could not think of a better word, though aware that “hospitality” struck an odd note. “I dare say they are in a hurry.”

    Ned Adams sniffed. “I dessay as they might be, sir. But what I says is, hurry or not, that is no excuse for abusin’ of your nags!”

    “Er—no, indeed,” he said weakly.

    Ned Adams recollected himself, touched his forelock and said, in what the caller could not persuade himself was not a positively kindly, if not downright paternal tone: “But I be rattling on: I do beg your pardon, Mr O’Flynn, sir. You need not be worritin’ there’s visitors come, for there ain’t, only a great box, like: so do you go on up them steps!” He nodded at him encouragingly.

    “Er—yes; thank you, Adams.” Weakly Mr O’Flynn mounted the shallow flight of front steps. The mad suspicion crossed his mind that the man knew what his errand was. ...No: impossible.

    Ned Adams went briskly off to his stables, where he saw to it that Sam Potts gave the caller’s nag a good rub down and a handful of oats—for, he said darkly, he’d lay odds the beast didn’t get fed too liberal in Willow Court’s stables.

    Sam Potts got on with it, venturing to note as he did so: “That’ll be the gent for Miss Amabel, will it, Mr Adams?”

    Ned Adams sniffed. “I don’t say as it ain’t, and I don’t say as it is: what I do say, lad, is what business be it of your’n, in any case?”

    This was as good as an affirmative: Sam Potts just grinned, and got on with it.

    Hildy had been passing through the hall when the noise of a carriage, followed by a thunderous knocking at the door, was heard. Gregory was on duty there: they looked at each other doubtfully. Then Hildy, reflecting that perhaps Mr O’Flynn was nervous and had knocked too hard, for it was the sort of thing she did herself, said: “You had best answer it, Gregory.”

    Gregory opened the door. A large, very black man in a very white wig stood there. Gregory was transfixed.

    Hildy was pretty well transfixed, too but after a moment she perceived the man wore footman’s livery and said, if rather weakly: “Ask him what his business is, please, Gregory.” She peered: good gracious a coach and four—with a crest? Help, mayhap Lady Georgina Claveringham had descended upon them—and in that case they could expect to see four more black footmen, if rumour had not lied!

    Gregory duly croaked out some sort of an enquiry and the large black footman replied with dignity: “I am charged with a delivery from Chypsley.”

    Gregory just stared.

    “A—a delivery?” said Hildy weakly. “In a coach and four?” The man bowed. Hildy was reduced to silence. Gregory was once again transfixed.

    Deering came silently up to Hildy’s shoulder. “I shall deal with this, Miss Hildy. Gregory! Run and ask them to provide some refreshment for the driver.”

    “Oh!” he said, jumping visibly. “Yes, Mr Deering.” He vanished, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

    “From Chypsley, I apprehend?” said Deering with magnificent composure. Hildy just stood there and goggled at him in admiration.

    “That is correct. I am charged not to deliver my cargo into the hands of—” The man paused, possibly sizing Deering up: “—underlings.”

    Deering majestically inclined his head.

    This left the ball, Hildy realized with enjoyment, in the black footman’s court. After a moment he said, on an audibly weak note: “May we bring it in, then?”

    Deering inclined his head again. “There could be no objection.”

    The footman gave a very slight bow, and retreated.

    Gregory reappeared, panting a little. “Thomas is taking ’em out some ale right now, Mr Deering. –Mr Deering, there be four on ’em!”

    “Five in all, I believe,” returned Deering, unmoved.

    At this point Hildy recalled that he had been at one stage in Lord Hubbel’s employ. Well, that went some way towards explaining his composure, certainly! But it had still been an admirable performance!

    Gregory peered out of the front door. He gulped. Hildy was also peering; she also had to swallow. Amabel was descending the stairs: she stopped, transfixed.

    The four black footmen entered, and deposited a large iron-bound chest in the hall. One of them—he happened to be the largest, but, Hildy reminded herself a trifle hysterically, that was no doubt not a badge of seniority even amongst black footmen—then bowed and said: “From Chypsley. With compliments.”

    The butler also bowed. “Thank you. You may convey Mr Ainsley’s compliments to Chypsley.”

    “Deering, ask them if—if they should wish for refreshment,” said Hildy feebly.

    Deering bowed, but the largest footman, also bowing, replied: “Regretfully, we are charged to return immediately our cargo is in safe hands, Miss.”

    “Of course,” noted the butler impassively.

    “Miss Hildy, them iron bits is a-scratchin’ the floor, like!” hissed Gregory.

    “Oh, dear!” said Amabel from the stairs.

    “What? Oh. Well—well— Pray, what is it?” said Hildy weakly to the largest black footman.

    He bowed again. “From Chypsley. With compliments, Miss.”

    “Should—should it not perhaps be taken through to the servants’ quarters?” faltered Amabel,

    “No, Amabel, did you not hear?” choked Hildy, fast lapsing into a rollicking mood: “For it may not be entrusted to underlings, and I dare say the servants’ quarters may be swarming with such!”

    “Are you perhaps Miss Maddern, Miss?” the largest footman then said to Amabel, bowing again. Obviously he had dismissed her frivolous self from consideration, thought Hildy, swallowing a giggle.

    “No—well, I am one of the Miss Madderns: I am Miss Amabel; Miss Maddern is rid out,” replied Amabel faintly.

    “I have a message for Miss Maddern, which I am charged most particular to deliver, Miss.”

    Amabel held out her hand limply.

    “It is a verbal message, Miss.”

    “Convey it to Miss Amabel, she is entirely reliable!” said Hildy madly.

    The footman bowed again. “I am charged to say, Miss, that they be in excellent case, and need only to be kept at the right temperature to do splendid. And of all things they will not stand the cold winters.”

    “Very—very good,” she quavered. “Not stand the cold winters: yes, I see. I shall deliver the message to Miss Maddern, you may be sure.”

    “Thank you, Miss.” He bowed again. “May I entrust this to your charge, Miss?”

    “What?” said Amabel numbly. “Oh!” She perceived he was holding out a large key. “Thank you,” she croaked, descending the last few stairs.

    He gave her the key, and bowed. Then all four of them turned and solemnly exited.

    “Lawks,” said Gregory numbly. Deering—he was a large-minded man, reflected Hildy—pretended he had not heard this.

    “How—how extraordinary,” said Amabel faintly, swallowing hard.

    “They cannot stand the cold winters? It is a box of panthers!” choked Hildy.

    “Them were real blackamoors, weren’t they, Miss Hildy?” croaked Gregory.

    “Er—yes. Oh, I see what you mean: yes, they must be Africans, Gregory. Not like Mrs Urqhart’s Indian servants.”

    He nodded mutely.

    “Africans: yes, Miss Hildy,” agreed Deering benignly.

    “Dearing, what on earth can it be?” she said limply.

    “I have no notion, Miss Hildy,” replied the butler imperturbably.

    “Mr Deering, it do be scratchin’ up the floor!” gulped Gregory.

    “You had best fetch some men to shift it, then,” replied the butler, fixing him with a hard eye.

    “Yes. Oh! Yes, Mr Deering!” Gregory hurried out.

    Amabel looked numbly at the key in her hand. Then she looked numbly at the chest. “From Chypsley... They must be Lady Georgina’s blackamoors!” she gasped. “I mean black servants,” she corrected herself limply.

    “That had occurred to some of us, Amabel,” noted Hildy.

    “That is correct, Miss Amabel. Lady Georgina has five, in all,” noted Deering kindly.

    “Yes... I think it must be intended for Christabel,” she said limply.

    “The message was certainly for Miss Maddern; yes, Miss,” agreed the butler.

    Hildy eyed the box thoughtfully. “Deering, Lord Hubbel does not by any chance keep—er—exotic reptiles, does he?”

    “Snakes!” gasped Amabel, dropping the key.

    “Certainly not, Miss Hildy. No reptiles of any kind. The deer park is very fine, of course, and his Lordship does have an aviary of exotic breeds, but—er—nothing like that, no.”

    “Well, it cannot be birds, even the Claveringhams, eccentric though they may be, would not shut up birds in a sea-chest. Unless they are stuffed birds,” she noted with a naughty twinkle in her eye.

    Gregory reappeared, panting. “They will send some men in from the stables, Mr Deering. Acos I told them, it took four of the blackamoors to lift it! And Mrs Maddern is a-ringing: shall I—?”

    “No, I shall go myself. –Pick that key up, lad,” he added in a low voice, departing without haste.

    Gregory started, and retrieved the key for Amabel.

    “Oh! Thank you, Gregory! –Oh, I do wish you had not mentioned snakes, Hildy!” she said, pressing her hand to her bosom.

    Hildy swallowed. “So do I, actually, but that is absurd.” She went over to the chest. “At all events, there are no air-holes,” she discovered cheerfully. “Isn’t it exciting? Give me the key, Amabel.”

    “No! For it is for Christa!” she gasped.

    “Oh, pooh! She will not give a fig!”

    “No,” said Amabel, holding on tight to the key.

    Hildy endeavoured to lift the lid of the huge chest, but it was securely locked.

    Mrs Maddern hurried into the hall. “What on earth is going on? Here is Deering with some story about a delivery from Chypsley: I know not what all the fuss is, it must be an engagement present for dear Christa and P— Oh, good gracious,” she said weakly, goggling at the chest.

    “Oh!” faltered Mrs Goodbody from behind her, with a hand to her thin bosom. “What a—a very large...”

    “Sea-chest. It is pirate’s gold, Cousin Sophia. Mamma, was there not a rumour that one of Lord Hubbel’s ancestors sailed with Morgan?” said Hildy wickedly.

    “What? No such thing! It was a younger son who went out to Jamaica to establish a sugar plantation, of course; you are the most irritating girl, Hildy! –Oh!” she gasped, as the knocker sounded again.

    —Mr O’Flynn, though the door was ajar, and he could hear voices, had of course not liked just to walk in.

    “Come along in, the door is open, and if it be snakes or panthers, we are quite ready to receive them!” called Hildy loudly.

    Amabel dropped the key again.

    Mr O’Flynn came in, removing his hat, with a doubtful expression on his face.

    “Oh! Mr O’Flynn!” gasped Mrs Maddern.

    Mr O’Flynn bowed. “Good afternoon, Mrs Maddern—Mrs Goodbody—Miss Amabel—Miss Hildegarde. I trust I am not arrived at an awkward moment?”

    “No, indeed,” said Mrs Maddern faintly.

    “No, indeed,” agreed Hildy cheerfully. “—Gregory, pick that key up, lad! –As I was  saying, in fact we are at the stage where we could take panthers or snakes or indeed, anything exotic in our stride. A citizen of Tunbridge Wells, you know, cannot throw this household into a flutter!”

    “Hildegarde!” said Mrs Maddern crossly. “That was most uncalled for!” The butler had now reappeared, so she added quickly: “Deering, pray show Mr O’Flynn into the small sitting-room and—and apprise Mr Ainsley of his arrival.” With some dismay she realised that no-one had actually greeted the man—but it was impossible to do so now without making the situation worse. “And Amabel, what are you doing downstairs? Did I not expressly desire you to check the girls’ linen this afternoon?” she added on a distracted note as Deering bore Mr O’Flynn off.

    “Yes, Mamma. Only I wished to consult you about their stockings,” said Amabel.

    “Not now, child!”

    Hildy put an arm through Amabel’s. “Come back upstairs, Amabel, I wish to consult you about that stocking of mine with the huge hole in the heel.”

    “Hildegarde, that is enough!” warned Mrs Maddern dangerously.

    “Perhaps I could darn it for her, Mamma, though I fear it may be past rescuing,” said Amabel on an anxious note.

    Mrs Maddern took a deep breath.

    “I shall come with you, girls,” said Mrs Goodbody quickly, “and we may consult!”

    “Yes— Yes, thank you, Cousin Sophia. Pray do,” said Mrs Maddern weakly.

    Deering returned as the three of them went upstairs. “Mr Ainsley desires you should join him in the small sitting-room, madam.”

    “Oh! Great Heavens, yes!” She whirled away, but paused to say: “And Deering, pray, whatever be in that—that object, get it out of the front hall!”

    “Yes, Mrs Maddern,” he said, bowing. If there was a distinct twinkle in his eye the distracted Mrs Maddern did not perceive it.

    “A great chest?” Paul was saying to Amabel’s suitor as Mrs Maddern came into the sitting-room. “How fascinating! I wonder that I was not instantly apprised of its arrival. –Tia Patty, what is this story of chests from Chypsley arriving in our front hall?”

    “It is nothing! Something Lady Georgina has sent. Well, it is a very large chest, my dear, but I have desired Deering to remove it from the hall.”

    “I see,” he said gravely. “Pray, come and sit down, Tia Patty.” Mrs Maddern allowed him to show her to a seat. “Please, Mr O’Flynn,” said Paul courteously.

    Mr O’Flynn started, and re-seated himself.

    There was a short silence. Paul was tempted simply to say: “Go on,” to the man, but decided O’Flynn’s mind was not of the calibre to appreciate it. He then perceived that the poor fellow’s hands were shaking, and decided to do his best to ease the situation. He leaned casually on the back of his aunt’s chair, and said cheerily: “Let me assure you, my dear O’Flynn, that the family would be only too happy to permit you to pay your addresses to Amabel.”

    “Indeed,” agreed Mrs Maddern faintly.

    Mr O’Flynn went very pale, then very red. “Thank you, Mrs Maddern—Mr Ainsley—I am most grateful!” he gasped.

    “She is, of course, very young as yet,” noted Mrs Maddern wistfully.

    She was not, of course, so young as all that. Nevertheless Mr O’Flynn looked at her nervously. “Indeed. My dear Mrs Maddern, I am aware that—that it must seem very like temerity, in one of my years, to address you on the subject of Miss Amabel, but—but—”

    Mrs Maddern looked as if she fully agreed with this sentiment.

    “Nonsense!” said Paul with a laugh. “Why, we are used to—well, some disparity in ages between the couples, in this family!”

    Mrs Maddern could see quite clearly that he was out-manoeuvring her, but annoyance at this stroke mingled in her with relief at having Paul manage the encounter for her, so she was only able to say weakly: “Very true, dear boy.”

    Mr O’Flynn looked at them hopefully.

    “I must say, however, that I had hoped to have had my little Amabel at home with me for a little longer,” said Mrs Maddern with a sigh.

    Poor Mr O’Flynn swallowed loudly. “I see.”

    “Well,” she said, with another sigh, “I have not spoken to her on the subject. I shall allow her to speak for herself.” She sighed again. “I am sure she—she will not be averse to it.”

    Mr O’Flynn smiled nervously. “Thank you, Mrs Maddern.” He looked warily at Mr Ainsley.

    Paul nodded encouragingly, smiling. “Any mamma, you know, cannot help but feel a little wistful at seeing two of her chicks prepare to fly the nest.”

    “That is so true, dear boy,” said Mrs Maddern on a lachrymose note, sniffing.

    Paul handed her his handkerchief. “Shall I send for Amabel, Tia Patty?”

    Mrs Maddern blew her nose hard. “Yes: ring the bell, my dear boy. We should be very happy, Mr O’Flynn... For we cannot but be aware of how very, very kind you have been to our dear Dorothea and her little girl.”

    Mr O’Flynn’s mouth opened slightly, but he managed to say: “I look upon them as my own family, Mrs Maddern.”

    “And,” said Mrs Maddern, blowing her nose again: “you may address anything you would wish to say on the subject of settlements to my dearest nephew, for I assure you I have no head whatsoever for business matters!”

    Mr O’Flynn rose, and bowed. “Of course, Mrs Maddern. Pray let me assure you that I am fully prepared to do everything that is proper to ensure dear Miss Amabel’s happiness and—and prosperity.”

    “Of course,” said Paul gravely.

    “I am sure,” said Mrs Maddern sadly, sniffing a little.

    “And—and may I say how very grateful I am? I—I cannot express the depth of my sentiments—”

    Paul came and clapped him kindly on the shoulder. ‘‘Don’t try, my dear fellow.”

    Mr O’Flynn smiled gratefully and was silent.

    “Here she is!” said Paul, some few minutes later as Amabel hurried in, looking flurried.

    “Mamma,” she began: “Christa and the others are just returned, and—”

    Mrs Maddern rose. “Dearest child!” She embraced her fervently. Amabel looked at her in bewilderment.

    “Why, my little angel: she has not the least notion!” she said with a laugh. “Dearest child, Mr O’Flynn is wishful to say something most particular to you, and—and Paul and I will just withdraw, you know!”

    Amabel went very pink, and put a hand to her cheek.

    Paul gave his aunt his arm. They got as far as the door before she burst into tears, but nevertheless, Paul considered wryly, O’Flynn’s guardian angel was without any doubt working overtime today!

    Left alone in the little sitting-room, Mr O’Flynn looked shyly at Amabel and Amabel looked shyly at the floor.

    “Miss Amabel, your—your mamma has been so kind as—as to say I may speak to you,” he said in a trembling voice.

    Amabel’s lashes fluttered; she did not speak.

    “May I?” said Mr O’Flynn in a trembling voice.

    “Pray do,” whispered Amabel, not looking at him.

    Mr O’Flynn’s heart gave a tremendous leap and he came closer and said in a low voice: “My very dear Miss Amabel, will you do me the great—the most signal honour, of becoming my wife?”

    Amabel’s lashes fluttered wildly, but she finally managed to look him in the face, and whisper: “Yes. Thank you, Mr O’Flynn. I—I am very sensible of the—of the—”

    But Mr O’Flynn had seized her hand and was pressing a fervent kiss on it.

    “Oh!” gasped Amabel, trembling.

    “Dearest Miss Amabel,” he said in a muffled voice. “You have made me the happiest man alive!”

    “Oh—pray—” said Amabel, very faintly.

    He raised his head and smiled at her, and Amabel blushed deeply. Then she realized there were tears in his eyes and said: “Oh, pray, Mr O’Flynn! I— You have made me so very happy!” Tears sprang to her own eyes.

    Mr O’Flynn’s lips trembled a little and he raised her hand to his lips again and this time held it there for quite a long time. Finally he said: “Shall we sit down?”

    “What?” she replied in a distracted voice, staring. “Oh! Yes—yes, please—”

    Mr O’Flynn took her hand gently and led her to a sofa. Then he sat beside her and possessed himself of the hand again, holding it gently on his knee. Amabel’s bosom was very agitated. She could not look at him.

    “Dearest Miss Amabel,” he said in a very low voice, “let me assure you that since you have been so very kind as to—to look favourably on my suit, you—you will never have cause to regret it for as long as you live.”

    “I am sure,” she said faintly.

    “Are you?” he said, almost as faint.

    Amabel raised her eyes and looked into his. “Oh, yes!” she said bravely.

    Mr O’Flynn trembled. He smiled shakily. Amabel smiled shakily back.

    He raised her hand to his lips again, very gently. After some time he said: “I am the happiest man in the world!”

    Amabel did not remark that he had said this before. “And I the happiest young woman,” she said, smiling.

    He perceived that her eyes were full of tears, and eagerly gave her his handkerchief. She mopped her eyes, smiling.

    “Dear Miss Amabel,” he said shakily, as she gave him back the handkerchief. Their hands touched; Amabel looked up into his face with a wondering expression on hers.

    Mr O’Flynn wanted very much to seize her in his arms and shower her flower-like face with— But that would not have done at all. He cast a happy thought in the direction of how wonderful it would be when they were married, and merely smiled, and said: “You do not object, I trust, if I—I hold your hand like this?”

    “Oh, no, Mr O’Flynn,” she said shyly, pinkening.

    Mr O’Flynn went on sitting beside her on the sofa, tenderly holding her hand.

    Paul had intended to take Tia Patty into the bookroom and let her have her cry out, in the hopes she would be over it before she need see O’Flynn again. But as they emerged from the sitting-room they could hear a commotion in the front hall and she said, wiping her eyes: “What on earth—?” and before he could prevent her, hurried out there.

    “What is that chest still doing here?” she cried.

    The chest was surrounded by persons’ backs, one of them being the immaculate one that belonged to the magnificent Deering. He turned, with something less than his usual imperturbable expression on his face, and said: “I beg your pardon, Mrs Maddern, but—”

    Another back turned, this one clad in a gentleman’s riding coat with somewhat peaked shoulders, to reveal itself as that of Luís Ainsley. “We have had four men to the thing, Tia Patty, and they can barely budge it. So we thought it wath best to open it in situ!” he said with a laugh.

    The pale green back in a fine wool fabric that belonged to Mrs Maddern’s third daughter at this turned, and Hildy said with an excited laugh: “No, and poor Sam Potts has hurt his hand on the horrid thing!”—One of the leather-jerkin-clad backs straightened and its owner grinned sheepishly.—“Those black footmen of Lady Georgina’s must be strong as oxen, Mamma!”

    “Hildy, where is your shawl?” returned her mother repressively.

    “Mamma, I am really very warm in this gown—”

    “Nonsense, there has ever been a draught in this hall,” she said, frowning. “Christabel, I am surprized at you!” she added crossly.

    Christabel smiled apologetically. “I am sorry, Mamma. But truly the men have tried to move it. Is it not intriguing?”

    “One wonders if the weight can be due to the contents, you know, or if it is merely the chest itself!” contributed Gaetana.

    “Gaetana, where is your hat?” returned her aunt, frowning.

    Gaetana put a hand to her head in surprize. “Oh—I took it off, I think, Tia Patty. It was in the way. But is it not exciting?

    Mrs Maddern ignored this. “Deering, I can only say I am surprized at you—very surprized.”

    “I beg your pardon, Mrs Maddern, I will send for more men at—”

    Paul stepped forward quickly. “I really do not think that would be the answer, Deering, if the thing is too heavy for four of our stout fellows.”

    At this one of the stout fellows burst out: “It ain’t just the weight, Mr Ainsley, sir, it be the shape, like: it do be blamed hard—begging your pardons, ladies—to get a grip on it, like!”

    “Yes, I can see that,” Paul agreed as the four stout fellows, as one fellow, stood back a little to let him get a look at it. “If you do not object, Tia Patty, I think we should have it opened on the spot.”

    “Very well, my dear,” she said limply.

    “But that is just it!” said Luís with a chuckle. “For the key has vanished!”

    “Amabel had it,” said Hildy in the voice of one who had said this before.

    “Yes, but if she is incommunicado—” said Gaetana with a giggle. Hildy also giggled.

    “Girls, that is enough!” cried Mrs Maddern loudly. “Deering, please clear all these people away!”

    “Very good, madam.” Deering frowned at the four stout fellows and they vanished like the dew.

    “But Sam Potts’s hand!” cried Hildy.

    Paul was examining the lock. He straightened. “I think you may go after him, and ensure he has it bathed and cleansed, Hildy. For nothing short of a cold chisel will get this open: we shall have to wait until the key can be recuperated from Amabel.”

    “Very well—only do not open it without me!”

    “I promise,” he said gravely.

     Hildy dashed out in pursuit of Sam Potts.

    “There was a message, Paul,” said Gaetana in an uncertain voice.

    “Oh?” he said, looking pleased, and holding out his hand.

    “Er—no, my dear, it was a verbal message, apparently,” said Miss Maddern weakly. “Given to Amabel.”

    “Entrusted to Amabel, I think?” corrected Luís solemnly.

    Gaetana collapsed in giggles.

    “My dears! Please!” cried Mrs Maddern, putting her hands to her head.

    Paul put an arm round her ample waist. “But is it not exciting, Tia Patty?”

    “Well... But what is the message, my dears?” she said weakly.

    “Er—something to the effect that they are in good—good heart, I think Hildy said,” reported Christabel dubiously, “and must not on any account be exposed to the cold winters. –I think.”

    Luís grinned. “I say: not exposed to the cold winters, eh?” He looked thoughtfully at the chest.

    “Given that it is a sea-chest…” said Paul thoughtfully.

    “Aye! It ith—a box—of mermaids!” he gasped helplessly, falling about the hall laughing himself silly.

    Mrs Maddern had expected some such thing but she said, with a very much heightened colour: “Really!”

    “I don’t find that very witty,” said Gaetana. She thought it over. “Should it not be ‘mermaiden’? Oh, no, I am thinking of Germanic plurals,” she said in confusion.

    Luís went into fresh paroxysms.

    “‘Ox—oxen,’ Gaetana,” said Miss Maddern kindly, adding in a low voice: “I am persuaded you are right, and that it is merely the weight of the chest that—that is making it so heavy, and not the contents.”

    “Aye! Mermaids—is light—creatures!” gasped Luís.

    “That will DO!” cried Mrs Maddern. “I am surprized at you, Luís!”

    “Sorry, Tia Patty,” he said, blowing his nose.

    “And—and all this at a time when—when we should be thinking of our dear Amabel!” she said crossly.

    “Eh? Oh—yes. Forgot,” he said sheepishly. “So the fellow has come, eh?”

    “Yes,” agreed Paul: “he is with her at this moment, dear boy, did no-one say?”

    “Yes, Hildy did, but Luís was making stupid jokes about Lady Georgina having robbed the pinery at Chypsley behind her son’s back, so he did not hear!” said Gaetana crossly.

    “Robbed the pinery?” said Mrs Maddern faintly.

    “Just a joke, Tia Patty,” he said uneasily.

    “I should hope so! Robbed the pinery? I never heard of such a—”

    Hildy rejoined them, panting slightly. “It is a nasty scratch, but Mrs Giles and I have cleaned it and put some salve on it, and I think it will be all right! And I have warned Ned Adams most stringently not to let him do any dirty work until it is healed over!”

    “That was very sensible, my dear,” approved her mother, nodding.

    “I say, Hildy,” said the unrepentant Luís with a grin: “what do you think of this: my theory about robbin’ the Chypsley pinery would explain the haste those blackamoors were in to be off!”

    “Yes!” she cried. “Of course! They had to get back to Chypsley before Lord Hubbel discovered the robbery and started looking round for the culprits!”

    Paul took a look at his aunt’s face, and did not say that this was as likely a theory as any. “Ignore them, Tia Patty: they are in a silly mood. Perhaps you would like to sit down for a little?”

    “What? Oh, good gracious, how long have we left them alone together?” she cried.

    “Er—well, not very long.”

    “This will never do!” she cried, rushing off to the sitting-room. Paul followed her with a resigned look on his face.

    “You know,” said Hildy conversationally to her cousins: “it will now take, by my calculation, at least a day of mixed lamentation and congratulation before we can get that key—or knowledge of its whereabouts—out of Amabel.”

    Miss Maddern drew herself up to her full height, taking a deep breath. But at that moment Deering, who had crossed the hall behind them unseen a moment earlier, returned and said, bowing: “Miss Maddern, your mamma desires the presence of the family in the small sitting-room.”

    “Doom,” groaned Hildy.

    “Thank you, Deering,” said Miss Maddern weakly. “—Hildy, how could you? In front of the butler!” she hissed, as Deering proceeded upstairs, no doubt in quest of Mrs Goodbody.

    Hildy sighed. “I’m sorry, Christa. I am very glad for Amabel, of course. But you know I am right, it will be all fuss.”

    Gaetana took her arm. “Never mind, Hildy, as soon as it has died down I shall propose a vote to open the mysterious chest!”

    “Seconded!” said Luís with his pleasant laugh, taking her other arm.

    Hildy was not unaware that her Spanish cousins were both doing their best to cheer her up on the false premise that she was moping for her own lost hopes. Though she did not suspect that Luís had any idea that they were hopes of Sir Ned rather than of Julian Naseby. So she smiled nicely and allowed herself to be led off towards the fuss, reflecting that it would be no use assuring Gaetana that she was over all that, because she would not believe her. But it was true: she had not given Sir Ned a thought since—well, these two days, at any rate. Since a parcel of books had arrived from Daynesford Place with the Marquis’s compliments and an anxious little note from Mr Wetherby which, though perfectly polite, had managed to assure her, imprimis, that they were but a loan, and secundus, (reading between the lines) that the secretary had very little expectation of Miss Hildegarde’s enjoying the volumes and was merely carrying out his master’s orders! Oh, dear. Did this mean that she was fickle by nature? ...Or merely that the Marquis had correctly gauged her taste in literature?

    “Pines. Huge ones. Contraband, of course,” said Luís firmly, putting down his teacup.

    “No! Panthers!” cried Hildy, giggling madly.

    Mrs Maddern sighed. Mr O’Flynn, no doubt with the kindest of intentions, had reintroduced the topic of the mysterious chest over the tea-tray.

    “What does a pine look like?” Gaetana suddenly demanded of Luís.

    “Eugh—aucune idée,” he admitted, grinning.

    She went off into a paroxysm.

    Miss Maddern could not forebear to smile, but she said firmly to her next sister: “I think this had best be settled, once and for all. Where is the key, dearest?”

    Amabel jumped. “What was that, dearest Christa?

    “The key of the chest, Amabel. Was it not entrusted to you?”

    “Oh! The key!” Amabel looked round her in a bewildered way. “Yes; I was in the hall... Oh, dear, I cannot recall...” she faltered, putting her hand to her bosom. “Oh!” she gasped, going very pink.

    Paul had to bite his lip, the more so as he perceived that Mr O’Flynn had suddenly also gone very pink, but he said with a creditable assumption of authority: “Perhaps you had best slip out and—er—retrieve it, Amabel.” –Luís here broke down in helpless splutters.

    “Yes!” gasped Amabel, jumping up and rushing out. Gaetana made a strangled noise and also rushed out, closely followed by Hildy.

    “I am afraid,” said Mrs Maddern very weakly to her newest son-in-law-to-be, “that the girls are—are in a very funning mood at the moment, Mr O’Flynn. You—you must forgive us.”

    Mr O’Flynn was still very pink but he smiled and said: “Not at all, Mrs Maddern.”

    Gaetana eventually reappeared, smiling and waving the key. “Here it is, Christa! Do come on, everyone, is it not thrilling?”

    Paul assisted his aunt to rise. “It is intriguing, certainly, mi querida, but do not expect too much of it, will you?”

    Gaetana ignored this and dashed out again.

    Mr O’Flynn gallantly gave his arm to Mrs Goodbody. The which was just as well, for Mr Luís Ainsley had forgot himself and had rushed out in his sister’s wake as if he were Bungo’s age.

    “Some of them have not quite grown up yet, I fear,” Paul explained gravely.

    Mr O’Flynn laughed his nice laugh. “Do not apologize for them, I pray, Mr Ainsley, they are a delightful family!”

    “Indeed!” agreed Cousin Sophia eagerly.

    Mr O’Flynn smiled down at her and said: “Quite so, Mrs Goodbody. I count myself most fortunate to be associated with them.”

    Mrs Maddern at this looked upon with him with great approval. Paul could not help thinking that it was a master stroke, and what a great pity it was that it was merely his good manners and amiable nature that had caused O’Flynn to produce it!

    In the front hall, strange to say, certain persons were gathered who in actuality had no business there. One was a red-eyed John Pringle, cradling a flowering cactus in his large hands. Another was little Melia Adams in a huge cap and crumpled apron with her mouth open. She was cradling a cabbage, but everyone overlooked this, in especial as she was accompanied by Berthe in a much larger apron and even huger cap, cradling a mixing bowl. Gregory was certainly there, but then it might have been said it was his duty to be. On the other hand, if Gregory was on duty in the hall, what was Thomas doing there? And there was certainly no visible justification for Ned Adams’s presence at all. Though perhaps he had come in with Jake. On business to do with the stables. Mrs Giles was also there, carrying a pile of linen. Very possibly she had been passing through the front hall in order to take the linen from point A to Point B. At the moment of their master’s appearing in the hall, Jake had appeared to have his arm round Mrs Giles’s waist but by the time Paul had blinked it wasn’t there. So possibly it had been Paul’s overheated imagination. The presence of Francisco was certainly not Paul’s imagination, but the son of Harry and Marinela overlooked this small matter quite easily.

    As Paul escorted his aunt up to the chest, Deering emerged from the back regions, thus making it quite clear that he had no responsibility in the presence of unauthorized persons in the front hall.

    “Come on, Christa, open it!” cried Hildy.

    Christabel looked a trifle nervously at the large black chest. At this Paul stepped forward and took the key gently from her. “I don’t really think it can be panthers, you know,” he murmured.

    “No,” she admitted, smiling sheepishly.

    “Or even wild pines,” he murmured.

    “Contraband pines!” corrected Luís with a choke of laughter.

    “Mm.” Paul inserted the heavy key in the lock.

     Suddenly Christabel grasped his coat sleeve. “Paul, be careful!”

    “Querida,” he said will a laugh, “Lady Georgina will not have sent anything that will spring at me, you know!”

    Christabel swallowed. “She is reputed to be very eccentric,” she reminded him in a low voice.

    “Aye!” agreed Luís cheerfully. “Eccentric enough to have robbed old Hubbel’s famous pinery, take my word for—”

    “That’s enough, I think, old man,” said his brother firmly.

    Luís swallowed. “Sorry!” he gulped.

    “Go on, Paul,” prompted Gaetana with a smile in her voice.

    Paul turned the key. Everyone looked at the chest in a mesmerized way.

    Deering inserted himself beside his master. “Mr Ainsley, allow me to assist you: I fear that lid may be somewhat weighty.”

    “Thank you, Deering,” said Paul, nobly refraining from laughing. He and the butler set their hands to it, and heaved. After a moment Luís joined them.

    The three faces had all got very red and several of the ladies had got to the point of nervously observing that the veins were standing out on Deering’s temples, when the lid suddenly swung up and back. The three men staggered a little and gasped, as it crashed down against the side of the box.

    “Ugh!” cried Mrs Maddern, shuddering and taking an involuntary step backwards.

    “What is it?” gasped Amabel, hand going to her bosom.

    “Damp sackin’, it be,” said John Pringle hoarsely.

    Christabel’s hand had also gone involuntarily to her bosom. “Yes, that is all it is,” she agreed weakly.

    “But—but what—?” quavered Mrs Maddern.

    Everyone peered at the damp-sacking-swathed shapes in the chest.

    Finally Hildy said feebly: “Well, even Lady Georgina could scarce have been so eccentric as to send you a box of damp sacking for your engagement. I suppose it must be—be protecting something?”

    “It’ll be something from the gardens at Chypsley!” gasped John Pringle excitedly.

    Luís gave a strangled yelp. “Aye—pines!”

    The young gardener looked at him in a wounded way. They still had not managed to find a source from which to stock the Manor’s pinery.

    Paul rubbed his nose. “We are well into September: it may be game. The preserves are reputed to be very fine, and then of course there are the deer—”

    “NO!” cried Hildy, taking a step backwards.

    “Aye, dare say they would not have thought it inappropriate to send us some venison,” agreed Luis eagerly. “Holà, dis-donc, Berthe, tu sais cuire la venaison?” he asked merrily.

    Berthe bustled forward, mixing bowl and all. “De la venaison! Mais oui, j’ai une belle recette—” She broke off, looking down at the sacking, disconcerted.

    Paul took a deep breath, and began unswathing the sacking.

    “Ugh!” cried Hildy, shuddering; Amabel gasped, and swayed a little, but very fortunately Mr O’Flynn’s arm happened to be there for her to grasp.

    At almost the same moment, Berthe cried loudly: “Mais dis-donc, ce sont des ananas!”

    And John Pringle cried loudly: “Bless me, they done send ’em, after all!”

    And Mrs Maddern gasped: “Pines!” and sagged where she stood.

    Paul hurriedly put his arm round her waist. “They are not, are they?” he said numbly, looking at the mass of spiky, ill-favoured leaves and spiky, ill-favoured, lumpy things that he had uncovered.

    “Of course,” she said faintly.

    “Out of course they do be pines, Mr Ainsley!” cried the young gardener with terrific enthusiasm. He thrust his cactus upon the nearest body—it happened to be Deering, but John Pringle was too excited to register this—and dived into the chest. “They’ve sent ’em roots and all, with earth all about ’em, was there ever anything like!” he cried.

    “That explains why the chest was so heavy,” said Hildy limply.

    “Yes,” agreed Gaetana limply.

    Luís then found that certain persons were looking at him. “I only meant it as a joke,” he said feebly. “They ain’t, really, Tia Patty, are they?”

    Mrs Maddern had completely recovered herself. “Of course they are, dear boy! How perfectly splendid! Is that not so like dearest Lady Georgina? –Cousin Sophia, do but look: she has sent us a supply of the fruits, and I know not how many plants! Our pinery will be completely set up!”

    Abruptly Luís gave a shout of laughter, and Gaetana and Hildy collapsed in gales of giggles, holding on to each other and shaking helplessly.

    Christabel and Paul looked at each other and smiled. At the same time, Mr O’Flynn and Amabel were also looking at each other and smiling.

    The sentimental Mrs Goodbody whisked her handkerchief out, but did not neglect to come to Cousin Patty’s side, nodding in agreement. “They are splendid fruits! Oh, if only we had had them for the engagement party! Well, never mind, we may use them at—” She broke off with a gasp. “Some other time!” she finished quickly.

    “Aye, and if you knows how,” said the young gardener, looking up, face all smiles, “you can strike ’em offen the fruits, like, Mrs Maddern: so I do beg as you will send on the tops to me, and not let ’em be cut up nor go to waste.”

    “Er—yes, certainly, John, we shall talk about it later. But certainly: Berthe must not cut them up, if— And Deering, you must see to it that—that they are not dismembered, or—or any such thing, at the table, or thrown out afterwards!”

    Gaetana was carefully translating all this for Berthe. This did not aid Mrs Maddern’s composure, the more so as she had just recollected that they had a very new son-in-law-to-be in their midst, who must be thinking that the Ainsleys were—well, as odd as the Claveringhams, to put it no stronger! ...And what were all these people doing in the hall? Oh, dear!

    “Deering, pray—pray clear the hall,” she said weakly.

    Deering, still with John Pringle’s flowering cactus in his hands, bowed with the greatest composure. “Certainly, Mrs Maddern.” He glanced round him. Certain persons vanished like the dew, he did not even have to open his mouth.

    “That’ll be your cue, Jake,” noted Luís with a wink over the heads of the company.

    “Aye, well, I’m glad as it ain’t panthers,” he noted imperturbably. “—I’ll be in your study, Master Paul,” he added.

    “Sí; oh, and perhaps Mrs Giles,” said Paul with a wicked glint in his eye that Jake Pringle did not, of course, miss, “would like to bring you a tray of tea in there.”

    “Yes, sir!” gulped Mrs Giles, turning scarlet. She directed a hasty bob more or less in Mrs Maddern’s direction, and hurried out.

    “Well, it is all very exciting,” said Mrs Maddern limply, “but—but I think we can leave it all to John Pringle, now!”

    “Aye, indeed you can, Mrs Maddern!” he beamed.

    “You must excuse us, Mr O’Flynn,” she added weakly.

    “No, no, Mrs Maddern: I confess I am as fascinated as anyone!” he said with a little laugh. “I have never seen a pine actually growing, you know!” With his hand gently under Amabel’s elbow he urged her forward. “Do but look, Miss Amabel. Are they not fascinating?”

    “Why, they are as spiky as the cactus plants!” she gasped.

    John Pringle beamed. “Aye, that they be, Miss Amabel: they be just as much tropical plants, only these here, you see, do require more watering—”

    Deering coughed.

    Excited as he was, John Pringle broke off. Mutely the butler held out the cactus to him. John Pringle took it, looking very confused.

    “It be another one in flower, you see, Miss Amabel! –Sorry, Mr Deering!” gasped Gregory, retreating.

    “Oh, why so it is!” she cried. “Brightest yellow! Oh, what a wonderful thing!”

    Very red, John Pringle held it out mutely.

    “I shall put it in the blue bowl directly,” she said, smiling up at him, as she took it from him.

    Certain persons present would not have thought it possible for the human countenance to take on a deeper shade of puce than the young gardener’s already had, but John Pringle’s managed it.

    Miss Maddern was now adjuring Berthe in her schoolroom French not to leave the fruits to the gardener. Chuckling richly, Berthe assured her there was no fear of that! Handing the mixing bowl to Luis, she swooped upon the pineapples forthwith, stowing them in her capacious apron.

    “The prickles are coming through!” gasped Hildy.

    “¡Sí, sí!” agreed Gaetana, enchanted. “They are like—like… hodgehegs,” she ended weakly.

    Hildy gave a shriek of laughter.

    “Dearest, you mean hedgehogs!” gulped Miss Maddern.

    “You’re as bad as Maria!” grinned Luis. He took a pineapple off Berthe. “Ouch!” he gasped, dropping it.

    “See: hodgehegs is prickly critters,” said Paul drily.

    Hildy at this went into a wheezing paroxysm, closely followed by Luís and then Gaetana herself.

    “Now that is enough!” said Mrs Maddern firmly. “Come along, Sophia, we shall return to the sitting-room. And you young people may follow when you have recovered yourselves.” Forthwith the two middle-aged ladies retreated in good order.

    Paul was trying not to laugh, but he said steadily enough: “Yes, I think we had best return to the sitting-room. This hall is not particularly warm. And Mr O’Flynn, should you care to stay to dine, I think we might persuade my aunt to sacrifice a—er—hodgeheg in honour of the occasion!”

    Mr O’Flynn’s eyes twinkled but he bowed and said politely: “That would be entirely delightful.”

    “Well, I am going with Berthe, I am determined to see how one prepares a hodgeheg!” said Hildy with a giggle.

    “I, too!” agreed Gaetana.

    “So’m I,” said Luís simply, putting an arm round Berthe’s ample waist and walking her off. The girls hurried in their wake.

    Paul’s shoulders shook but he said pleasantly to Mr O’Flynn: “Well, at least I can say this, O’Flynn: if it has not been precisely a typical day in our household, I can promise you that it rarely gets worse!”

    “Paul—” protested Miss Maddern faintly.

    But Mr O’Flynn only smiled and said: “You are joking me. I confess, I have seldom had such fun in all my life. I am determined that I shall endeavour to grow some pines in my little hot-house. Should you like that, my dear?” he added to Amabel.

    “I? Oh!” she gasped, turning very pink and becoming terrifically flustered. “Why, yes, I— Yes, indeed; it would be most interesting!”

    Mr O’Flynn led her gently back towards the sitting-room. “You will find my hot-house quite worthy of note, I think. My dear mother, you know, had quite an interest in tropical plants—”

    “I will say this for them,” concluded Hildy, very much later that evening: “they have served to distract poor John Pringle from his hopeless passion.”

    Gaetana bit her lip. “Dearest Hildy, that is not funny,” she said in a low voice.

    “No; I’m sorry I said it,” admitted Hildy. “When one thinks about it, it is very sad. The more so as I have no doubt that Amabel would manage a little cottage like his superbly, with no thought in her head of ever wanting more.”

    Gaetana sighed. “Sí. Life is so... unjust.” She licked her lips uneasily. “But I dare say she will be very happy with Mr O’Flynn. She does seem to want him, after all, Hildy.”

    “Mm.” Hildy passed her tongue stealthily round her lips. “Ow, my lips do sting!”

    “Sí, mine, too.”

     They looked at each other guiltily, and jumped when there was a tap at Hildy’s door.

    Gaetana went over to it. “Oh, it’s only you,” she said in some relief.

    Luís came in, looking sheepish—though very smart, in a frogged dressing-gown. “I say, Hildy, you don’t mind, do you?”

    Hildy was in her nightgown and a shawl, but as she didn’t mind at all, she shook her head.

    “I was looking for Gaetana,” explained Luís. “Are your mouths all—um…”

    “Tingly? Yes,” said Hildy glumly.

    “Tingly, ith it, Hildy?” he said glumly, passing his tongue cautiously over his lips. “Ouch! Well, Berthe was right, wasn’t she? We should not have sucked those skins in the kitchen.”

    “No,” agreed Hildy and Gaetana glumly.

    “And it was not even— Well, it was pleasant, I suppose: both sweet and acid,” Hildy added.

    “Not as nice as chocolate, when you come to think of it,” noted Luís.

    “No. Or crystallized violets,” agreed Hildy gloomily.

    “Or any of Mrs Urqhart’s sweetmeats,” decided Gaetana.

    Luís agreed glumly, and suggested asking Mrs Giles for a salve, or some such. After some hesitation, the girls decided it was not too late, and they all three went off to the housekeeper’s room.

    She was in bed, but not asleep, and Luís, at least, was very interested to see that, though she had a very pretty nightcap on, a long, curly plait of the thick brown hair that was normally confined in neat bands under a neat cap hung down over her shoulder. In fact, over her shoulder and over a fair-sized, well-shaped breast that the nightgown’s loose shape revealed quite clearly to his interested eye. Well, dear old Jake would find some comfort there! he thought, smiling to himself.

    “Are you glad?” said Hildy timidly as the girls returned to their rooms, duly anointed with some of Mrs Giles’s excellent salve.

    “Yes, the tinglements are much relieved,” said Gaetana with a sigh.

    “Er—no. Tingles, dear Gaetana,” she said, taking her arm and squeezing it. “No: about Jake and Mrs Giles.”

    “Very,” said Gaetana, smiling.

    “Oh, good,” said Hildy in some relief. They had reached her room, and both went in.

    “Are you quite warm and comfortable, Hildy, dearest?” asked Gaetana anxiously, as her cousin got into bed. “Not chilly after our journey down the corridors?”

    “No, my bed is very cosy, I always have a warming-pan, now,” said Hildy, blinking and smiling sleepily.

    “Good. Shall I fetch Diablo?”

    Hildy nodded and Gaetana, with great precautions not to wake him, fetched the little cat from his basket and put him behind Hildy’s knees.

    She went over to the door. “It has been a long day.”

    “Yes,” said Hildy, yawning.

    “I am very glad Amabel’s romance is settled at last!” said Gaetana abruptly. “I could not have borne it if—if she had not been allowed to have him, just for some prejudice of my aunt’s!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy, looking at her anxiously but yawning again.

    “I must not keep you up— Oh, dear!” she said, face breaking into smiles. She ran over to the bed and hissed: “Amabel’s engagement will be forever associated in my memory with those sacrés ananas, tu sais!”

    “The hodgehegs—absolutely!” giggled Hildy.

    Gaetana went out, smiling.

    Hildy blew her candle out. But in the dark she said softly to Diablo: “I am truly very glad for Amabel. They will suit each other down to the ground, after all. And either of them would bore any other mortal silly! Only why could it not be the Marquis and Gaetana?”

    Diablo stirred, stretched and rose. Treading very delicately, he climbed over Hildy and got into the bed with her. He snuggled down against her stomach.

    “You are not allowed to do that,” said Hildy weakly. “And what if I were to roll upon you?”

    Diablo didn’t respond. Unless his loud purring were a response. “Oh, well,” said Hildy with a smile. “I dare say I will not. At all events, I have not yet!”

    Diablo went to sleep on a purr and Hildy went to sleep on a smile. Perhaps Floss had prescribed the best medicine for her sister, after all.

    Naturally the gifts from Chypsley made a reappearance on the night that Paul had invited Rockingham to dine. Everyone was quite circumspect during the meal—to Mrs Maddern’s relief—but afterwards the tale of Lady Georgina’s contraband pines was retailed with glee by Hildy. The Marquis laughed so much that he nearly cried. He produced his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. “Dammit, it’s apocryphal!” he choked.

    “No, it isn’t,” said Hildy, all twinkles. “Of course, we are not absolutely sure that they are contraband, but from the haste those black footmen were in to get back to Chypsley, some suspicion must always obtain.”

    Rockingham choked again.

    “And in any case, the dessert tonight was proof enough, surely?” she added airily.

    “Good gad, was that why your cousin was so urgent with me to take a slice? Thought he had run mad,” he confessed, grinning.

    “Well, the thing is, Mamma has—has more or less adopted them as—I think I am mixing my metaphors here,” said Hildy with a grin, “but as her ewe-lambs!”

    “Prickly ewe-lambs,” he noted.

    “Quite!” she choked. She then imparted Gaetana’s faux pas over the “hodgehegs.”

    Rockingham smiled but did not appear quite as amused as— Well, he showed no sign of falling all over the smaller salon, and he did not have recourse to his handkerchief again. Hildy looked at him with some sympathy. Finally he said stiltedly: “Her English is excellent.”

    “Yes, though sometimes there is just the trace of an accent; have you—?” He was nodding. “Yes,” said Hildy softly.

    Rockingham bit his lip.

    Hildy glanced cautiously over to the other side of the salon, where Gaetana, delicious in spangled white gauze, was listening to a tale of Lady Dezzie’s about her Peninsula travels and laughing very much.

    Rockingham’s eyes followed hers and he sighed.

    Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Hildy said: “Shall you be in residence until Christmas, sir?”

    “Not the whole time, no. I must take my seat in the House—the Parliament is to sit. Then—well, I have acquaintances whom I usually—” He broke off. “They are friends of Julian’s family, more than mine. I suppose I shall not be going, this year.”

    “Oh?” said Hildy in a small voice.

    He bit his lip again. “We have had a—a disagreement. I poked my nose into his business, I suppose you could say.”

    “I see,” she said dubiously.

    Suddenly his large, hard hand closed over her little one where it lay on her pale amethyst knee. –Amethyst gauze, but a warm petticoat underneath, and Mrs Maddern had bought her a new shawl for the occasion, she was not taking any further risks with Hildy’s health.

    “I’m sorry, Hildy,” he said hoarsely. “I’m afraid any—any difficulties there might have been between you and Julian have been largely my fault.”

    Hildy looked at him in surprize. Finally she said: “Oh: what you said to Gaetana?” He nodded mutely. “But you were perfectly correct. I—I have never known how I felt about him, to say truth, and—and it would have been most cruel to encourage him.”

    “Yes,” he said, squeezing her hand very hard. “But he feels that—that I never gave him a chance...”

    “I see,” said Hildy dubiously.

    “He is—well, he gives the impression, I suppose,” he said doubtfully, “of being pretty much at home in Society, and so forth. But he’s a diffident fellow, at heart.”

    “Ye-es,” said Hildy uncertainly. “Gaetana and I have had some conversation on a similar subject... It is very difficult, sir, to tell what a man may really be like, when he drives a carriage most competently and—and knows how to procure one a chair in the rain!” she ended with a tiny laugh.

    “Eh? Oh—I see what you mean. Aye, well, that is it, then. Behind all his carriage-driving and chair-calling,” he said with a twitch of the lips, “there’s a fairly diffident fellow.”

    “Yes.” Hildy hesitated and then said in a low voice: “We were not talking only about Sir Julian, Lord Rockingham.”

    “Eh? Er—no,” he said blankly. “I suppose it could apply to anyone.”

    Hildy looked at him with considerable affection. “Carriages and four were mentioned in the connexion, sir.”

    “Eh? Julian can’t drive a team to save his life: he’s the most cack-handed fellow alive— Oh,” he said, going very red.

    “Yes,” said Hildy. He was still holding her hand, though his grasp had slackened: she turned her hand within his and shyly gave it a little squeeze.

    Rockingham looked into her face. “Thank you,” he said shakily.

    Hildy smiled shyly into his eyes. “No—thank you. I cannot promise to—to look more kindly upon Sir Julian. But—but—should he pay any more attentions to me, I—I will try to take him more seriously as—as a human being, than I have hitherto.”

    Rockingham did not smile at her choice of phrase; he squeezed her hand again and said: “Good girl.”

    Hildy went rather pink and smiled shakily.

    From across the room, Gaetana had observed the entire exchange. A queer little pang had run through her when the Marquis took Hildy’s hand. Now, though she still appeared to listen to Dezzie with every evidence of amusement, her whole body seethed with a bitter jealousy which she could not control. He could not be turning to Hildy? No—it was too cruel! But then, there was no reason he should not: they were both free, and—and Hildy was very pretty and lively and...

    As soon as the company had left, Gaetana went straight to bed. She did not go to Hildy’s room as usual to say goodnight and see she was tucked up warmly. Instead she blew her candle out, crept under the covers, and cried until well into the small hours.

    Amabel had been quite ready to insist that Hildy should take the place next to their mamma in the travelling coach, whilst she herself sat with her back to the horses, but there was no need to insist: Hildy allowed Paul to hand her up into the carriage to the place beside Mrs Maddern without appearing to notice what was happening to her.

    “Dearest child, do you feel quite the thing?” said Mrs Maddern anxiously to her pale face.

    “Yes, Mamma,” said Hildy in a tiny voice.

    Luís, smiling anxiously, handed Diablo in his basket up to her, and she took the basket automatically. “Thank you, Luís.”

    “I should not have let you stay up to dinner yester evening, we were far too late!” worried Mrs Maddern.

    Paul was handing up Christabel and Amabel. Christabel seated herself opposite Mrs Maddern. “The carriage is most comfortable: the journey will not be too tiring for her, Mamma.”

    “I am really quite well,” said Hildy faintly.

    Amabel sat down beside Christabel and said anxiously: “Are your feet quite warm, Hildy, dear? That is the thing, I always think. If the feet are warm, the rest of the person may be at ease.”

    “Yes, there is a hot brick: put your feet on it, too, Amabel.” Amabel put her feet beside Hildy’s.

    Finally, with some rearrangement of rugs, Amabel trying to put her share of rug over Hildy as well as Hildy’s own share of rug, and with some flurried last-minute instructions from Mrs Maddern to Cousin Sophia, to be conveyed to Berthe, they were—

    Gaetana came flying down the front steps. “Here!” she gasped, shoving a large, untidy bunch of mixed flowers and foliage onto Hildy’s lap. “Take care of yourself, querida!”

    Hildy’s hands were full of basket: Mrs Maddern steadied the bouquet for her. “Dearest child: weeds?” she said faintly.

    “They are from the hedgerows!” gasped Gaetana. “I went out very early!”

    “Thank you, they’re a lovely souvenir,” said Hildy, smiling shakily.

    “This is a strand of bramble,” murmured Amabel in a voice that did not know whether to be amused or dismayed.

    “You may eat the berries if you get hungry on the journey!” said Gaetana with a laugh.

    “Yes. Goodbye, Gaetana,” said Hildy shakily. “I’ll see you in November, I suppose.”

    Gaetana’s lips trembled. “Sí.” She kissed Hildy’s cheek.

    Paul mounted onto the step beside her. “Come along, little kitten, we must not hold them up.”

    “No. Goodbye!” gasped Gaetana. Suddenly she jumped down and rushed indoors, bursting into sobs as she went.

    “Oh, dear!” said Amabel distressfully.

    Paul stepped down and firmly put the steps up, shutting the door. Amabel lowered the window immediately and leaned forward: “Perhaps we should take Gaetana home just for a short visit, Cousin?”

    “No, it is all decided, and you shall be on your merry way!” he said cheerfully.

    Amabel’s face did not look very merry.

    Hildy was blowing her nose, but she stowed the handkerchief away and said: “Home is much closer to Tunbridge Wells.”

    “Indeed!” agreed Miss Maddern with a little laugh.

    Luís, who was escorting them, ranged alongside on Muy Negro. “Well; we off?” he said cheerfully.

    “Absolutely, dear boy, do not keep the horses standing, this is a chilly wind,” said his brother. Luís winked at him.

    Mrs Maddern bent forward anxiously: “That is perfectly correct: Sophia, you must not get chilled!” she called.

    The little lady came up to the door of the coach, smiling. “I am quite warm, my dear. And do not fear for Gaetana, I shall take good care of her.”

    Mrs Maddern bethought her of another injunction in re Cousin Sophia’s not allowing Gaetana to run around unescorted all over the countryside, but Luís had given the word to young Higgs, and the carriage moved off.

    “Goodbye, my dears: goodbye!” cried Cousin Sophia, waving her handkerchief and smiling gallantly.

    Mrs Maddern burst into tears, but at the same time waved her own handkerchief from the depths of the carriage.

    Amabel, very tearful but not actually weeping—perhaps she was thinking of the proximity of their home to Tunbridge Wells—smiled shakily and waved, and Hildy raised a little trembling hand and smiled bravely and also waved.

    Miss Maddern had had to take several deep breaths, but she leaned forward and smiled and waved determinedly.

    On the sweep, Paul found he couldn’t smile. He put an arm rather tightly around Cousin Sophia’s thin little waist, and waved very hard to make up for the absence of a smile.

    “Oh, dear!” said the little lady as the carriage vanished down the drive.

    Paul bit his lip. “It is so foolish of me, I feel as if I were saying goodbye to her forever,” he said in a low voice.

    Cousin Sophia patted the hand at her waist. “That is perfectly understandable, dearest boy. After all, you have scarce been separated since your engagement. But now we must think about cheerful subjects! We have Christmas, and then the wedding—nay, two weddings, to look forward to!”

    “Sí, ” said Paul, sniffing.

    “Come along inside. We must not neglect dearest Gaetana, you know.”

    “No. Oh, dear, I was afraid that it might hit her all of a sudden. She looked so dreadful this morning, I think she had hardly slept at all. And then, if she was up early to pick those—those weeds—” he said with a shaky smile.

    “Yes, but she may take a nap this afternoon,” said Cousin Sophia placidly. “And we must see to it she has plenty to occupy her time. It is a pity she does not care for handwork, I have a new crochet pattern which is quite delightful—” She continued to chatter gently in this vein as they went inside.

    Paul smiled a little and let her rattle on; mentally, however, he was making plans to issue another invitation to Rockingham, with his sisters and niece, Miss Dewesbury having now gone to join her parents, as soon as was decent. It was true that last night’s dinner party had not succeeded in bringing Gaetana and the Marquis together: she had ignored the poor fellow all evening; but they would be a smaller party, and— Well, he could but try.

    “Well, it is goodbye to Dittersford,” said Hildy bravely, as the carriage passed the fork in the road which led to the village, and hastened on past the high stone wall of the Daynesford Place estate towards Ditterminster.

    Mrs Maddern stowed her handkerchief away. “Yes, but we shall be back for Christmas!” she said with determined brightness.

    “Indeed,” agreed Miss Maddern with a forced smile.

    “And it will be so delightful to see our dear home and dear Mrs Spofford again,” said Amabel.

    Hildy looked nervously at the basket on her knee, but said: “Yes, it will. And Bateson.”

    “And Bateson: of course!” cried Mrs Maddern.

    “Indeed,” agreed Miss Maddern with a forced smile.

    A depressed silence fell.

    The carriage hastened on. To their right, a wood of half-grown trees appeared. To their left, the high stone wall...

    Finally Hildy said in a small, guilty voice: “I think Gaetana was very upset because I—I talked to the Marquis last night.”

    “Er—that is possible,” allowed Christabel.

    “Ye-es... Well, she made no push to engage his attention herself, my dear. And—and somebody had to talk to the man,” said Mrs Maddern in a flustered voice, “and I confess, I never know what to say to him!”

    “No. Well, he would always be glad to hear news of the children,” said Christabel.

    “I suppose that is true. Only one feels rather foolish, chatting on—on domestic topics, to a—a—”

    “Belted marquis,” said Hildy dully.

    “Indeed,” agreed Miss Maddern.

    “Do you remember how we joked about him after that first ridiculous encounter at Mrs Parkinson’s?” said Hildy in a wondering voice. “How—how long ago it seems, to be sure.”

    “Yes,” said Miss Maddern with a little secret smile, “I suppose it does seem a long time ago.”

    “Oh, indeed!” agreed Amabel, nodding and smiling, very pink.

    “Well, a lot has happened in your lives,” owned Hildy on a sour note.

    “Hildy,” said Christabel firmly, leaning forward: “you must not allow yourself to sink into gloom. It is very largely the aftereffects of the influenza, you must remember.”

    A tear slid down Hildy’s cheek. “Yes. But if only Gaetana had not been so cross with me, at the end.”

    Mrs Maddern and Christabel looked at each other in dismay.

    But suddenly Amabel bent forward and cried eagerly: “But dearest: that is a good sign!”

    Hildy stared at her, frowning.

    “Oh—good gracious,” said Mrs Maddern faintly.

    “Why—of course!” said Christabel with a laugh. “How very stupid of us! You are in the right of it, Amabel, dearest, that is an excellent sign!”

    Amabel smiled and nodded encouragingly at Hildy.

    “Oh,” she said: “I see.”

    “There!” said Amabel pleasedly. “Is it not wonderful?”

    Hildy swallowed. “We always thought she did care for him.”

    “But enough to be jealous of her best friend over a—a mere conversation?” cried Amabel.

    “Hush, dearest,” murmured Miss Maddern, touching her knee.

    “No, it is all right, Christa. She was, I see it now,” said Hildy slowly. “And hers is not a jealous nature.”

    “No, indeed! Normally so—so generous and giving!” said Mrs Maddern, producing her handkerchief.

    “Well! Is it not splendid!” said Amabel with a little laugh.

    Hildy gulped. “Yes, but Amabel, if—if she is determined not to encourage him…”

    “I am perfectly sure,” said Amabel fervently, raising her great gold-green eyes towards the roof of the carriage and possibly higher parts, “that it will all work out, in the end!”

    Hildy’s eyes met Christabel’s.

    “I think it may be so, Hildy,” she said quietly. “I shall pray for it, at all events. It is clear that they both care.”

    “Mm. Well, I suppose prayer cannot do any harm,” said Hildy drily.

    “Hildegarde Maddern!” cried her mother, duly scandalized.

    Hildy smiled a little. “Well, at all events I am glad to know that it was only jealousy over the Marquis that made her act so strange.”

    “Of course!” beamed Amabel.

    Hildy leaned back into her corner of the carriage with a sigh, sinking her chin into the new fur tippet that her mamma had insisted she wear. “I am looking forward to seeing Mrs Spofford again,” she murmured.

    Mrs Maddern patted her knee. “Of course, my dear. Why do you not close your eyes for a little? Try to take a little nap.”

    “Yes. It is very cosy,” murmured Hildy, closing her eyes.

    Amabel also sank back into her corner of the coach, and also closed her eyes. A little smile hovered on her pretty round face. Possibly she was again thinking of the proximity of home to Tunbridge Wells. Or of some very similar subject.

    Miss Maddern looked out of the coach window on her side and tried not to sigh.

    Mrs Maddern also leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. But behind the lids her brain was busy. It would not do, of course, to encourage Hilary Parkinson to call, they had had enough of that and, eligible parti though he was, it was quite clear that he and Hildy should not suit. But in Bath... Did not Sir Julian Naseby have relatives there? Mrs Maddern could not quite remember if it was an aunt or one of his sisters, but— Well, there were always mutual acquaintances, it would not be impossible to find out. And then, he was not the only fish in the sea, and Hildy was very young, yet! The Kernohans were a most respectable family indeed, and there were plenty of unmarried cousins on that side of dearest Wilhelmina’s family! ...Yes, she would write to dear Mrs Kernohan. Delicately, of course.