Dinner At Daynesford Place

23

Dinner At Daynesford Place

    Daynesford Place being very much the great house of the district, dinner there would be a very grand affair. One, indeed, to which any person who valued their place in society would aspire. And did. But alas, in spite of Mrs Purdue’s and Mrs Llewellyn-Jones’s best efforts in this direction, no invitation had been sent to either the Deanery or the very new white pillared mansion near Lower Dittersford, named by Mr and Mrs Purdue with what Mrs Maddern, for one, had not hesitated to stigmatize as amazing audacity, “Dittersford House.” She would, perhaps, have felt a little better about the matter had she known that the Marquis of Rockingham had fallen into the habit of referring to it as “Swamp House”—Willow Court, not dissimilarly, of course having become “Willow Swamp”. Indeed, one of the reasons, if a minor one, for Lady Lavinia’s not having invited the Purdues was that she had a fear that her nephew might forget himself and refer to their house as a swamp in front of them. It was not something she wished to occur in a house where she was playing hostess.

    The diners at the Place were to sit down with, besides Mrs Urqhart’s party, Mrs Maddern and her three older daughters, Mr Ainsley and his brother and sister, Mrs Parkinson, Mrs O’Flynn, and Mr O’Flynn. Lady Lavinia of course had her own reasons for wishing to show Mrs Parkinson’s family particular notice, so she had elicited the information at the time of Mrs Maddern’s afternoon call that Mr O’Flynn was staying in the neighbourhood and, though it was very short notice, had sent him an invitation. She had not felt it necessary to invite Lady Charleson as well. Mr O’Flynn—perhaps it was cowardly in him, but he had good reason, after all—had not mentioned the fact that he would be dining out one night this week to Evangeline until the morning of the great event itself. Needless to say the rest of that day had not been a happy one, at Willow Court.

    Clearly, the numbers would be unbalanced. Lady Lavinia having assured her spouse angrily at least five times that this did not matter to her, even Sir Lionel had perceived that it did. Dezzie had generously offered to absent herself from the dining table that night but this had not gone down at all well. Not at all. Sir Lionel, in an effort to pour oil on troubled waters, had spent some considerable time muttering over little bits of paper, but the results of these efforts, when presented proudly to his wife, had been spurned bitterly. When he had tried to insist she had informed him coldly that his master plan had put Anna next to her own mother and Mrs Parkinson next to herself and—as he opened his mouth to protest—she trusted that it was mere coincidence that had led him to place Miss Amabel Maddern at his own left hand, for she herself did not find it amusing. –That will DO, Lionel!

    Sir Lionel had exited muttering: “Only me left, for the Lord’s sake,” scattering little pieces of paper as he went.

    In his absence her Ladyship had stealthily picked up the pieces of paper and examined them narrowly, but they had not helped. One of his designs had little Miss Hildegarde next to Giles—either the fur would fly or they would not know what to say to each other, and with a girl of that age you could not predict a thing—and the other had committed the really crowning folly of placing Miss Hildegarde next to Sir Julian, and Miss Ainsley next to Giles!

    It had not taken Carolyn and Anna long—about two seconds, in fact—to work out that they would be the youngest persons present. And quite undoubtedly the most dowdily dressed, for Aunt Lavinia did not believe that anything but the simplest muslins were suitable for young girls only just out, Carolyn, and you have not had your presentation yet, and I do not care to hear another word on the subject, thank you; and not yet out at all, may I remind you, Anna, dear? Carolyn and Anna, therefore, could not expect to be awarded a gentleman at dinner. And it was very mean and horrid of Mr Maddern and Mr Tom to have gone off just the week they were needed!

    However, by the time the guests arrived, Anna was buoyed up by the small pearl necklace generously given her by Carolyn, whose doating papa had recently bought her a much larger string—and by the fact that Lady Lavinia nodded graciously at her shrinking form, saying “Very nice,” and, on being informed of the gift, looked upon Carolyn approvingly, uttering: “A very generous thing to have done, my dear.” And Carolyn was buoyed up by this praise from Lady Lavinia and by the consciousness of her own tremendous virtue. And it was just as well they were so buoyed up, otherwise they would have died—died! upon seeing Hildy Maddern and Gaetana Ainsley walk into the room. It was not fair!

    Hildy was a delicate drift of palest amethyst, enviable enough. But Gaetana! For a start her dress was white silk, with tiniest lace flowers sewn on it here and there, and  for a second her pearls were much larger than Carolyn’s, but for a third she had the most wonderful—well, they did not know what to call it, perhaps a lace shawl, on her head, sort of high, it must have something under it, and she looked so... exotic! And if it was true she had red hair, well, it was such a very dark red that you did not think “carrots” at all. Oh, it was not fair!

    Carolyn and Anna were staring so hard as the dainty vision came into the room that they did not notice at all that Carolyn’s brother went first as white as his linen and then as red as fire, his eyes glued to Miss Ainsley’s enchanting pointed face.

    Lady Lavinia, of course, did notice it and thought with resignation that he was worse than ever, and if only the wretched girl could have had a spot, or something! But it was clear she was in the best of health and her complexion was like silk and her cheeks were flushed with the most delicate pearly pink, and her Ladyship could cheerfully have wrung her slender neck for her.

    Sir Lionel, having been previously alerted in the matter, also noticed that poor old Giles still had it bad, and in a muddled but kindly manner racked his brains for some way to bring ’em closer together. But all he came up with was a nice musical evening, and that had signally not worked in the past. So he gave up thinking about Giles and allowed his eyes to rest on Miss Amabel, a fatuous smile lighting up his heavy, amiable face. At least, his wife stigmatized it grimly to herself as fatuous.

    Nobody in the house party had much time to notice Sir Julian, which was just as well, because his jaw had dropped at the sight of Hildy in pale amethyst. Luís, however, having been alerted by Paul, was able to verify at one glance that his brother was correct, and the fashionable baronet was goopy upon Hildy, all right!

    Paul had kindly not alerted him as to the possibility of the Marquis of Crabapple’s being goopy upon Gaetana, as he didn’t think Luís’s constitution could take it—and besides, if nothing was to come of it, which seemed extremely likely, for as far as he could tell Gaetana still found the Marquis very disturbing but Rockingham seemed to have given up any idea of pursuing her, he very much did not wish it to get back to Harry and Marinela. His sharp eyes did not fail to notice, however, Lord Rockingham’s reactions when Gaetana walked into his drawing-room, or the fact that his sister’s bosom rose and fell agitatedly as she greeted him in a shy little voice. Well! Why had she refused to let him ask the man over to the Manor, then? Maidenly modesty, or some such? That didn’t seem very much like her, but... Well, she was very young, and no doubt a young girl in love had some very contrary feelings. Paul, feeling a trifle guilty about his neglect of Gaetana in the past weeks, determined he would talk it all over with Christa at the very earliest opportunity.

    Naturally he also observed Sir Julian’s reaction to Hildy; indeed, he would have had to have been blind to miss it, and he found himself very irritated with the man indeed. They knew he had been at the Place for the Marquis’s birthday, even if he had subsequently come down with this famous cold: why had he not called, for the Lord’s sake, did he have no backbone at all? Sacré Anglais! Well, sacré milord, at all events, Paul Ainsley corrected himself with a mental grin.

    It was quite true that Sir Julian had lost his nerve where Hildy was concerned. She had been so cruel to him in town, blowing hot and cold—and then, he had behaved so shocking, it was no wonder she— But to have no acknowledgement of a week’s worth of bouquets! Surely her mamma would have permitted her to write him a mere note of thanks, had she wished to do so? Julian did not think that Hildy’s mamma was the sort that would have forbidden her to write a polite note to a man, not if it was just a note of thanks, and—and supervised!

    He had dithered for over a week, on arriving at Daynesford Place, every day finding new excuses, such as having to ride out with the little girls, or a promise to take them into Daynesford or for a picknick, or taking a look at Giles’s preserves, since Giles was going that way himself, or— Well, there were very many excuses, on a property the size of the Place, for a man who was looking for excuses not to pay a call. And then he had come down with the Eunice Heather cold, and really had had it very badly, and that had been the best excuse of all. After that, Lady Lavinia’s dinner party was almost upon them, and he would see her then, and— In any case, it was only too likely that she had not given him a thought since that last fatal ball. Or if she had, it would have been to despise him.

    Now he cursed himself for a fool and a procrastinator: she was lovelier than ever, and his feelings for her came back in a rush. Grimly he reflected that there were probably any number of young hopefuls in the neighbourhood only too ready to succumb to her charms and let her know it. And the damned parson, what about the parson? If his mother and sister were actually staying at Ainsley Manor, the fellow would have had the ideal excuse for hanging round! Oh... Hell and damnation!

    Fortunately, however, there was no visible competition this evening, at all events! Sir Julian squared his shoulders and, pleased that he had tied his neckcloth in a Waterfall this evening—the more so as Giles couldn’t manage one, and Sir Lionel’s efforts always looked like a mouse had had a fight in a pillowslip—decided to go in to do battle. For Mamma was quite right, and if something in life was worth the wanting, it was worth fighting for!

    The gentle Lady Naseby, horrified at her son’s moping around the house during the last weeks of the Season, but not liking to question him too closely, after all he was a grown man, had produced this rather unlikely martial image in an effort to convince him that, if it was still little Miss Hildegarde Maddern, as she suspected, he must make an effort to win her. Only to Emily, in a moment of despair, did she express the thought that he was too gentle, and did not have his father’s determination. Emily, even whilst privately thinking that Mamma was admitting it at last, was so upset that she merely squeezed her hand very tight, and said nothing.

    Hildy could not but notice Sir Julian: for one thing he was tall, and very obviously the best-dressed man in the room. And for another thing, she had forgotten quite how good-looking he was. If he did not have the regular features of Sir Noël Amory, for instance, he yet had a very pleasing face; plus considerable charm of manner.

    He bowed very low over her hand and said with his pleasant smile: “Miss Hildegarde: delighted to see you again; it seems an age since last we met! How do you go on?”

    And Hildy could only manage in reply: “Oh! Very well, thank you, Sir Julian.” She then bethought her of his cold, only it was too late to ask after that, for he had passed on to Mrs O’Flynn, and was asking after Baby and actually remembering her name! And she herself had to take her turn in making her curtsey to the Marquis.

    “Well, Miss Hildy, so it’s your turn to wear the famous brooch!” Rockingham greeted her cheerily.

    “What?” gasped Hildy. “Oh!” Her hand went to the carved white jade brooch on the lilac riband at her throat. “Yes! How did you—?”

    “Your cousin wore it once, and informed me that it belonged to Miss Amabel, but that the custom of sharing trinkets and ribbons is common amongst sisters and—er—close cousins, I suppose,” he said gravely.

    Suddenly Hildy smiled at him, and decided he was nice, after all, and she had been a silly little Miss to ever think of him as old, for he was not as old as—as other persons, and in any case age did not matter; and if he was sometimes cross as crabs, well, perhaps he had had sorrows in his life, and in any case a man could not help his cast of countenance, and she would try very hard not to think of him as the Marquis of Crabapple in future! And if Gaetana was in love with him she should have him, and she, Hildy, did not know how, as yet, but she would make it happen! And at least someone would be happy!

    “Yes, it is perfectly true, but these are my very own ribbons! Amabel sewed the tiny spangles on for me: are they not pretty?”

    The Marquis examined the knot of ribbon in one puffed sleeve with unaffected interest. “Aye, very. Quite a different touch: she has exquisite taste, your sister.”

    “Yes, we think so,” agreed Hildy. “She chose this stuff, for my dress: do you think a person with red hair may wear amethyst, sir?”

    “No, but a lady with deep auburn hair certainly may, Miss Hildy!” he said with a little laugh.

    Hildy blushed and laughed. “I was not fishing; I fear that sounded dreadful! Well, I am glad you think so, for even though Amabel’s taste rarely errs, I was afraid people might think it odd, like the time she made Floss a bright green apron. Well, the stuff was quite good: it was a breadth from a dress of Mamma’s that was utterly ruined by a blackberry fool, and it would have been a pity to waste it. But very few little girls are seen in green silk aprons!”

    “No, she would have been better advised to make her a petticoat,” he said seriously.

    “Oh, exactly! I see you have a very practical turn of mind, sir!” cried Hildy.

    Grinning, Rockingham bowed over her hand a second time, said deeply: “You have seized the essence of me, Miss Hildegarde,” and left her flushed and laughing.

    It was natural that a young girl should have flushed up with pleasure at this kind attention from her host, and no-one thought much of the fact that the brightness in her cheeks did not die away. Except Dezzie, who, feeling herself, most thankfully, a mere spectator at this feast, was quietly sitting back and letting others do the chattering.

    “That little girl looks a trifle feverish, to me,” she said in a low voice to her daughter.

    “Do you think so, Mamma?” said Anna in surprize.

    “Mm. Well, it may be nothing: the room is warm. But I’ll keep an eye on her,” decided Dezzie.

    “So shall I,” agreed Anna firmly.

    Dezzie smiled a little, but did not point out that this would have to be in the intervals of keeping both eyes on pretty young Luís Ainsley, would it not?

    Mrs Urqhart’s party was the last to arrive. It included Mr O’Flynn, for having encountered him moping in Lower Dittersford that very morning, Mrs Urqhart had got it out of him that his cousin was not best pleased by the slight to herself occasioned by his flattering invitation, and from that it had been a very short step to realizing that the creature would no doubt refuse to let him have the carriage this evening. So she had very kindly offered him a ride to the Place in her carriage.

    Mr O’Flynn, very gratefully indeed, had accepted the offer. He would, of course, have ridden much farther than from Willow Court to Daynesford Place in order to see Miss Amabel Maddern, but all the same, it was very pleasant not to be obliged to!

    Amabel flushed up quite unmistakeably when she saw him. Mr O’Flynn saw this, and he flushed, too, and his knees went weak, and he determined that, even if it was a little too soon, he would speak to her mamma before the summer was out! Well, at all events, directly after her sister’s engagement party, which was scheduled for the beginning of September.

    Only four persons noticed these reactions in the pair of them. The first was Mrs Parkinson, who of course had already noticed a little something in that direction; and she, once again, decided she would not speak to Patty: for dear Mr O’Flynn, for reasons she could not at all understand, was rather clearly not a favourite of Mrs Maddern’s—and he deserved to have his chance at happiness!

    Dorothea O’Flynn, swallowing her disappointment that Lord Lucas Claveringham had not accompanied Mrs Urqhart, and rather wishing she had not wasted her very new blue sarsenet on the party, also remarked that she had not been mistaken about dearest Amabel and dearest Uncle O’Flynn and, sending up a little prayer to her Maker that it would be, looked at them with great hope and affection in her big, soft blue eyes.

    The sharp-eyed Paul by this time had also become aware, not only that O’Flynn favoured Amabel, which he had remarked some time since, but that his pretty, domestic, sweet and, alas, ninnyish little cousin favoured the prim O’Flynn. Well. good luck to ’em, they would deal extremely: he was gentle and good enough never to do anything that might frighten or distress her, and manly enough to cherish her all his days; and she was very obviously, now he came to think of it, cut out to be the petted little helpmate of a doating rather older man. In fact, now he did come to think of it, Paul wondered that he had not assigned Amabel to O’Flynn months since! There was of course the question, would he ever get up the courage to ask for permission to pay his addresses? But Paul thought that, on the whole, he was man enough to do so. And if he should need a hint, well, was he himself not in some sort head of her family? Paul’s ingenious mind of its own accord immediately began to plot out ways in which O’Flynn could be given a hint. He caught himself up with a smile, and decided he would not mention it to dearest Christa, for she did not care for Mr O’Flynn’s coyness and primness, not to say his advanced age, and would be unlikely to sympathize with her little sister’s hopes.

    The fourth person to notice the besotted pair was, of course, Mrs Urqhart, and she also decided that if the mimsy-pimsy feller needed a push, she would give him one! Acos with Hildy a-mopin’ after Ned—though there was little doubt she would grow out of that, it was a stage the girl was a-goin’ through, as anyone but a great looby like Ned Jubb would have instantly perceived for themselves—well, with Hildy a-mopin’ after him, and Gaetana down in the dumps over something, Mrs Urqhart had not yet ferreted out what but she was a-goin’ to, and Noël a-mopin’ round the house, and Jo not favouring Timmy at all, nor yet Noël, which she must admit she had had her hopes about— Well, what with all that gloom around, when you saw two who did clearly favour each other and there weren’t nothin’ in the way of it, if one on ’em did need a bit of a nudge, she, Betsy Urqhart, never had been one for hangin’ back when a nudge were needed!

    Mr O’Flynn, fortunately unaware of these kind thoughts, very soon made his way to Amabel’s side in what he fancied was an unobtrusive fashion, and enquired politely firstly after her health and secondly after her sewing, for he knew she must be very busy indeed, with her sister’s—here his voice trembled a little—wedding coming up.

    Amabel, blushing more than ever, and scarce daring to meet his eye, told him a lot about her sewing in rather a disjointed fashion, which to Mr O’Flynn’s prejudiced taste was entirely delightful.

    “Lawks,” said Mrs Urqhart in Sir Edward’s ear after the company had sorted itself out a little: “If this is all we is to be, her table will be drastic unbalanced! Just as well you did come, me dear.”

    He flushed a little. Betsy had, with her usual kind heart and total lack of tact, urged him to stay behind, as Hildy would be there. But Ned Jubb had no intention of letting his dear old friend go unescorted to the great house of the neighbourhood for the very first time. And besides, he did not know whether he more wanted not to see Hildy again or to see her! There was no point in the latter, but nevertheless his blood raced at the thought. It raced even more at the sight of her in pale amethyst gauze with her curls up (and a considerable amount of bosom showing above the amethyst and below the necklet) and he could not refrain from some stupid imaginings, some on the topics of fine pearls for her ears and throat, and the emeralds he had laid away for Johanna, on whom they would not look half so well; and some on very much more intimate topics. He dug his nails hard into the palms of his hands, clenching his fists tightly, and decided that he must not show her any particular attention tonight, it would be utterly unfair to her.

    Hildy’s heart also hammered as Sir Ned came into the room, particularly as, as she and Gaetana had noticed when they first met him, he looked very distinguished in his evening clothes. Her head whirled and felt very odd indeed, and she was glad she was sitting down. After that first glimpse she found she did not have the courage to look at him any more and could only hope he would—no, no, would not! Would not approach her.

    Mrs Urqhart was perfectly right, of course, about Lady Lavinia’s table, and when she did discover the existence of three unattached and totally eligible gentlemen at The Towers, as she was shortly to do, her Ladyship would become utterly incensed with her nephew for never having mentioned it. She had had to more or less ration the gentlemen at table, and it had been a near impossible task!

    As a result of Lady Lavinia’s seating plan, Hildy was at a very considerable distance from Sir Edward, Carolyn and Anna were even further from Everyone than they had imagined at their gloomiest they could be, though being on the opposite side of the table they could at least get a sight of him, Ned was caught between the Scylla of his formidable hostess and the Charybdis of Mrs Parkinson, who emanated “kindness to a simple merchant” with every word she uttered; and Julian had quite the wrong young lady next to him. Then, Gaetana was near enough to the Marquis for Rockingham’s heart to race uncomfortably and for him to be quite unaware of what he was eating. And for her to be desperately miserable, and to scarce eat a thing.

    Next to her Hildy, feeling quite battered by the whirl of her emotions and unable to understand why Sir Julian could still make her heart flutter when she knew herself to be hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Sir Edward, scarcely ate a thing, either. In fact she had not felt like eating for the last two days, and put it down to love.

    Possibly the only persons at table that day who were entirely happy with their positions were Mrs Maddern, who felt that being at the Marquis’s left was due recognition of her position as a daughter and current hostess of Ainsley Manor, and Mrs Urqhart, who derived a huge amount of amusement from the spectacle of herself sittin’ up like Jacky eating her dinner next to a real live marquis! Pumps would have died laughing, bless him!

    However, Sir Lionel, though his wife did not realize it, was also reasonably happy, for Mrs O’Flynn was a dear little pretty fair thing, with a sweet way about her, and she did not mind in the least if he spoke across her occasionally to Miss Amabel!

    Funnily enough, however, of all the oddly assorted crew dining at the Place that night, it was Lady Desdemona Hobbs and Mr Luís Ainsley who ended up the most enjoying their neighbour’s company. For Dezzie, after a polite exchange of compliments on the weather, and a venture into gardening which signally failed, Luís  only knowing enough about flowers to see when they were ready to be plucked to adorn a plump bosom or flatter a rounded cheek, had desperately coupled the words “Peninsula” and “hunting a bit”, and after that they were off and running like the hares they had both coursed in Spain.

    “Well!” said Lady Lavinia in her niece’s ear as the ladies withdrew to one of the smaller salons: “I never thought to hear myself say it, but thank Heavens for your adventures in the Peninsula, my dear!”

    Dezzie grinned. “He thought I was a society dame, too, at first. It’s your plum silk, of course. And the turban!”

    “You look extremely elegant, Desdemona,” returned Lady Lavinia on a minatory note.

    “Aye, don’t I? It’s an odd feeling, though! Must be what Cinderella’s pumpkin felt like, on suddenly finding itself turned into a coach!” she said, strolling away from her aunt on the broad grin.

    Being so accustomed to Dezzie on the subject of the vegetable world, Lady Lavinia, in a rather muddled way, for the rôle of hostess at a table so ill-assorted must pose a great strain on the strongest nerves, at first imagined this to be but another such reference, and it was not until Dezzie was safely on the other side of the room that it dawned that her infuriating niece had just called herself a dressed-up pumpkin!

    In the dining-room the Marquis passed the port and, having unceremoniously ordered the gentlemen from the further end of the table to move up, he had no intention of shouting himself hoarse, remarked on a sour note to Sir Edward: “Sorry about this, Sir Ned. She would do it. I told her it would be a damned boring disaster, with a parcel of little girls and matrons.”

    “It ain’t that bad, Giles!” protested Sir Julian with a laugh, casting an uneasy glance at the nabob.

    “I think the little girls are very sweet,” said Ned Jubb without a tremor. “And as one of ’em’s mine, you need not apologize, Marquis.”

    “Well, she looks a sensible girl, at all events. How old would she be?”

    “Turned seventeen.”

    “Great gad, she is probably several months younger than Anna and Carolyn! By her level-headed manner, I would have put down as closer to Miss Maddern’s age! You’re to be congratulated, Sir Ned! Well, it’s pretty clear, ain’t it? The blood’s run damned thin: the way is open for your lot to take over!” he said with a wolf-like grin.

    “Nay, I’m no revolutionary!” returned Ned with his easy laugh.

    “No, no, ’course he ain’t, Giles!” said Sir Lionel hurriedly. “Don’t regard him, Sir Ned, he’s miffed because Carolyn and Anna have been chatterin’ on for days about the damned dinner, drivin’ us all dippy—well, so has Julian’s eldest girl, too, only fortunately she’s still in the schoolroom.”

    “One wonders what they could have expected from it,” said Paul coolly, pouring himself a brandy.

    “Aye, don’t one?” agreed Rockingham drily. Their eyes met. Paul’s shoulders quivered slightly.

    Julian also took a brandy and said hurriedly: “Come, come, I think you are all exaggerating wildly. True, we find ourselves in the minority, but how many men would not jump at the chance to be thus outnumbered by the ladies?”

    “The lad’s run potty,” said Sir Lionel, shaking his heavy head.

    “Aye: it’ll be that damned Eunice Heather cold: gone to the brain,” agreed Rockingham.

    “What he means,” said Ned Jubb, grinning, “is that he will award himself all the pretty girls, and leave us to squire the matrons!”

    Mr O’Flynn had been a little left out of it; at this he gave rather forced laugh and said: “Yes, that will be it, you are a rascal, Sir Julian!”

    Sir Julian was a little startled to hear himself called a rascal, but after all the fellow had once put him up for a couple of nights and was not at all a bad sort, so he smiled his nice smile and said: “Oh, by gad, you have spotted me, O’Flynn!” And everybody laughed.

    Further than this it was not of course possible for any gentleman to go, as all of the older ladies belonged in some way or another to at least one of the gentlemen round the table, so Sir Lionel changed the subject to the grouse which he was due to start slaughtering very soon at his friend Coward’s, and the gentlemen talked of preserves, and shooting and hunting. Julian Naseby, who of course did not care for blood sports, kept his end up very well, but was aware of Giles’s sardonic eye upon him.

    “Well, come on,” said the Marquis gracelessly at last, getting up. “If we stay any longer, Lavinia will nag me unceasingly until the instant she departs the house!”

    Luís rose with alacrity, and his brother, who after all had a fiancée waiting for him, with scarcely less. Mr O’Flynn was also eagerly on his feet and Rockingham wondered sourly which of the pretty little lasses in the salon he fancied, then, and if O’Flynn was in a way to make as much a damned cake of himself over a pretty face and young figure as he, Rockingham, was. And decided it was not improbable.

    Julian was also on his feet pretty damned fast but Rockingham was not surprized at that: the damned fool had better make up his mind, or someone else would have pretty, lively Miss Hildy, he thought uncharitably, quite overlooking his earlier warnings to Gaetana on the subject of her cousin’s unsuitability for his friend.

    Ned Jubb’s eagerness to join the ladies was successfully hidden from them all, however. Though not from himself. He might be a fool, he thought heavily, smiling as the Ainsley boys stood back politely for him, but at least he was not a self-deceiving fool. For what that was worth.

    At this point in the evening an unexpected stroke of luck befell Mr O’Flynn. Quite coincidentally, he and Sir Lionel went out together, and Sir Lionel, taking his elbow in a confidential manner and beginning to chat about the local choir, immediately led him over to the vicinity of Miss Amabel and sat him down there. Mr O’Flynn felt rather as if it was his birthday and Christmas rolled into one.

    “I said we should have had dancing for the brats,” noted the Marquis glumly in his aunt’s ear some time later.

    Lady Lavinia frowned. “Nonsense,” she said in a low voice. “It would not have done at all, with so few gentlemen here. Or were you envisaging deserting your other guests in order to disport yourself?” she added coldly.

    “No, I was envisaging not actually dying of boredom surrounded by all these babes,” he said sourly.

    “Ssh! In a moment or two I shall arrange for the card tables, and the young people may play at lottery tickets.”

    “That will be thrilling,” he noted. “Have you found out if any of ’em actually plays any card game?”

    “Ssh! Go and speak to Sir Edward, what are you about, deserting him like that, Giles?”

    The Marquis shrugged. ‘‘He’s all right: look at the fellow!”

    They looked. The fellow, with his daughter on his arm, was chatting in a very lively manner indeed to Miss Hildy Maddern and Miss Ainsley. Gaetana was giggling and Hildy was very flushed.

    “Yes. Well, what is preventing you from doing the same?” said Lady Lavinia in a very cold, but very low voice.

    Scowling ferociously, Rockingham turned on his heel.

    Lady Lavinia swallowed a sigh and went on her way to a cabinet at the far side of the room, whence she produced an enamelled box.

    “Pretty,” approved Mrs Urqhart, as her hostess sat down beside her with the box. Lady Lavinia handed it to her and she looked at it narrowly and said: “French. Very fine. Grisaille, out o’ course. Louis Quinze, I would say.”

    Lady Lavinia evinced no surprize at this knowledge in the nabob’s widow and agreed calmly: “Yes. It belonged to my late grandmamma. What do you think of the seal?”

    Mrs Urqhart turned the little gilt key carefully and opened it. The box immediately began to play a little, tinkling tune. “The works will be later,” she noted casually. “No, I don’t think it would do for tea: it’s a fine piece, but not purpose-designed. I think you might find as the tea would very quick go stale, my Lady.”

    Lady Lavinia sighed. “Yes. Giles had some notion of giving it to his mamma for Christmas: she has always admired it. And—well, we thought that if we could put tea in it, we might disguise it as a useful present, and there might be some hopes of her accepting it.”

    Mrs Urqhart smiled and nodded her be-plumed head. “I see what you mean, my Lady. Otherwise it would be merely frivolous, and too good for her! Well, there be some women as sets their worth too low.”

    “Yes: dear Anne was ever prone to be like that. And she would not take a thing when she remarried, you know. She had made quite a pretty collection of English porcelain, but she insisted on leaving it all for Giles, saying it was Hammond money that had bought it.”

    “Now, that is going too far,” she said, shaking her be-plumed head.

    “So we all told her, but that is dear Anne all over!”

    “So he gets his stubborn nature from his ma as well as his pa, eh?” said the shrewd old lady.

    “Er—yes,” admitted Lady Lavinia, a little taken aback. Though Mrs Urqhart was not nearly as bad as she had feared, and she now perceived that her nephew’s descriptions of that lady at home had been not only greatly exaggerated, but calculated to alarm. She was not altogether correct in this, of course, but Mrs Urqhart knew how to behave in a lady’s drawing-room, and, if she had brought a warm wrap—a magnificent ermine piece, this time, with an emerald-green satin lining which matched her jewels—was most certainly not wearing anything like the outfits the Marquis had ecstatically described to his goggling aunt and bulging-eyed uncle-by-marriage.

    Mrs Urqhart by now had spotted, not without consternation, that the Marquis was sweet on Gaetana! And it was clear she had fallen for him, too—only why was she not encouraging him? Well, there was some mystery there that must be got to the bottom of! But no wonder the fellow was a-gloomin’ round his own sitting-room looking like a dog what had lost its tail. She did not convey these observations to the Marquis’s aunt, however, merely nodded and said: “Ah. A difficult one to manage, is a temper like that. Not like my dear Pumps’s nephew, what is like my own son.”

    Poor Lady Lavinia was now to discover just who was staying with Mrs Urqhart at this very moment.

    “Something up,” reported Sir Lionel gloomily.

    “With whom?” returned Julian politely.

    “Lavinia. Don’t know what, but the old lady’s said somethin’ to set her off: look at her face.”

   Julian looked but it didn’t look much worse than usual. “Er—yes.”

    “You play whist?” asked Sir Lionel glumly.

    “Certainly.”

    “Damn,” he muttered.

    “Er—if you wish me to claim ignorance of the game, Sir Lionel—”

    “No, don’t do that, dear boy!” he said hastily. “She said I was to get up two fours at the least.”

    “There are enough of us,” said Julian mildly.

    “Ho, are there? If you was thinking you might get to sit down beside pretty little Miss Hildy for a few rubbers,” said Sir Lionel bitterly: “you may think again! Lottery tickets, is what she’s got lined up for the young fry.”

    Julian had flushed up a little but he returned smoothly: “I am sure Miss Amabel, for one, adores lottery tickets, sir.”

    Sir Lionel gave him a filthy look and walked away from him.

    “What did you say to Lionel?” asked Rockingham without much interest, coming up to his friend’s elbow.

    “Mm? Oh—pulled his leg about Miss Amabel,” admitted Julian with a smile.

    “Doating,” said his Lordship coldly.

    “Oh, quite, dear old lad.”

    “And not the only one,” said the Marquis sourly, eyeing Sir Ned still in close converse with Miss Ainsley and Miss Hildegarde—though, his daughter having gone off to sit by Susan Dewesbury, there was now no excuse for him.

    “Eh? Oh—rubbish, Giles, the man’s old enough to be their father, if not their grandfather!”

    The Marquis snorted.

    As they watched, Gaetana left the other two to join her brothers. The Marquis’s scowl lightened. Julian’s began to deepen. They went on watching.

    “Good gad!” said Rockingham at last with an incredulous laugh. “Filthy old dog! Look at her blush and flutter her lashes, too! Well, never knew he had it in him!”

    “It is disgusting,” said Julian through his teeth. “At his age!”

    “Rubbish: he’s a fitter man than you are, Julian. Bet he doesn’t come down with Eunice Heather colds at the drop of a hat!”

    “You had it, too!” retorted Julian bitterly.

    The Marquis’s broad shoulders shook.

    “Two minutes ago you were standing there with a face like a thundercloud, thinking it was Miss Ainsley he fancied!” said Julian in a furious low voice.

    “Aye, wasn’t I?” he noted drily. “I would break that up, if I was you, dear chap. Don’t forget Sir Ned’s a nabob! Little Miss Hildy would look damned good tricked out in emeralds like the old lady’s!” He clapped him on the shoulder and walked away from him.

    Sir Julian was not seriously jealous of a man of Sir Edward Jubb’s age, of course. Nevertheless he stood there chewing his lip, wondering if he should break it up, but rather fearing he might make an ass of himself if he tried. Because quite apart from the fact that his knees turned to jelly in Miss Hildy’s vicinity, he was in no doubt that the forceful Jubb could make almost any fellow look like an ass, if he wished to, with very little trouble.

    He who hesitates is known to be generally lost, and so it was on this occasion with Sir Julian, for cards were produced, the door to the little adjoining salon was flung open for the young people to play at lottery tickets, and Lady Lavinia bore him inexorably away for whist with Sir Lionel, Mrs Maddern and Mrs Parkinson.

    Dezzie had got out of cards by the simple expedient of announcing to her aunt that she was a rotten player, and if forced to participate, always cheated. Mr O’Flynn, who could do simple arithmetic as well as any man there, and he rather thought from the look on poor Sir Julian’s face as Lady Lavinia towed him away, better than some, said quietly that he did not truly care for cards, but that he would be happy to join in the lottery tickets and to help Lady Desdemona keep an eye on the young people.

    Recalled somewhat abruptly to her rôle of chaperone, Dezzie jumped, put down the book she had absently picked up, and said: “Uh—yes.”

    It was not long before she and Mr O’Flynn were playing as eagerly as Anna, Carolyn or Luís, and soon gales of laughter and cries of “No!” or “Cheat, cheat!” or “Huzzah!” could be heard coming from the little salon.

    At the serious whist table the Marquis and Mrs Urqhart, or so his Lordship declared, were out to take every sixpence they had off Sir Edward and Lady Lavinia. Immediately put on their mettle, the other two players responded in kind. True, Lady Lavinia did not play for sixpenny points in her own circle. But it was the game she loved, not the stakes. And since Giles refused to let the stakes be higher in his house—

    The less serious whist table soon, thanks to Julian’s kind efforts with the two older ladies, lapsed rather towards the giggly and the “Well, perhaps just a peep at your hand?” sort of game, and even, at one stage when Mrs Parkinson thought she was about to win a sixpence, the slapping of a wrist by a furled fan sort of game. Sir Lionel joined in tolerantly: it was obvious he wasn’t going to get a decent game tonight. However, after some time of this, a game having broken up and Mrs Maddern and Mrs Parkinson, who had been gossiping steadily through it, continuing to gossip happily without showing any signs of wishing to resume play, he gave a cautious cough and said: “Er—hand of piquet, dear boy?”

    “Good gracious, yes, Sir Julian: do not stand on ceremony with us!” cried Mrs Maddern, who was bursting with the need to exchange views with her dear old friend on Lady Lavinia’s and Lady Desdemona’s gowns, the size and style of the dinner, the attentions Sir Edward had paid to Hildegarde, the size and style of Mrs Urqhart’s jewels and furs, and the size and style of the salon, which, being hung with a bright emerald brocade almost the shade of Mrs Urqhart’s wrap, and furnished almost entirely with pieces in the style of the late Queen Anne, was a striking apartment, to say the least. “We shall be perfectly happy on this sofa!”

    She and Mrs Parkinson retired forthwith to a commodious emerald brocade Queen Anne sofa, where Mrs Parkinson, taking a deep breath, immediately began: “My dear, there may be nothing in it at all, and of course he has a girl of that age himself, but—”

    “Whew!” said Sir Lionel, getting up and ringing the bell. “Yes—here: new deck,” he said as a footman appeared, rather as if he had been at his club, not in his nephew’s green salon. Julian cringed slightly, but fortunately Lady Lavinia was absorbed in taking her nephew’s sixpences off him and noticed nothing.

    “Cut,” he then said happily.

    Julian cut but warned: “My piquet isn’t up to yours, sir, you know.”

    “Just so long as it ain’t up to young Ainsley’s!” he said with a shudder. “Played with him once at White’s, y’know!” He shuddered again.

    “Oh?”

    “Rolled up!” said Sir Lionel with feeling. “Saw meself endin’ in the River Tick before the night was through! Never, never play cards with the fellow, dear boy!”

    “I shan’t,” agreed Julian. “Er—what was he doing at White’s, sir?”

    “No idea. Think he came with York.”

    Julian gulped. “He has not been playing with that set, has he?”

    “Shouldn’t think so: too much sense,” he grunted. “Wouldn’t matter a damn if he did: fellow wouldn’t lose, y’know. Never seen such card sense. No, bumped into York somewhere, York says Is you not Harry Ainsley’s son, fellow says Aye, York says Come along to White’s—something like that. Well, told me the fellow knew his pa.”

    Having sorted out that this last sentence meant that Paul Ainsley had told Sir Lionel that the Duke of York was acquainted with Sir Harry Ainsley, Julian said weakly: “I see.”

    “That don’t make him respectable, y’know,” said Sir Lionel, shaking his head and discarding carefully.

    “Er—no. Er—who, sir?” he said weakly.

    “Well, I don’t mean York, y’fool, nothin’ could make him respectable!”—Julian winced and refrained from looking over his shoulder to see if Lady Lavinia had heard this extraordinarily free reference to one of the King’s sons.—“No, no: Harry Ainsley: fact that York knew him, don’t make him respectable!” He thought about it for an instant. “More the reverse, if anything,” he said simply.

    “Er—yes,” said Julian weakly.

    In the smaller salon after some time Gaetana said in Hildy’s ear: “I’m sick of this.”

    Hildy nodded and the cousins adjourned to a sofa.

    “They are treating us as babies again,” noted Gaetana bitterly.

    “I know,” agreed Hildy dully.

    “Dear Hildy: are you sure you feel all right?”

    Hildy sighed. “I suppose so.”

    “I thought he would not come,” said Gaetana in a low voice.

    Hildy sighed again. “He will have felt he had to support Mrs Urqhart, he is like that.”

    Gaetana squeezed her hand silently.

    “Your dress looks wonderful,” said Hildy with an effort.

    Gaetana went very red and drew her hand back.

    “The Marquis does not look very happy, Gaetana,” said Hildy in a very low voice.

    Gaetana’s lips trembled. She looked away from her.

    “If you could but be kinder to him—”

    “No.”

    Hildy bit her lip and did not insist. Inwardly she was revolving schemes for getting them together. Many of these schemes were extremely lurid and involved thunderstorms and falls from horses, or runaway carriages, or incarceration in mysterious towers—only that was absurd: who would wish to incarcerate Gaetana? A more practical scheme was to write to Gaetana’s mamma. She thought that might work, actually, from what she had heard of Marinela: Lady Ainsley sounded as if she had far too much sense to let two people who loved each other go on suffering for a—a stupid social convention!—Here Hildy blinked rapidly.—But very unfortunately she did not have nearly enough Spanish to do so. Um... take Paul into her confidence? No, he would be sure to consult Christabel and, for reasons which Hildy at this precise moment could not determine but which she was very sure existed, Christa would convince him it was quite ineligible. And asking Maria would be worse: she might have a Romantick heart but she was even more horribly dutiful than Christabel. Bunch or Bungo would have to be bribed—well, that would be possible, only she would not wager a farthing either on their being able to spell in Spanish, or on their being able to hold their tongues... Wait: Luís? Hildy’s eye brightened. She would have to convince him that what she was doing was right, of course: well, that would pose little problem, he was malleable enough! Yes, this might work!

    “What is it?” said Gaetana.

    “Nothing. Um—I’m terribly thirsty, aren’t you?” ‘

    “I would not mind a glass of lemonade.”

    “I think it was that savoury thing.”

    “You barely tasted it, querida.”

    “No, but it was salty. –It’s awfully hot in here, don’t you think, Gaetana?”

    Gaetana unfurled her fan—ivory sticks with white lace, Marinela had sent it over with Luís—and began to fan her with it.

    “Thanks, that’s better,” said Hildy with a sigh.

    “You should not have let the butler put wine in your glass, it always makes you hot.”

    “No, but a butler who actually offered to do so? I could not resist!” said Hildy with a smile.

    “He must have thought, you were grown-up,” said Gaetana.

    “Well, that makes one,” she noted sourly.

    Gaetana sighed. “Yes... I enjoy whist, it is really most unfair! –Hildy, there several packs of cards on the side table in there, we could have a hand of piquet!” she hissed, eyes brightening.

    “I don’t think I have the energy,” said Hildy with a sigh.

    “¿Querida, you are not unwell?”

    “I think I might be coming down with the famous Daynesford Place cold, actually,” she admitted. “Don’t stop fanning me, my head’s awfully hot.”

    Gaetana continued to fan her.

    After several games Mrs Urqhart had broken up their table by frankly informing her hostess that her head couldn’t take any more cards, not on top of that dinner, and if Lady Lavinia didn’t mind, she would go and sit by Mrs Maddern and Mrs Parkinson, and if she should happen to nod off, just to leave her be. Lady Lavinia acceding somewhat weakly to this proposition, Mrs Urqhart duly betook herself, her trailing gown of black and white satin, which made her look like a large magpie, and her emerald-lined ermine wrap to the sofa nearest to the other ladies’ sofa.

    “Hand of piquet?” said the Marquis airily to Sir Ned, avoiding his aunt’s eye.

    He smiled a little but stood up and said: “Not tonight, if you don’t mind, Marquis: your delightful dinner has had very much the same effect on my brain as it has on Betsy’s! I think I shall look in on the lottery tickets, if you will excuse me?” He bowed to Lady Lavinia, and wandered off.

    “Cool hand, ain’t he?” noted the Marquis drily.

    Lady Lavinia had risen when Mrs Urqhart did, but now she sat down again rather suddenly. “What does that mean?”

    “Means he fancies little Miss Hildegarde. Rather more than Lionel does Miss Amabel, since you don’t ask.”

    “Good God, he is old enough to be her grandfather!”

    “Never stopped a man yet,” he noted drily.

    “No. –I’m sorry, Giles, I did not mean to imply anything,” she said stiffly.

    “I know you didn’t, Lavinia: Ned Jubb is in his mid-fifties, he could practically be my father!” he pointed out on a sardonic note 

    “Er... well, yes.”

    “Piquet?”

    His aunt hesitated. “We had better not, for you will not be able to stop, I know you when you begin a game of piquet.”

    “Well, go and round up someone for another game of whist, as you’ve appointed yourself the damned hostess!”

    Lady Lavinia’s large cheeks reddened. “Pray do not speak to me as if I were one of your stablehands, Rockingham. Since you wish it, naturally I will endeavour to make up a four.” She rose majestically and sailed off.

    The Marquis pulled a horrible face.

    In the smaller salon—which had the house been hers Lady Lavinia would instantly have had redecorated, for it was hung with an appalling scarlet brocade that few rooms could have born and that this one certainly did not—she looked dubiously at the non-players. Susan was out, Giles’s form of whist terrified the girl out of what wits she had, which where whist was concerned were few; besides, she was, thank goodness, taking care of Miss Jubb. Oh—good Heavens, Giles had been right, she saw, as Sir Edward, who had been watching the play, laughing, with a hand on Paul Ainsley’s shoulder, wandered over to the sofa and sat down beside little Hildegarde Maddern. Well, there was no fool like an old fool. Now, who—? Doubtless Paul Ainsley would play, but he was happily absorbed, with his fiancée next to him—no, she would not disturb them. The other boy appeared to be flirting simultaneously with both Carolyn and Anna: Lady Lavinia looked upon them drily but not altogether unkindly. Dezzie was a hopeless case, of course, and she could hardly ask Mr O’Flynn when he had said he did not care for cards—and did Miss Amabel’s mother know about that? She was about to return to the green salon to break up Lionel’s piquet when Miss Ainsley quietly re-entered the room from the balcony. Well, at least she had not been out there with a gentleman! Lady Lavinia approached her as one clutching at straws.

    Not realising she was being invited to join the Marquis’s table, Gaetana smiled eagerly. “Oh, yes: I love whist, Lady Lavinia! Pa taught it to me, many years since!”

    “Splendid!” She led her back into the green salon forthwith. “Lionel, you may make up a fourth,” she said ruthlessly.

    “Am I relieved, then?” said Sir Julian with his pleasant laugh, what time Sir Lionel stuttered indignantly.

    Lady Lavinia looked at him ironically. “Yes, you have fought the good fight and may now retire with all honour to lottery tickets.”

    Grinning, Julian made his escape. The irony in Lady Lavinia’s eye did not abate: he would not like what he saw on the sofa in there. Well, quite apart from the fact that the child’s amethyst gauze screamed at the scarlet brocade—!

    “My deal, I believe,” said the Marquis as his aunt urged Gaetana to be seated.

    Gaetana was very flushed. She sat down without saying anything.

    “No, cut for deal, Giles, what are you thinking of?” replied Lady Lavinia crossly.

    “Oh, very well, cut for deal. –Do you expect me to dish ’em off the bottom of the deck?” he grumbled.

    “You couldn’t,” said Sir Lionel simply, drawing up a chair. “Dare say your brother might, if he wished, though, eh?” he said cheerfully to Gaetana.

    “Lionel!” said his wife sharply.

    Gaetana replied calmly: “He could, but he would only do it if another person had cheated.”

    Sir Lionel cut. “Does that or does that not let out that Captain Sharp that York has in his train?” he said to Rockingham.

    “Lionel! That will do!” snapped his wife.

    “I am not shocked, Lady Lavinia,” Gaetana assured her. “My father used to be acquainted with the Duke of York.”

    “See?” said Rockingham.

    “I am sure you are not shocked, my dear, and indeed no-one is shocked,” said Lady Lavinia in a very firm voice, ignoring her nephew completely, “but nevertheless there is no need for Sir Lionel to speak of such things.”

    “I only thought of it because young Naseby was mentionin’ White’s—or was I? No matter; and I saw Ainsley there with York,” said Sir Lionel in an injured voice.

    “Saw young Paul with York?” said Rockingham sharply.

    “Lor’, Giles, don’t worry about that lad! Rolled me up! Did I not tell you? Never seen a fellow with better card sense!”

    “Played piquet with him, did you, Lionel?” he said solicitously.

    Gaetana smiled.

    Lady Lavinia ignored all this and said: “Giles, will you please cut!”

    “Eh? –Oh.”

    “We play for sixpence a point, my dear,” she added to Gaetana.

    “Sixpence?” said Gaetana faintly.

    “We know your family is more like to play for guinea points, but yes: in this house it is sixpences,” said the Marquis on an irritable note.

    “I haven’t any money!” she gasped.

    “Some gamester you have found, here,” noted the Marquis to his aunt. He pulled a handful of small change from his pocket. “Here. In the unlikely case that one of your family will lose,” he said drily.

    “Well,” said Gaetana, recovering herself, “it is not very likely. But if I do, I shall repay you, sir, rest assured.”

    “Get this from your mother’s side, do you?” he asked affably.

    “Giles, that is enough!” snapped his aunt, as the girl’s cheeks reddened.

    “Er—mm. Sorry; never heard of Harry that he did not pay his gaming debts, at all events,” he said.

    “No,” said Gaetana faintly.

    “Look, is we goin’ to play, or is we not?” demanded Sir Lionel loudly.

    “Yes. And I have the highest card,” noted the Marquis, picking up the deck. “We could have avoided all this fuss, had you but let me deal in the first place.”

    Gaetana choked but his relatives both ignored him.

    The Marquis dealt. An intent silence fell at the whist table...

    In the small scarlet salon Carolyn and Mrs O’Flynn had very kindly made room between them for Sir Julian to squeaze in at lottery tickets. He had seated himself with graceful thanks, but not without a darkling glance cast at the sofa by the wall. He did not, in spite of his exquisite taste, reflect at this moment that Miss Hildegarde’s pale amethyst looked vile against the scarlet brocade.

    Ned Jubb had been quite forthright about the matter. “Only a lady with the utmost self-confidence would have chosen to sit on this sofa in that shade of lilac, my dear,” he had said with a twinkle in his eyes, sitting down beside her.

    Hildy reflected in an agitated way that Sir Edward had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen on a man: besides being a glowing sapphire, like the largest stone in Christa’s necklace, they were very long and narrow in shape, and fringed with thick, dark lashes that curled in the most entrancing manner. They were not spectacularly long, like Paul’s and Luís’s lashes, but very curled indeed, and very thick, so that sometimes you had a fanciful notion that they must get tangled, and would rather have wished to ask him if it were so, just to see what he would say—

    “Yes!” she said on gasp. “Or a lady with colour-blindness, or a total lack of taste, of course!”

    Sir Ned chuckled gently. “May I?” he said, taking the white lace fan off her.

    “Oh! Thank you!” gulped Hildy as he began to fan her gently. “And I have it on the best authority,” she added hurriedly, “that the shade is not lilac, it is pale amethyst!”

    He sighed. “Aye; I have a set of amethysts in my safe at home that— Well, never mind. This fan is very pretty, my dear.”

    “Yes. It’s Gaetana’s,” said Hildy simply. “Her mamma sent it from Spain. Though I think the lace itself may be French.”

    “Valenciennes: yes.”

    “Is it? What a lot of things you know, Sir Ned,” said Hildy a trifle listlessly.

    “Well, I suppose I have had time to learn ’em.”

    “Yes.”

    He bit his lip. “Are you all right, my dear?” he said in a lowered voice.

    “Yes,” said Hildy, blinking rather, and not thinking to ask him if he was. “Except that I think I may be getting the Daynesford Place cold.”

    “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said, though his lips twitched. “You must take care not to get further chilled, that fall in the stream must have done it. –Have you been privileged to hear the Marquis on the subject of the lady who gave them the cold, my dear?”

    Hildy shook her head. “Is it unrepeatable?”

    “No! Rabid!” he gasped.

    Hildy smiled. “I like him.”

    “So do I. I feel damned sorry for him, too,” he said thoughtfully.

    “Do you?” she asked dubiously, wondering if, like herself, Sir Ned had surmised that the Marquis must have a secret sorrow.

    “Aye: what scope has a man for his talents and energies when he is born to the purple?” he said with a faint twinkle in his eye.

    “I never looked at it like that,” said Hildy slowly. “You are very right! For one of your temperament, it would be like living in restraints, indeed!”

    Ned Jubb moved his heavy shoulders uneasily, as if he could feel the restraints at this moment. “Aye, indeed it would. Though he has many responsibilities, of course—which he don’t shirk, unlike so many of his kind,” he added with a grimace.

    “No...”

    “Well, quite apart from the fact that he is recognized as an excellent landlord, you must have heard of his charitable work, my dear.”

    “Um—well, there is the Anne Girardon Home, over towards Ditterminster.”

    Ned Jubb smiled a little, and began to tell her of the much wider scope of the Marquis’s charitable enterprises—incidentally revealing, quite unconscious he was doing so, a considerable amount of the scope of his own.

    “Well!” said Lady Lavinia on a very pleased note, as, a game having ended, Sir Lionel, muttering, began totting up points. “That was very pleasant indeed, my dear: you play excellently.”

    “Thank you,” said Gaetana, smiling. “I did so enjoy it: none of my cousins can give us a game, and I have not played for an age.”

    “Never play with the Parkinson woman,” advised Sir Lionel, not looking up. His wife winced. “You’re down twenty-five, Lavinia,” he announced with satisfaction.

    Lady Lavinia held out her hand. “Give me some money, please Lionel.”

    Gaetana choked.

    Lady Lavinia looked at her with a twinkle. “Well, what else are husbands for, my dear?”

    At this Gaetana gave an explosive giggle and clapped her hand over her mouth.

    “Aye, you think this is bad, but you should have seen her when we was at this damned card party in Brighton!” said Sir Lionel with feeling, looking up from his arithmetic. “She’d been playin’ with the Lieven woman again, y’see—said you was goin’ to see less of her, I don’t know what you’re at,” he added by the by—“and she comes over to me and says ‘Give me some money, please, Lionel’, just like you heard her, and when I out with the roll of soft she cleans me out of a cool five hundred guineas! ‘Some’ money!” He shook his head.

    “The Countess Lieven don’t play for sixpences. And Lavinia’s got some weird notion in her head that by dint of losing heavily to her every time she plays, she will at last learn to beat her,” the Marquis explained kindly to Gaetana.

    She bit her lip.

    “Nonsense, Giles. But one so rarely finds a player worthy of one’s steel,” said her Ladyship calmly.

    “Five hundred is a lot of money to lose, however,” said Gaetana faintly.

    “Yes, is it not?” agreed Rockingham coolly.

    Sir Lionel gasped indignantly: “Saw you drop more than that on one race, when that damned black filly of yours—”

    “That will do, Lionel. We are not discussing Giles’s horses.”

    “—came a cropper at Newmarket.”

    “Oh, dear, was she hurt?” cried Gaetana.

    “No, but his pocket was!” choked Sir Lionel.

    “No, a strained fetlock only,” said Rockingham calmly.

    “Oh, good! I cannot bear to see a horse hurt!”

    “I know,” he replied.

    Gaetana went very pink and looked down at the table.

    “Well?” said Sir Lionel loudly.

    Lady Lavinia jumped. “Er—yes, my dear?”

    “Twelve shillings and sixpence!” he said loudly.

    “Oh! My losses! Yes, thank you, my dear. –Miss Ainsley, do you play piquet?”

    “Lavinia,” said the Marquis loudly and clearly: “you are not going to allow Miss Ainsley to fleece you at piquet in my house. On known form, you will go down at the first fence.”

    Lady Lavinia drew an indignant breath.

    “Aye: comes in a bad third to the Lieven mare, y’see!” gasped Sir Lionel.

    “Go and ring for a tray of tea, or check on Susan, or some such,” the Marquis advised his aunt rudely. “I’m damn’ sick of cards, and I need some air,” he said, standing up and stretching. “Come along, Miss Ainsley, you may take a breather on the balcony with me,” he added brazenly, holding out his hand. “you look as if you could do with some air, too.”

    “Yes; run along, my dear,” said Lady Lavinia, looking rather pleased. “But do not let Giles keep you out too long, if it is chilly.”

    “No,” said Gaetana in a tiny voice, getting up helplessly. Whatever their standard of whist might be, the Marquis and is aunt were clearly adept at other, more social moves!

    Rockingham offered her his arm. She took it, not looking at him, and he led her over to the long, curtained windows, on the way quietly scooping up Mrs Urqhart’s ermine wrap, as it was lying on the carpet and Mrs Urqhart was lying back on the sofa with her eyes closed and her mouth open.

    He closed the window behind them. “Put it round you,” he said, holding the wrap out for her.

    “How quiet it is,” said Gaetana faintly, looking round her at the velvety night.

    “Yes. Here.”

    “That’s the furry side,” said Gaetana, very faintly.

    “Yes. You will like it.”

     She looked up at him uncertainly.

    The pale face glimmered in the night and the big dark eyes glistened. Rockingham swallowed and said in a harsh voice: “Turn round, then.”

    Gaetana turned silently and let him envelop her in soft fur. “It’s lovely,” she said faintly. “I have never worn fur before.”

    “Yes,” he agreed vaguely, holding the wrap to her upper-arms with both hands. They stood like that for a long moment. Rockingham had his eyes shut. He was unaware that Gaetana had also closed hers. Finally, chewing his lip a little, he released her, and moved to stand by her side looking out over the silent grounds.

    “It smells wonderful,” said Gaetana.

    “Mm? The fur?”

    “No, though it does smell lovely, it’s the stuff she keeps in her drawers and closets.”

    “Sandalwood,” he agreed. “Bit of a different touch from our English lavender, mm?”

    “Yes. I prefer it, I think, it has not the sharpness of lavender. But I meant the—the air. Is it the gardens, Giles?”

    “Yes,” he said with a smile in his voice. “It is the gardens, Gaetana: the roses, in particular.”

    “I did not mean to call you that!” she gulped.

    “No,” he said, hitching the wrap up as it slipped from her shoulder.

    “Lady Lavinia was calling you by your name: I suppose I just...” Her voice trailed off.

    “I wish you would do it all the time.”

    “Don’t be silly,” said Gaetana faintly, wishing her heart would stop thumping so, she was sure he could hear it!

    “I apologize for Lavinia, by the way,” he drawled.

    “Why?” she asked in bewilderment, looking up at him.

    He looked down at the big glistening eyes, and the shadow of the lace mantilla on her cheek, and swallowed. “Mm? Oh—because she is Lavinia; do you need a specific instance?”

    “I like her,” said Gaetana firmly.

    He had rather thought she might. He looked at her quizzically. “Why?”

    “Well,” she said, frowning a little in an effort to be exact, “although of course she is very proper, she—she does not lack a sense of humour and—and is— She has a certain dryness about her, which I enjoy very much!” she ended on defiant note.

    He gave a little laugh. “So do I. Though she drives me mad, I need not add!”

    “She is far more conventional than you,” said Gaetana.

    “Mm. Do you like Dezzie?” he asked curiously.

    “Well, I have not had the opportunity for much speech with her, but yes, I like her very much. She is so straightforward.”

    “Aye. By far the best of my sisters. She don’t lack for humour, either. She hasn’t Lavinia’s dry touch, and she’s a damned obstinate woman; but yes, she is straightforward. And a damned good sort,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

    “Yes, Luís said that!” she choked.

    “I heard him,” said the Marquis with a grin. “Know what I have thought?”

    “What?” said Gaetana in a very cautious voice.

    “Young Luís ought to marry Dezzie and cart her off to Spain with him!” he choked. “She loved the life out there, not to mention the damned climate, and she’d be one more worry off my hands!”

    There was a pause. He wondered desperately if he’d put his foot in it.

    “I know you have very many responsibilities indeed,” said Gaetana quietly.

    “Er—s’pose so, mm.”

    “There is no need to be so offhand with me, I am not a child,” she said with dignity. “And I have no wish to pry into your personal affairs. But when we were in the salon after dinner—the ladies, I mean—Carolyn told me of what you have done for Lady Desdemona’s children: sending her two boys to school and now the elder to the university. I think it is wholly admirable in you.”

    “Carolyn is a blabbermouth!” he choked. “And who the Devil told her?”

    “I have no notion,” said Gaetana calmly.

    “Anna, I suppose,” he said grimly.

    Gaetana said nothing.

    “They are both blabbermouths!” he said crossly. “And may I add, Dezzie will not take a penny from me for herself!”

    “No, Anna mentioned her feelings on the subject of Hammond money,” she said simply.

    “It is not Hammond—” He broke off.

    Gaetana bit her lip nervously. Then she said in a very low voice: “I am sure Lady Desdemona has not—has not logically thought it through, and does not realize the hurt she is giving you. It seemed very clear to me that she suffered greatly during her childhood, and she must still think of—of the property, and the wealth, as her papa’s, rather than as yours.”

    “You are very likely right,” he said harshly.

    There was a pause. Gaetana looked musingly over the gardens and thought, not in a very clear way, though she had spoken so composedly, that if only he was not so big and—and foreign, she would put her arms round him and cuddle him. But that would not do, she must not let him think that she was encouraging him to believe that— Oh, dear!

    “I had not thought of it like that before,” said Rockingham in a shaken voice.

    “No. You were too close to it.”

    “Yes. Poor damned Dezzie. She hated Papa—well, so did we all, but they fought every time they were in the same room together. Mamma sent her to school as soon as she could, of course, but— Well, although he was a brute he did not beat the girls physically, but I never heard a man say crueller things to his own child,” he said with a sigh.

    “I understand. It is not to be wondered that she married so young, then. We knew a family in Venice—well, I did not realize the implications of it all, of course, I was very young at the time, but Marinela has spoken of it often since: and it was just the same case, a father who was a brutal man and a mother who tried to stand between him and the children. I could not understand at all when Giulia, that was the eldest girl, fell in love and wished to marry at sixteen. Her father refused his consent, in order to spite her, you know; so her mother helped the two to elope. I had thought that—that a relationship with a man,” said Gaetana, blushing in the dark, “would be the last thing a girl from such a home would desire, but Madre assured it me it was to be expected.”

    “Mm...” he said thoughtfully. “What was the man she married like?”

    “Well—well, they were not a genteel family, sir,” said Gaetana on an uncertain note.

    “I see,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Go on.”

    “He was a very worthy young man indeed, of a wholly admirable character, a very hard worker at his trade, and greatly respected by all who knew him,” she said firmly. “And—and if he was not precisely handsome, his—his goodness and honesty shone in his features!”

    “Aye, Hobbie had a face like a boot, too,” he said reminiscently.

    Gaetana gulped.

    “Though I have to admit his goodness and honesty shone in his features, too! Well, Dezzie was never precisely a beauty, either!”

    “She is very handsome now, sir,” she said firmly.

    “Aye: reminds me of a mare I once had: the most raw-boned filly you ever saw.”—Gaetana had to swallow.—“Put her to my King of Lilydale—well, never mind that. She had two colts and a filly for me, and filled out into one of the glossiest, handsomest creatures you could imagine. Big-boned, of course, but a damn’ fine mare.”

    “Two colts and a— This is apocryphal!” choked Gaetana.

    “No, it ain’t!” he said indignantly. “Her name is Uncertain Twilight, she’s a dapple grey, seventeen hands high, and she is standing in my stud down in Devon as we speak! And has had a fine foal every year since!”

    “I’m sorry,” said Gaetana weakly. “Um—King of Lilydale? What odd names English horses do have, sir.”

    “No, they don’t,” he said instantly. “Lilydale is the name of the stud, we’re starting a new line, you see.”

    “If you start with a king, it is hard to see where you may go from there.”

    “Emperor?” he said slyly.

    She choked.

    “I’d like to show you the stud,” he said in an idle tone.

    “Sí, I would like to—” She broke off.

    The Marquis looked down at her wryly. “Well, what was this admirable fellow’s occupation; Miss Ainsley? You cannot leave me up in the air, you know.”

    “Occu— Oh! The man whom Giulia married! Er, he was a locksmith, Marquis.”

    The Marquis flung back his head and laughed heartily.

    “We are all human,” said Gaetana stiffly.

    “Oh, indeed!” he gasped. “No, no, don’t be cross, Hobbie would have appreciated it, he was a damn’ good fellow, you know!”

    “Yes. –Pa was at Badajos,” she said abruptly.

    “Aye: on the wrong side.”

    “How did you— Yes. Not under his own name, however.”

    “No. Nevertheless I do not think Dezzie would do for Luís, after all. It could be a trifle embarrassing.”

    “She would not do for Luís at all, you silly thing!” she cried.

   The Marquis grinned in the night.

    “And in any case ladies in Spain lead most restricted lives, she would hate it. It would not be in the least like living in the train of the Army.”

    “No, I know,” he said mildly.

    Gaetana was silent.

    “Have I offended you?” he said meekly.

    “No, of course not!” she said, looking up at him in amazement. “Paul has scarcely stopped suggesting ever more unsuitable ladies for Luís, since the moment he arrived!”

    “I see,” he said, smiling. “And who is the most unlikely candidate?”

    “Well, your suggestion, sir! No, well, Bungo did suggest Mrs Parkinson, but only because—” Gaetana broke off hurriedly.

    “Mrs Parkinson, eh?” said the Marquis, shoulders shaking, savouring it round his tongue. “Only because what?”

    “Nothing,” said Gaetana in a stifled voice.

    Rockingham thought about it. “Well, Lavinia had me down as Mrs O’Flynn’s lover and the father of Baby Whatsername; I don’t see that it can get much worse than that, but I presume you are implying that one of your enterprising family had Mrs Parkinson lined up for me?”

    “Marybelle. Only as a joke,” said Gaetana dazedly. “Mrs O’Flynn’s lover, sir?”

    “Damn, it has made you stop calling me Giles! Did her, too: addressed me as Rockingham for nigh on a week when she suspicioned there was something in it,” he said, grinning. “Can you not see it?” he added slyly.

    “No, I cannot, the poor little thing is terrified of you!” she said roundly.

    “Ain’t she, though?” he gasped.

    “Surely Lady Lavinia cannot truly have thought...”

    “Well, she had not then met Mrs O’Flynn,” he said kindly.

    “Then why did she think it at all?” cried Gaetana in astonishment.

    “I can only thank you for this affecting faith in my virtue, Miss Ainsley!” he gasped, shoulders shaking helplessly.

    “Do not be absurd: I dare say you are no more virtuous—or, indeed, sinful—than the next man!”

    The Marquis was rather glad to have got that out in the open. “I don’t know how she got the idea into her noddle, but— Well, you have an aunt, too, you must know how it is!” he ended desperately.

    “Er—sí, sí,” said Gaetana, gulping.

    “Tunbridge Wells came into it somewhere,” he said thoughtfully.

    “Tunbridge Wells?”

    “I was seen driving her, and the brat, and her mamma,” he said drily.

    “You took them out for an airing? How very sweet in you!” she cried.

    “Er—I did not mention it so as you would appreciate my sweetness,” he said cautiously.

    “I know that, you silly thing!” said Gaetana with a laugh.

    The Marquis’s heart had leapt at the casual affection in her voice: as if—as if they had always been meant to be together—had always been together—and as if she unconsciously felt so, too. He opened his mouth to say something, but the French doors swung open and a voice said: “Oy.”

    “Go away, Lionel,” he groaned.

    “Sent me to tell you that you was to come in for a cup of tea!” he said smugly.

    “We had best go in,” said Gaetana nervously.

    “Aye: if Lavinia thinks to stay longer would be to make ourselves remarked, of course we had best go in,” agreed Rockingham sardonically.

    “Here, ain’t that the old duck’s fur?” spotted Sir Lionel brilliantly.

    “Yes,” he groaned. “Why, Lionel?”

    “I was only goin’ to say that it looks a thousand times better on you, me dear, than it does on her.” He thought it over for an instant. “A million,” he corrected himself. “Ain’t she sweet, Giles? Now, you ought to get her something like that!”

    “What?” gasped Gaetana in horror.

    “Er—um—forgot!” gulped the baronet, disappearing precipitately.

    “You must excuse my relatives,” said the Marquis politely.

    “Oh!” said Gaetana, hands to her cheeks; the wrap starting to slip off her shoulders. “What did he— Why did he say such a thing?”

    “It’s your whist,” he said calmly, rescuing the fur. “Lionel can’t bear to see it go out of the family.”

   “OH!” she cried furiously.

    Drily Rockingham reflected that Lavinia must feel pretty much the same, or in spite of his master-stroke she would never have let him take the girl onto the balcony. Lavinia did not so much as notice what mere men fancied were master-strokes of strategy.

    “Sorry; he gets an idea into his head,” he said, adjusting the fur for her and leaving his hands there.

    “Does he, indeed?” said Gaetana grimly. “What are you doing?” she added sharply.

    “Preventing Mrs Urqhart’s beautiful wrap from falling to the floor of this dirty balcony,” he said meekly.

    “I can do that, thank you, Marquis. Shall we go in?” returned Gaetana loftily.

   Rockingham bowed and offered her his arm. “Do you know, I am near overcome with a desire to laugh my head off when you address me as Marquis?” he said affably.

    “Christa said it was perfectly acceptable!” she gasped.

    “Aye. But somehow it makes you sound like a matron of some forty years standing!” he choked.

    “Rubbish!”

    “Well? Am I to stand here like a drying shag forever?”

    “What? Oh! Do you mean— What is a shag?” she said, taking his arm.

    “Cormorant. Seabird. –Oh, I have been meaning to ask you this, this age, only somehow,” he said with a mocking look, “I have not had the opportunity: did you enjoy your Channel crossing, Miss Ainsley?”

    “Yes, very much,” said Gaetana in bewilderment.

    “Not queasy at all?”

    “No, even though that day the sea was quite rough— You know that,” she said in a small voice.

    “Good. Then you will like my yacht,” he returned unemotionally, leading her back into the salon. “Must tell Lionel: he’ll be glad of it.”

    Gaetana’s jaw had sagged. “Like your— Sir, you are taking too much for granted!”

    He looked down at her with an odd little smile. “Mm. Well, asking did not get me anywhere, did it?”—Gaetana went very red and looked at him helplessly.—“So I thought I would try a new tack,” he said blandly.

    She pulled her arm out of his. “Oh! You are insufferable!”

    “‘You are insufferable, Giles,’” he corrected mildly.

    Gaetana was so thrown off-balance that she very nearly repeated it. She gasped, and was silent.

    “Come and sit down on this sofa, since it appears we are to take tea,” he said mildly.

     Silently Gaetana allowed herself to be ushered by the Marquis of Rockingham to a sofa which was at his Aunt Lavinia’s left hand, and to be sat down thereon, with the Marquis immediately taking up a position at her left elbow on the same sofa.

    “How do you like your tea, my dear?” asked Lady Lavinia, smiling kindly.

    “Very weak, thank you, Lady Lavinia,” she said faintly.

    Lady Lavinia poured her a cup of very weak tea, ascertained it was to her liking, ignored her nephew’s assurance that Miss Ainsley, in not mucking it up with sugar and milk, was a woman of taste, and offered her a plate of small cakes.

    “No—thank you very much,” said Gaetana faintly.

    “Are these those damned almond things you pestered the kitchen into making?” said the Marquis to his aunt.

    “They are my mamma-in-law’s almond cakes, certainly,” she replied with dignity.

    “You have to eat one. She’s taken some notion into her head that they’re Spanish or some such,” said the Marquis immediately to Gaetana, retrieving the plate.

    Numbly Gaetana took a cake.

    “My dear, he is being silly! Do not eat it if you do not wish for it,” said Lady Lavinia kindly.

    “I—I am sure they are delicious!” she gasped.

    “Don’t taste much like Mamma’s,” reported Sir Lionel dubiously. Lady Lavinia glared.

    Paul had been eyeing his sister in considerable amusement, very much wanting to applaud the performances of the combined Hammond and Dewesbury families. “I would disregard that completely, Lady Lavinia!” he said with a little laugh. “It is a law of nature, that one’s wife’s reproductions of one’s mamma’s receets, however excellent, will not taste the same!”

    Lady Lavinia laughed.

    “Oh, that is so true!” cried Mrs Maddern. “I declare I tried for five years to reproduce my late husband’s mamma’s receet for cheese tartlets: and though I had it in her own hand, he would never admit I had achieved it! And then his aunt came to visit and said mine were better than her sister-in-law’s had ever been!”

    Lady Lavinia, smiling, agreed: “Exactly! To say truth, Giles’s kitchens here at Daynesford produce the most excellent pastries, and in my opinion these are far better than Mamma-in-law’s cakes!”

    “That’s as may be, but they is not the same!” said Sir Lionel in a huffy voice.

    There was general laughter at Sir Lionel’s remark, but Hildy did not laugh.

    Dezzie had remembered to keep an eye on her and, whilst noting the flirtation with the middle-aged nabob with a certain dry amusement, had silently made up her mind she would speak to the girl’s mamma before the Madderns left about the feverish flush, which had not abated throughout the evening.

    When the tea-tray was announced she had quietly stationed herself next to Hildy, whose liveliness had markedly diminished over the past half hour or so. Now she put a hand on her knee. “My dear, what is it?” she said, under cover of the laughter and reminiscences of other persons’ mammas’ or mammas-in-law’s receets.

    “I—I feel a little dizzy!” gasped Hildy.

    Sir Ned had placed himself on Dezzie’s other hand, near enough to Hildy to—well, to be near, but not enough to be remarked. Or so he had imagined. He leaned  forward in concern.

    “Come on, give her your arm, she needs some air,” said Dezzie briefly.

    They got up and, Sir Ned taking Hildy’s arm lightly but firmly, led her out without fuss.

    In the long passage Dezzie said: “No, don’t open a window, I think the girl has a fever. Here, take my fan. –First time the damned thing’s been anything but in the way all evening.”

    Sir Ned fanned Hildy with one hand whilst supporting her elbow with the other, what time Dezzie felt her forehead.

    “Mm—hot,” she reported.

    “I feel so strange, Ned!” she gasped, clutching at him.

    “Not increasing, is she?” asked Dezzie simply.

    Ned Jubb went very red. “No,” he said shortly.

    “Had that much sense, then,” noted Dezzie.

    “She came off her horse, took a ducking in a stream the other day,” he added lamely.

    “Well, small wonder she’s in a high fever. Come along, let’s get her onto that sofa along there. And then I’ll fetch her mother.”

    … “Oh, my dearest child, what is it?” Mrs Maddern cried, rushing up and sinking to her knees beside the sofa.

    “The influenza, I think; she’s very hot,” said Dezzie. She saw that Mrs Maddern was very distressed, and came to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We had best get her into bed as soon as possible. I believe the blue guest room near mine is available; I shall ring for the housekeeper.”

    “Not in the Marquis of Crabapple’s house,” said Hildy faintly, beginning to cry. “I want to go home!”

    Dezzie smothered a grin at the slighting reference to her brother. “That would be most ill-advised, Mrs Maddern: she needs an even temperature, not being rushed in and out of carriages in the night air,” she said firmly.

    Mrs Maddern produced a handkerchief and dried Hildy’s cheeks. “Indeed and indeed. I would be so grateful, Lady Desdemona; if—if it would not set the household in a bustle.”

    “Lord, no! We’ve had a houseful of invalids for the past month, you know; one more won’t make any difference!” she said breezily, going down the passage to ring a bell vigorously.

    “Please, Mamma,” said Hildy faintly, clutching at her hand.

    “Dearest, Lady Desdemona is right: I think you must stay, just until we see what this fever is going to do,” she said, feeling her forehead.

    “I feel so dizzy.”

    “Yes, my love, of course you do.”

    “Mamma, please could I go home instead?” whispered Hildy, tears sliding down her cheeks again.

    Mrs Maddern mopped them with her handkerchief. “No, my love: it would very injudicious. But do not fear, I shall stay with you.”

    “Oh, good,” said Hildy, holding her hand very tight.

    “Mrs Maddern, I—I feel I am gravely to blame,” said Sir Ned in a low voice.

    “No!” cried Hildy, cheeks more flushed than ever.

     Mrs Maddern looked at him in bewilderment.

    At this point Ned Jubb realized that, though she must have given some explanation of how her habit came to be soaked, Hildy could not have mentioned to her mamma that he had been present at the stream. He swallowed and said: “Er—perhaps Miss Hildy did not think it worth mentioning: I encountered her a little after she had taken that toss into the stream and—and was most remiss in that I did not immediately either accompany her home or—or give her my jacket to wear.”

    “His horse was lame,” said Hildy faintly.

    “Well, then of course you could not have accompanied her, sir,” agreed Mrs Maddern. “And as for getting a wetting, pray do not let it disturb you. Hildy is the harum-scarum one of the family, you know: forever falling into streams, or out of trees! Why, she has come home covered head to foot in mud before this, and her gown in rags!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy faintly.

    Mrs Maddern looked at her flushed cheeks and felt her forehead with an automatic gesture. “She will come through this, Sir Edward, you need not disturb yourself: she is the strongest of all my children, and has been since birth. A wiry constitution, you know, is often a strong one!”

    “I see,” he said awkwardly. “Er—if I cannot be of any help here, perhaps I should collect my party and go.’”

    “You could fetch Lavinia to us,” noted Dezzie.

    With some relief, the nabob hastened out.

    In his absence the two older ladies’ eyes met. Unalike though they were, they had both the same thought, the which was more or less summed up by Dezzie’s sniff. Men, in short, were all broken reeds when confronted by illness.