Sick Visits

 24

Sick Visits

    Hildy did, indeed, have the influenza. The doctor summoned to the Place reassured Mrs Maddern, on hearing her trembling report of her husband’s early death from a fever, that they need have no such fears for her, but she must take it easy for the rest of the year. Yes, he agreed, the scheme of a trip to Bath to stay with Dorothea’s grandmamma in September sounded an excellent notion—the more so as Mrs Maddern anxiously assured him that the elderly Mrs Kernohan led a retired life, occasionally taking the waters at the Pump Room, and patronizing the Circulating Library. Er—no, doctor, Hildy did not have a very heavy pelisse—but she would of course get her one. And certainly no flimsy muslins, no! And her sister was sewing her a new set of warm petticoats with her own hands as they spoke!

    “At all events,” said Miss Maddern with something less than her usual determination, when the news came that Hildy was weak, but expected to make an excellent recovery, and they might visit, “I shall go.”

    “And I!” agreed Amabel eagerly, looking up from the warm petticoat she was sewing.

    “She is our sister, too,” said Marybelle with a pout.

    “Yes!” agreed Floss loudly. “And if I took Pierrot I could show the Marquis of Crabapple that—”

    “No!” said Miss Maddern hurriedly.

    “—that he can say ‘God save the King’ like a Christian,” finished Floss, scowling.

    “Like an Englishman,” corrected Paul mildly.

    “Yes. I don’t suppose he knows he’s an English parrot, now,” she said dubiously.

    “No,” agreed Bunch simply.

    Floss’s face fell.

    “Never mind, at least he is learning to speak English,” said Paul quickly. “Er—we should not like to be too many, for a first visit.”

    “No, we must not tire dear Hildy, Mamma says here she is very weak,” said Amabel, once again picking up the much-read note from Mrs Maddern.

    “I would not tire her and nor would Pierrot! And it would cheer her up to see him!” cried Floss indignantly.

    Paul bit his lip. “Mm. Well, what do you think of this, Christa? Suppose we were all to go, and some of us were to wait in the carriage whilst you and Amabel went up to her; and then perhaps the rest could go up just for a few minutes, if she did not seem too tired.”

    “YES!” cried Floss. Marybelle looked anxiously at Christabel.

    “That—that seems an excellent notion, my dear, but I do not think that in the event… Well, Lady Lavinia will insist on our all coming into the house, I am guile sure. It would be an imposition,” said Christabel awkwardly.

    Paul’s face fell. “Sí. You are very right: of course she will.”

    “But we shall not be an imposition!” cried Floss. “We shall just sit nicely and—and everything!”

    “It’s a very big house,” Marybelle pointed out in a small voice.

    “Yes, but it is the principle of the thing,” said Christabel, beginning to look flustered. “And Mamma’s note says that Lady Lavinia has been so kind, looking to her comfort herself, and— No, really, my dear, I think it would be better if the younger ones came another day.”

    “OH!” cried Floss aggrievedly.

    “We could stay behind, couldn’t we, Maria?” offered Bunch. “That would make it a smaller party.”

    “Sí, sí,” said Maria anxiously.

    Christabel swallowed. She had not realized that her little cousins were silently considering themselves part of the expedition, too. “Er—that’s very good of you, girls.”

    “And boy!” cried Bungo.

    “And boy,” said Miss Maddern feebly.

    “On the other hand,” said Bungo thoughtfully, “say we all went over and waited down the drive a ways?”

    “YES!” cried Bunch.

    “Lurking,” said Paul, passing a hand distractedly his forehead.

    “Aye,” agreed Luís drily.

    “Just waiting,” corrected Bungo, scowling.

    “That would be quite ineligible, you idiot,” said Luís witheringly.

    “Not if they didn’t see us,” Bungo persisted doggedly.

    “We could wait down by the main gate: that’s a long way,” offered Bunch hopefully.

    “Er—well, if you rode over, it would be fresh air and exercise,” conceded Paul feebly.

    “It’s not our fault Mrs Parkinson won’t let us ride out in the rain!” cried Bunch. “She’s worse than Tia Patty!”

    “Ssh,” said Paul. “What a thing to say! Tia Patty and Mrs Parkinson both care only for your welfare.”

    Bunch subsided, very red and cross.

    “Ned Adams assures me this cold, wet, overcast weather we have had lately is most unseasonable,” said Paul to his fiancée.

    “They all say that!” cried Marybelle scornfully. “Mrs Giles says that she has often known it rain here the whole of July and any story that it never rains for the Marquis’s birthday is due purely to—to partiality!”

    “The thunder was good,” allowed Bungo.

    “Mrs Giles says thunderstorms in August are quite frequent in these parts, though it does not always rain with them,” agreed Marybelle.

    “Children, please!” cried Christabel, putting a hand to her head. “Well, what have we decided?” she said feebly to Paul.

    He took a deep breath. “Yourself and Amabel in the barouche, or the coach if the weather seems too cold. The rest of us will ride over as far as the gates. And those who do not feel they can ride so far,” he added with a glance at Marybelle and Floss, “need not come.”

    “I will do it!” said Marybelle with huge determination.

    “Aye, so shall I!” cried Floss. “Only, what about Pierrot?” she added sadly.

    Paul got up. “You may bring him the next time. At all events,” he amended carefully, feeling his fiancée’s eyes upon him: “when Hildy is up to seeing a larger group, you and Pierrot may go in the carriage with Christa.”

    “Yes, that is an excellent solution,” said Christabel weakly. “You are a master of compromise, my dear.”

    Paul looked at her anxiously.

    “No, truly!” she said with a laugh.

    “But wait! What about Gaetana?” cried Maria.

    Paul went very red. “Gaetana does not wish to come,” he said, and went out.

    “But I thought she loved Hildy?” said Maria in bewilderment.

    Christabel rose. “Ssh, my dear. Of course she does. But she will come when Hildy is a little stronger. Come along, we don’t wish to be left behind!”

    “Shall I wear my new dark crimson habit?”

    “Yes, I think you may, my dear, it is certainly the weather for it,” said Christabel.

    “It’s stopped raining and thundering, at all events,” noted Bungo, scrambling up from the rug.

    “Yes: will the slow-worms be out?” wondered Bunch on a hopeful note.

    Christabel took a deep breath. “Any child who brings into this house anything which in shape even remotely—even remotely, Bunch Ainsley—resembles a snake, will not get to ride in the barouche to see Hildy with Pierrot!”

    “I was not going to bring any into the house!” she cried indignantly.

    “Much,” muttered her twin. ‘‘Anyway, they won’t be out: Harry Higgs says as they comes out in the sun to bask by the old wall.”

    “That’s the lizards, you imbecile!” she cried.

    “Slow-worms, too.”

    The twins exited, pushing each other and shouting: “Lizards!” – “Slow-worms!”

    “Thank Heavens they are riding, they have been impossible these last two days!” said Amabel fervently, folding her work neatly.

    “They are worried about Hildy,” replied Christabel simply.

    “They have not spoken much of Hildy, at all,” she said dubiously, rising.

    “Imbecile!” said Floss witheringly. “Come on, Marybelle, last one into their habit’s a gudgeon!” They raced out.

    “Before you say anything, Amabel, I agree that the girls’ behaviour has not been exemplary either, but they also have been worried about Hildy,” said Miss Maddern drily. “Unfortunately not all of us are competent enough with our needle to be able to take our anxieties out in useful work. –Come along, Maria, my dear.”

    “Er—no,” agreed Amabel in a bewildered voice as they went out. Sometimes Christa said some very odd things. Almost as bad as dear Hildy, in fact!

    “You’re very silent,” murmured Paul as the brothers trotted along behind the children.

    “Mm? Oh,” said Luís, flushing a little, “I wath thinking about Christa, actually.”

    “Thinking about Christa?” said Christa’s fiancé in astonishment. “Thinking what, dear boy?”

    “Er—well, only that—that you handled that like a master, old boy,” he mumbled.

    “Mm? Oh! It was not I,” said Paul with a little smile. “it was she.”

    Luís puzzled over this. “I don’t get it.”

    “In the past, when she was used to manage the children alone, you know, she would have decided it all by herself most competently.”

    “Er—sí.”

    “But this time,” he said with a smile, “she waited for my suggestion, you see!”

    “Aye, but— Oh, I see.”

    “Of course, she has excellent manners,” said Paul with a twinkle in his dark eyes, “but sometimes her undoubted competence prompts her to—er—to decision-making without thought of manners. Or of whoever else might wish to be involved in the—er—decision.”

    “Sí,” said Luis slowly. He thought about it. “I admire her a lot, y’know,” he said awkwardly.

    “I know,” agreed Paul tranquilly.

    Luís thought about it some more. “I say, it ain’t so easy!” he discovered.

    “No, it is not easy at all, learning to live as a couple, rather than two separate beings,” said Paul mildly. “At least we have the advantage of being together in the same house for a while before we even start our married life.”

    “Oh, absolutely! –Hell, must have been some battleth royal when Madre and Pa wath first wed,” he discovered, gulping.

    “Undoubtedly. I think that may have been a factor in his decision to—er—seek his fortune elsewhere, after I was born. Only of course he came back for us,” he said with a smile.

    “Mm. Must have been damned hard on Marinela, stuck there with old Don Luís and all of them.”

    “Yes,” said Paul in a hard voice. “I do not pretend to approve of Harry’s conduct, even though I may understand its motives.”

    “No,” he said thoughtfully. “Me, neither.” He thought about it some more. “Dash it, the women have a hard enough time of it, without being expected to put up with that sort of nonsense!”

    “Sí,” said Paul gently; “I entirely agree with you, mi querido.”

    “No wife of mine—” Luís broke off. “Well, the point don’t arise, as yet!” he said with an awkward laugh. “But one cannot help thinking about it, y’know!”

    “I know,” said Paul, very kindly, though with a lurking twinkle in his dark eyes.

    Luís sighed. “I envy you. I s’pose a girl like Christa would not do for me, but...”

    Paul brought his horse a little closer to Luís’s new Muy Negro. Inadvertently named so by Maria: he was a big, glossy black, whose real name was Dashing Boy, universally declared at Ainsley Manor to be not as pretty.

    “Well, no, I would think you would need a different type, but I hope you will find a girl with her good sense!” he said with a smile. “And without a Tia Patty for a mamma-in-law,” he added in a lowered voice.

    “Sí, sí,” said Luís with feeling. “Not that she ain’t a loving mamma, all that. I say, are you really serious about doin’ up the dower house for her, old boy?”

    Paul sighed a little. “Sí. Only please don’t mention it to the others, yet, will you?”

    Luís shook his head obediently.

    Paul sighed again. “I must do something; for it is very clear that Hal will never be able to do anything for her—nor, indeed, for the younger girls.”

    Luís sniffed. “Even should he wish to—quite.”

    “That is a little hard on him, dear boy: the property brings in scarcely enough to keep one small family in modest comfort, you know.”

    “Aye, but they ain’t your sisters!” he said with feeling.

    Paul replied very quietly: “They are now.”

    Luís blinked and swallowed. “Sí. S’pose they are. –Shall you make a will?” he demanded abruptly.

    Paul smiled a little. “I have already made a will, so that if anything should happen to me before we can marry—which I do not anticipate, querido—what is in my own name will be put into trust for Christa.”

    “I see. Hadn’t thought of it like that; I suppose it is mostly still in Harry’s name, eh?”

    Paul hesitated. Then he said quietly: “No, querido. We broke the entail and it is all made over to me.”

    Luís whistled.

    “Querido,” said Paul uncomfortably, “this must seem a little unfair—”

    “No, no, no!” he cried, shocked. “Out of course it don’t! You are the eldest son! And I shall be dashed comfortable on Madre’s estates, you know: that is a tidy little property.”

    “Good,” said Paul in some relief, smiling at him. “And I do not think this need be mentioned to any of the children, dear old boy, for it need not affect their day-to-day lives, but Harry has writ a paper legally consigning their guardianship to me. Well, it makes it easier, as he is to remain in Spain.”

    “Does Madre know?” he croaked.

    “No,” said Paul simply.

    Luís gulped.

    “Nor does Gaetana. You won’t tell her, will you?”

    “Not I! –Has she never asked?”

    “No,” replied Paul with a wry little smile.

     Luís rode on in silence. “I’m glad I came,” he said at last.

    “So am I,” said Paul, reading his thoughts quite easily. “Well, I have Jake, of course: he knows everything, that has been a help. And now that I have Christa, I have been able to explain everything to her.”

    “That can’t have been— Well, dammit, it’s as if she’s taking on a grown family!”

    “Yes. Well, I must admit I had proposed and was accepted before I told her the legal position!” he said with a rueful smile. “But the practical one was quite clear to her, of course.”

    “Aye, but— How did she take it?”

    Paul laughed suddenly. “She is so very practical! She said she was glad Harry had had the sense to see it was sorted out clearly!”

    Luís grinned in relief. “I get it. You’re a damned lucky man.”

    “Sí.”

    The brothers rode on in silence for a while under a pale grey, watery sky, very close.

    Finally Luís coughed and said: “¿Querido, may I ask you something?”

    He had been asking him things pretty well non-stop since they left their own gate, but Paul replied tranquilly: “Of course. Anything.”

    “Well,” he said, gulping and not meeting his eye: “English girls... “

    “Mm?”

    “Do they let a fellow kiss them, once you’re engaged?” he blurted.

    Paul had much ado not to laugh. “Christabel certainly does. Though possibly her mamma does not suspect it.”

    Luís was very red. “Thank God! Because in Spain, they don’t let you near the girl without a chaperone until the wedding night! And—well, can you imagine it?”

    “Very clearly,” he said calmly.

    “¡Er—sí! No, but seriously, old man, it—it would be like doing it in cold blood!”

    “Yes. Well, I gather that generally in England one is permitted to take short walks together alone and sometimes even spend a short while in the same room unchaperoned.”

    Luís rolled an eye at him.

    “It varies from family to family!” he said with a laugh. “And much may be done during a stroll in a shrubbery, you know.”

    “Aye. Well, that’s a bit better,” he said with a sheepish smile.

    “You had best follow my example, and live in the same house with the girl you get yourself engaged to. –I tell you what!” said Paul with a laugh. “Take Amabel!”

    “I wouldn’t mind getting my arms round her,” confessed Luís, grinning. “Cuddly morsel, ain’t she? Only I rather think that that O’Flynn fellow would run me through, if I did!”

    “Sí,” Paul agreed. “I would not call him hot-blooded or over-eager,”—Luis choked—“but I think that would rouse him!”

    “I think it might! –And you tell me Tia Patty does not suspect a thing?”

    “As far as I can gather, she thinks Amabel encourages him merely out of kindness, and because she is used to the tepid and meaningless admiration of older gentlemen. Well, look at Dewesbury!”

    Luís choked again.

    “And if I were you, I would not disabuse her of the notion,” he finished calmly.

    “Not I!” he spluttered. “Sooner put my head in the lion’s den!”

    “Mm. –Querido, did I tell you of her reaction when I asked for Christabel’s hand?”

    “No,” he said with interest.

    Smiling, Paul told him.

    Luís laughed so much he nearly fell off Muy Negro.

    Amabel had triumphantly proved to her own satisfaction that the carriage discovered just departing Daynesford Place was Mrs Urqhart’s.

    Christabel was not so vitally interested in which of their neighbours owned which carriage as was her sister. “You may be right.”

    “But that is not—” Amabel peered.

    “I think it must Sir Edward Jubb,” said Christabel.

    “Indeed, so it is!” She waved. Sir Edward waved back.

    Miss Maddern swallowed a sigh. They were very warmly wrapped up, but the journey over had seemed endless, as Amabel had insisted the barouche go at the pace of the children’s ponies. There would be little hope of getting home before Mrs Parkinson and Mrs O’Flynn, who had driven over in the trap to pay a call on Lady Charleson. Paul had wanted them to take the barouche, but Mrs Parkinson, laughing, had said that driving the Manor’s trap would bring back the days of her girlhood, and to everyone’s astonishment had driven off briskly in it with a competent flourish of her whip.

    Amabel smiled and waved. Sir Edward smiled and waved. The two carriages drew closer together and Amabel cried: “Pull up, Higgs!”

    Young Higgs pulled up, Sir Edward’s carriage pulled up likewise, and the occupants of both exchanged compliments.

    Sir Edward, it appeared, had called to see how Hildy did, and he assured the Miss Madderns that the news was good.

    “Is he not a pleasant gentleman?” said Amabel pleasedly as his carriage drove off again.

    “Mm? Oh—yes. Very pleasant,” agreed Miss Maddern with an effort.

    “Christa, are you quite well?” she asked in alarm.

    Christabel forced a smile. “Yes, I am quite well, dearest. Only… I’m worried about Gaetana.”

    “But everything went splendidly at the dinner! His aunt was so very gracious to her!” she cried immediately. “It was most marked!”

    “Mm. That is why I am worried,” said Miss Maddern wryly.

    Amabel stared.

    “No—I’m sorry, Amabel, I didn’t mean— Well, put yourself in her place. If—if the aunt of a man you cared for had treated you with such marked favour, would not you be in seventh heaven?”

    “Oh,” said Amabel uncertainly. “Why, yes, I would. But Christa, she is concerned about Hildy—as, indeed, are we all. Do you not think—?"

    “No, or she would have wished to come with us,” said Christabel shortly, wishing she had not embarked on the topic.

    “Oh, dear!” she cried. “What can be wrong? Can it be that she does not care for the Marquis after all?” she ventured.

    “I am sure I do not know. I have puzzled and puzzled. It did not appear to me that evening that she was indifferent to him.”

    “No, indeed! Well, just at first she appeared a little shy, but that is natural in a young girl. And she took such pains with her dress! –Christa, perhaps his aunt was cross that she went onto the balcony with him?”

    “No, no! Why, she asked her particularly to sit by her to take tea!”

    “Oh, yes.”

    They looked at each other in bewilderment.

    “He—he would not have said or done anything indelicate, would he?” ventured Amabel.

    “What, on the balcony?” said Christabel. “I very much doubt it. Gaetana looked rather flushed, but not—” She swallowed. “She did not look cross with him, at all.”

    “No, and he looked very happy! Oh, Christa, he had such a soft look in his eyes when they rested on her! Did you not remark it?”

    “Indeed.”

    They smiled at each other but their smiles soon faded and Amabel said: “Then—then why is she in such a bad mood?”

    Miss Maddern bit her lip. “Can it be she still has the fixed notion that she is not good enough for him?”

    “Surely not!”

    “Well... At the time Hildy spoke to us when we were in town, she was adamant against the connection.”

    “Yes, but dearest, she has had the time to—well, to see the style of the Manor, for one thing!” said Amabel, pinkening. “And to—to realize the consideration in which her family is held in the neighbourhood!”

    “True.”

    “And—and I should have thought,” said Amabel in a trembling voice, “that she has also had time to regret her rash actions and—and to wish not to cause him further pain—if indeed she truly cares for him!” Her big amber eyes sparkled with tears.

    “Yes,” said Miss Maddern in a low voice, looking down at her gloved hands.

    There was a pause. The barouche rolled onto the sweep before the mansion.

    “Could you not speak to Paul?” ventured Amabel.

    Christabel bit her lip. “I—I scarce like to.”

    “Would he be cross?” she squeaked.

    “No, you goose! But after all, it is Gaetana’s private business, I would not wish to pry.”

    “No-o...”

    “I shall think about it. Possibly he will bring the topic up first: he must have seen as much as we, and be even more concerned.”

    Amabel looked dubious. “Ye-es... Though gentlemen in general...”

    The barouche drew up before the imposing portico of the Place.

    “Paul is not gentlemen in general!” said Miss Maddern with a little laugh, looking much more cheerful.

    “Er—no, dear,” lied Amabel gamely: “Of course!”

    “Your mamma has gone up to rest,” said Carolyn immediately Susan came into the small salon.

    “Oh, dear: I thought I heard a carriage on the drive just now.”

    “Never mind, we shall receive them!” said Carolyn, jumping up. “Because—she said—we might!” She danced round the room, laughing.

    “Carolyn, dear!” said Susan with a smile.

    “I—am—a—la-dy!” she carolled. “I shall offer them tea-ea!”

    “Hush!” said Susan, laughing.

    Carolyn sat down. “Susan, let us pretend it is our very own sitting-room and we are receiving visitors in our very own house!”

    Susan had much ado not to laugh again. “Well, it cannot be the house of both of us, so it had better be yours.”

    “Yes,” she agreed. “Would you prefer to have a great big house like this, or a smaller one?”

    “A smaller one, I think,” said Susan, blushing.

    “So would I, I hate the Place. But this little room is pleasant, and if I did have a house of my own, I would like a little sitting-room just like this. Or a—what is that other English word, Susan?”

    “Er—a parlour?”

    “Yes. A parlour!” said Carolyn as a footman came in. She immediately leaned back in her chair and said with a world-weary air: “Yes, William? What is it?”

    “Miss Maddern and Miss Amabel Maddern have called, Miss Carolyn,” he said, bowing.

    Carolyn shot Susan a triumphant look. “Pray show them in, William. And I shall be requiring tea immediately.”

    Perhaps not surprisingly, William bowed to the Marquis’s sister and acquiesced in this request.

    “And pooh to Giles, he will miss it!” she cried, as the door closed behind the man.

    “Er—yes. My dear, they may prefer to go straight up to their sister.”

    “But she is asleep!”

    “Er—yes, she is. Only...”

    “If we wait, she may wake up!”

    “Yes,” said Susan limply. “I dare say she may.”

    ... “I am afraid you might have wished to go up to Hildy earlier,” she said in a low voice as she led the Miss Madderns upstairs, some little time later. “But Carolyn was—was most insistent that we should offer you tea.”

    “We were very glad of the tea, it is quite a journey by the road,” said Miss Maddern.

    “Yes, especially as—” Amabel broke off. “We did not go very fast,” she said lamely.

    “I see,” said Susan blankly. “Er—it is along here: your Mamma has the adjoining room, but I think she may still be sleeping.”

    “We shall merely peep in on her, then,” said Miss Maddern.

    “Yes, indeed, she must be very tired, if she has been watching half the day and night! And your mamma too, dear Susan: it was so very kind of her to spell Mamma!” said Amabel.

    “Well, she and Cousin Dezzie have been taking it in turns to relieve your Mamma, really,” said Susan. “I—I shall not come in with you, Mamma has desired me not to,” she added in a small voice.

    “No, indeed, you must not risk catching the infection!” said Amabel kindly. “Is it this door?”

    Susan nodded, and opened it with great precautions.

    Hildy was asleep in a big bed, her face looking very small on the pillows, and Lady Dezzie had nodded off in a large armchair beside the bed.

    “We shall merely sit with her a few minutes,” whispered Miss Maddern.

    Susan nodded. “I shall wait along here,” she whispered, indicating a sofa further along the passage.

    Miss Maddern shook her head reprovingly, but Susan, smiling and nodding, tiptoed along to the sofa.

    There were two spare chairs set by the bedside: the Maddern sisters crept in and sat down silently.

    After some time Miss Maddern observed that tears were stealing down Amabel’s cheeks. She stood up, and touched her shoulder.

    “I suppose we should not kiss her,” whispered Amabel, gulping. Miss Maddern shook her head and they tiptoed out, Christabel closing the door firmly but quietly.

    “Oh, Christa!” gasped Amabel, floods of tears now pouring down her cheeks. “She looks so little!” She cast herself into her sister’s arms.

    Susan came hurriedly along the passage and aided Miss Maddern to assist Amabel to the sofa. “It is a healing sleep, dear Amabel: pray do not cry,” she said, sitting down next her.

    “Yes: her forehead felt quite cool and damp,” agreed Miss Maddern.

    “Yes: she was ill again last evening, but Mamma said the fever broke earlier this morning. Dr Mitchell called again today and he said we can expect a little fever in the early evening, and she will be rather fractious then, but will very likely feel like a little late supper. Then in the morning we can expect her to be livelier, and take a little more nourishment, and the same pattern will repeat itself for two or three days.”

    “Very promising,” approved Miss Maddern. “Dearest, pray do not: it is obvious she is so much better!”

    “Yes,” said Amabel, blowing her nose, “I’m being foolish. It’s relief, I think.”

    “Of course,” she said, kissing her cheek.

    “I kept thinking about Papa,” Amabel admitted, stowing her handkerchief away.

    “Yes,” said Miss Maddern, rather white. “So did I.”

    “Dr Mitchell has assured your mamma there is no fear of losing her,” said Susan quickly.

    “Yes, so her note said,” agreed Miss Maddern, smiling at her. “Shall we just look in on Mamma, Amabel?”

    Amabel agreeing, they peeped in, but as Mrs Maddern was laid down in her petticoat under the coverlet, frankly snoring, they did not disturb her.

    “What lovely flowers in Hildy’s room,” said Amabel as Susan led them downstairs “From the gardens, I presume?”

    “Some of them are, yes. Sir Julian and his little girls have picked armfuls!” said Susan with a smile. “But the most striking bunch, in the big vase by the bed, was brought by Sir Edward Jubb.”

    “Oh, yes: we saw his carriage,” agreed Amabel. “What a very thoughtful gentleman he is, to be sure!”

    Miss Maddern glanced at her but said nothing about Sir Edward’s attentions to Hildy at the dinner party. If Amabel had not noticed, so much the better.

    Susan was urging them to come again tomorrow: earlier in the day, if possible, for then Hildy, according to Dr Mitchell, would be livelier. The sisters agreed they would come, refused a pressing invitation to re-enter the sitting-room, as the thought of the party waiting down by the main gates was now preying heavily on their minds, and took their leave.

    Naturally Amabel had to examine at length how Hildy had looked, and discuss who should come tomorrow, and how soon it might be before the younger ones could visit, and so forth: but as they drew nearer to the gates she fell markedly silent.

    “Paul is with them,” said Miss Maddern on a weak note.

    “Yes, of course! He will not have let them get up to mischief!” said Amabel with an airy laugh that did not ring true.

    “No,” said Miss Maddern in a hollow voice. “Let us hope not.”

    Bunch had commenced, the minute the barouche had rounded the first bend in the beautifully kept gravelled drive, by suggesting they could all go as far as that bend. Paul had vetoed this immediately, ably seconded by Luís. Then Floss had thought it would be very pleasant to get down and sit on the grass where there was an ideal spot for a picknick, just a little way up the— Paul vetoed that, too, ably seconded by Luís, who in fact was almost overcome at the thought of being discovered trespassing on the formidable Lord Rockingham’s estate—the Marquis’s personality, during the dinner at the Place, having impressed him greatly, for all his prior exposure to Don Pedro.

    “Well, just outside the wall, along here!” urged Floss.

    “Yes, there is a lovely grassy patch,” agreed Marybelle.

    Paul looked uneasily at the lodge. No-one had emerged to ask them their business, but…

    “The grass looks rather damp, Marybelle,” said Maria uneasily.

    “Sí, sí, you are right, querida. You must not sit down on the damp grass, children, or we shall have you all coming down with the influenza,” said Paul hurriedly.

    “I am very tired of riding,” admitted Marybelle glumly.

    “But Marybelle, mi querida, I did say it would be a long ride for you!” said Paul.

    “Yes, but I thought I could get off for a rest!” she cried.

    “I know: you could sit on my jacket, Marybelle!” said Bungo.

    “—Thank you, Sir Walter,” noted Bunch.

    Bungo had recently been reading a life of Raleigh and had been so incautious as to, in the first instance, read choice bits of it out to his twin, and in the second, betray his admiration of the English hero’s famous piece of gallantry. He reddened, and glared.

    “Um, thank you, Bungo, only I think you might catch cold, if you took your jacket off,” said Marybelle weakly.

    “Sí, but it was a chivalrous thought,” said Paul kindly.

    Bunch snorted loudly.

    “I know: we could all sit on Luís’s greatcoat!” cried Floss.

    Luís had been convinced it was going to rain. Well, it had rained steadily for the past two days. He had not actually gone so far as to wear the greatcoat, but he had it slung behind him. “Ruin my greatcoat? No, I thank you!” he cried.

    “I’m afraid it will have to be sacrificed, old fellow,” said Paul with a twinkle in his eye.

    “No, I say!”

    “It’s a damned dagoish-lookin’ thing anyway,” said Bungo, getting in a score on his own account.

    “It’s all the crack in Seville!”

    Bungo made a rude noise.

    “That’s enough,” said Paul mildly. “I’m sure it may be all the crack in Seville, Luís, querido, but in London I fear we would incline rather to Bungo’s opinion. Mr Weston would not approve of those very large mother-of-pearl buttons, at all.”

    “Hah!” cried Bungo vindictively.

    “Also the shoulders are not merely peaked: they are positive Pyrenees, mon cher,” he murmured.

    “Now, look here—!”

    “Calm down, imbecile: if you have an ambition to go on the strut down Bond Street I’ll take you to Weston myself. He made that coat Sir Julian Naseby was wearing the other night,” said Paul with a grin.

    “Only if you let us sit on the Pyrenees, though!” said Floss with a loud giggle.

    “Well... I shall want a new dress coat, as well, mind,” he warned Paul.

    “Of course.”

    Luís looked at him suspiciously.

    “You should never have let Harry choose that thing you had on the other night: your good nature runs away with you, old lad.”

    Luís ignored this in a dignified manner, dismounted, and spread the coat out. “Ladies first,” he said, grabbing Bungo by the collar as he made to sit. “LADIES, I said!” he shouted, grabbing Bunch by her collar.

    “I’m as much a lady as them!” she cried.

    “Pooh,” he replied with satisfaction.

    Looking smug, Marybelle, Maria and Floss promptly seated themselves.

    After a certain amount of shuffling, not to say pushing by some, it was found that, so long as they did not mind being back-to-back, everyone could squeeze onto Luis’s greatcoat. Its skirts possibly would not have delighted a London tailor, but they were certainly voluminous.

    “We should have brought a picknick,” said Marybelle glumly.

    “I do have something in my saddlebags,” said Paul, twinkling. “Only not very much, mind!” he warned. He produced some rather squashed cake. The children fell upon it ravenously.

    Everyone still felt hungry when the cake was gone. Bungo produced some nuts from his pocket. They had been shelled and were rather fluffy, so only Bunch and Floss partook of them with him.

    Everyone still felt hungry when the nuts were gone.

    “This was a stupid idea,” said Floss glumly.

    “Sí, some of us felt that, but then some others of us would not be told,” noted Luís.

    “You wanted to come, too!” she cried.

    “Aye, only I’m not sittin’ here grumbling, am I?”

    “Pooh!” she said crossly.

    “Perhaps we could play a guessing game,” said Marybelle.

    “That’s a good idea!” cried Maria.

    “A good idea? You’re HOPELESS at guessing games!” cried Bunch.

    “Well, it would be something to do.”

    “Yes. Go on, Marybelle, you start,” said Paul firmly.

    They played guessing games. Guessing games palled rather quickly, and the twins had a fight over one of Bungo’s guesses.

    Paul was feeling fairly desperate when a fortunate diversion was created by the emergence from the gates of Sir Edward Jubb, in the barouche from The Towers. He stopped the carriage, and, getting out, asked to be introduced to those he had not met. Bungo interrogated him narrowly on the subject of the East India Company’s examination requirements. Sir Ned answered imperturbably, not omitting to explain that he was no expert, being a mere merchant. Bunch then attempted to interrogate him narrowly on the subjects of (a) his true wealth, upon which she was quickly shushed, and (b) which he found the most sickening, riding upon a camel, riding upon an elephant, or crossing the Bay of Biscay. And was momentarily silenced when Sir Edward voted instead for rounding the Cape of Good Hope in a storm. Bungo, however, rallied to enquire whether he had rounded Cape Horn, for the Cape of Good Hope was said to be as nothing to Cape Horn. Only he hadn’t. Floss attempted to introduce the topic of those whom Mr Purdue had had transported having possibly experienced the rigours of Cape Horn, but was quickly shushed. Sir Ned then took his leave, with assurances that the word from the Place was that Hildy had turned the corner.

    The twins immediately embarked on an argument as to which would be worse: rounding the Cape of Good Hope in the bowels of a slaver or rounding Cape Horn in the bowels of a transport ship. Paul broke this up when it degenerated into the “WOULD!—WOULD NOT!” sort of argument, ably seconded by Luís.

    Then there was a brief pause.

    “When I am in the East India Company—”

    “ENOUGH!” shouted Luís.

    “That is not fair, you are always going on about stupid Spain!” he cried bitterly.

    “You have not even been to India!” gasped Luís.

    “Luís, querido, hush, you are encouraging him,” said Paul, touching his arm.

    “But he hasn’t!” he cried.

    Bungo took a deep breath: “I know lots about—”

    “That is merely hearsay,” said Marybelle, with a smoothness which belied the fact that she had been trying to think of the word for some time.

    “Er—exactly. I think we have had enough of India for the time being, old fellow. But perhaps you and I could ride over to see Mrs Urqhart again very soon,” said Paul to his little brother’s red and crestfallen face.

    “And me!” cried Bunch aggrievedly.

    Marybelle, Maria and Floss did not cry out, but they looked at Paul pleadingly.

    “Another time,” he said desperately. Four faces fell, and Bungo looked triumphant.

    “You would be very bored, girls, if Mrs Urqhart and Bungo were talking of nothing but the Company,” he said feebly.

    “We would NOT!” cried Bunch.

    “No,” agreed Floss.

    “We could talk to Bapsee!” said Maria eagerly.

    “¡Sí, sí!” agreed Marybelle.

     Paul looked at them with some amusement. “I see that, my dears, but you know that Mrs Urqhart would feel herself obliged you refreshments and see you were entertained.”

    They looked at him blankly. Of course she would! Was not that the point?

    “It—it would be an imposition... I shall arrange with her to bring you girls by yourselves another time.”

    “Without Bungo?” asked Bunch suspiciously.

    “Certainly.”

    Bungo began: “But I—”

    “Do you wish for an expedition on our own, or not?”

    Bungo subsided. “Sí,” he muttered.

    “Good, it’s settled.”

    “Luís can’t come,” warned Bungo.

    “No, no, he may ride over to call on Muzzie Charleson that day,” said Paul smoothly.

    “What?” cried Luís.

    “He called her Mutton-Head Muzzle yesterday,” Floss pointed out dubiously.

    “It was a silly joke,” said Maria quickly. “Of course he does not wish to call on her.”

    “She is not so very bad, I suppose,” said Marybelle.

    “And she would be so much better if Eric Charleson would but notice you were alive, too,” noted Floss.

    Marybelle took a deep breath.

    “Girls!” cried Paul. “Please!”

    The girls looked at him mutinously.

    “And boys. In fact that is enough out of all of you!” he said loudly.

    All of them looked at him mutinously.

    Paul then remembered one of Marinela’ s tricks for long journeys: you started off telling a story and then suddenly appointed another person to carry on, and...

    After an initial struggle, everyone got interested in spite of themselves and they told a long story very successfully, with much laughter, and embarked on a second. The twins then had a fight because Bunch completely turned Bungo’s part of the story on its head, so that his gallant hero, Lord Walter, turned into Walter The Fat, became the butt of the new Duke Bunch, and fell ingloriously into the pond of the village common and was drowned. A particularly sore point was the gratuitous introduction of this common and pond, neither of which had existed in the Bungo version.

    Paul was at his wits’ end when there a crunch of horses’ hoofs from the gravelled drive, three fat ponies and a horse appeared, and a little voice cried: “Look! A picknick! Potter Pony will get there the FIRST!”

    Paul got up, laughing a little. “Hullo, Sir Lionel! Never tell me they have appointed you nurserymaid!”

    Sir Lionel winked, and bent to grasp Potter Pony’s bridle. “I’ve escaped. It’s deadly in there, dear boy. They can talk of nothing but sickbeds and nursing, morning, noon and night. Giles got out of it at crack of dawn, the coward: some story about seeing to a forest over the other side of Upper Daynesfold. All apocryphal, of course: dare say his agent could handle it with both hands tied behind him—well, dare say his head forester could, for that matter. Only Lavinia was making mutterin’ noises last evenin’ about sending someone to fetch red flannel.”

    “Red flannel?” he said weakly.

    “Don’t ask me, dear boy! Apparently the house is short of red flannel! –Eh?” he said to Tabby. “Er—no, don’t fancy they are having a picknick, my dear. Can’t see any food, can you?”

    “No,” she admitted sadly. “But Potter Pony got there the FIRST!”

    “Aye, so he did,” said Sir Lionel fairly.

    “No-one was trying to beat him, you silly!” cried Ermy.

    “He is the FASTEST!” she shouted.

    “Yes, indeed, and I hear he jumps, too,” said Paul quickly, relieving Sir Lionel of the pony’s bridle.

    Tabby eyed him suspiciously.

    “Miss Maddern has told me such a lot about him,” he explained.

    “We galloped and galloped!”

    “Yes, indeed. And you jumped on Potter Pony, but Miss Maddern did not jump, is that right?”

    “Yes. Miss Maddern can’t jump.”

    “Precisely,” said Paul, eyes twinkling. “She is very much of a novice.”

    “Yes. I can jump much, much, much better’n her.”

    “Pooh, you can only jump a silly little log!” cried Ermy.

    “That’ll do,” said Sir Lionel heavily. Not as if he thought much notice would be taken, however.

    Paul looked at him sympathetically. “Has it been heavy going, sir?”

    He groaned. “It’s the two little ones. Keep on—well, don’t know what you’d call it. Contradicting, or arguing, or something! What I mean is, it’s either one or the other, and they’re at it all the time!”

    “Sí, sí: I know exactly what you mean, Sir Lionel: the twins do it all the time, too.”

    “We do NOT!” they cried.

    “Are you twins?” said Rommie immediately.

    “Yes. We’re nearly eleven,” said Bunch.

    “I’m nearly thirteen.”

    They eyed one another cautiously.

    After a moment Bunch said: “This is Floss. She’ll be fourteen next month.”

    “Hullo,” said Floss.

    “Hullo, Floss. I’m Rommie Naseby.”

    “I thought so.”

    “Oh!” said Sir Lionel. “Um—yes. Rommie, Ermy and Tabby Naseby— Dammit, don’t know all these,” he said to Paul. “Um—think your—um—dammit, is she their sister, or what?” he said to Paul.

    “Er—”

    “Anyway, Miss Maddern knows ’em!” he said desperately.

    “Yes,” agreed Floss. “She said you have a great look of your father,” she said to Rommie.

    “Did she?” said Rommie, terrifically pleased. “He said you all had—um—auburn hair!” she finished on a gasp, turning scarlet.

    “Not Maria or Luís or Paul,” recognized Floss regretfully.

    “No,” agreed Marybelle sadly. “I’m Marybelle Maddern,” she said suddenly. “I like your pony.”

    Rommie replied politely: “How do you do, Marybelle? Yes, he’s a nice pony, isn’t he? His name’s Four Corners: Uncle Giles named him that as a joke.”

    “It quite suits him, though,” admitted Marybelle.

    Bunch said abruptly: “He’s not really your uncle, is he?”

    “No, he’s just Papa’s friend.”

    “I bet he really said our hair was carrots!” burst out Floss.

    Rommie went very red again.

    “That will do,” said Paul hurriedly. “Let me introduce everybody else.” He did so, including Sir Lionel, on Rommie’s pointing out he had forgotten “Uncle Lionel.”

    “Are you an uncle?” asked Bunch.

    Sir Lionel rubbed his nose. “Well, we decided this lot had best call me uncle: makes it easier, y’see?”

    “Yes.”

    “I think that’s enough about uncles,” said Paul quickly. “So you’ve been for a ride, have you, Rommie?”

    “Yes, just here and there. Uncle Lionel was afraid we might get lost, but I know the Place like the back of my hand!”

    “I know our lands like the back of my hand, too!” said Bungo quickly.

    “Aye, well, and I know mine, only I don’t get down to the Place that often,” said Sir Lionel.

    Several persons had been about to speak of their own prowess in the matter and were very taken aback to have been pre-empted by a large baronet. So there was a short silence, during which Paul’s shoulders shook silently.

    “Sir Julian is not with you, then, sir?” ventured Luís.

    “Lord, no! Did I not say? Fellow volunteered to drive into Ditterminster in quest of the red flannel! Well, took it into his noddle it constituted service to little Miss Hildy, I think.” He shook his head. “Tried to tell him I had never heard of red flannel for fevers, only he wouldn’t listen. Left at crack of dawn. Shortly after Giles got out of it, actually.”

    “One might wrap the chest in red flannel, sir,” said Marybelle dubiously.

    “For la grippe,” murmured Maria dubiously.

    “Ye-es.... Well, don’t look at me! But Dezzie—that’s Giles’s sister, y’know,” he informed the company breezily, “said whether or no Lavinia actually means to swathe little Hildy in red flannel, to let him go, it’ll get him out of our hair. Fellow’s been mopin’ round the place like a dog that’s lost its tail. Convinced she was going to—” He noted the wondering pairs of innocent eyes fixed on him, and coughed hurriedly. “Well, you know!” he said with an awkward laugh.

    Paul said quickly: “We saw Sir Edward Jubb a little while since, sir, and he assured us that Hildy is much better!”

    “Oh, Lor’, yes! Peeped in on her meself, earlier: sleeping like a babe! Fever’s broken, y’know. –Dear little thing,” he added in an aside to himself.

    “Sí,” agreed Paul in some amusement, wondering if Hildy was about to oust Amabel in Sir Lionel’s affections.

    “I had the measles,” said Tabby to the company.

    “Aye, that’s right, so you did, eh? –Poor little thing, she was dashed pulled,” he noted. “Had to go off to— Where was it, Tabby? Some damned watering-hole. Tunbridge Wells, was it?”

    “No, Bath,” said Tabby seriously. “And then Grandmamma took me to stay by the sea with Old Nurse.”

    “She is Papa’s old nurse,” explained Rommie.

    “I like the sea,” said Tabby.

    “Do you?” said Paul, smiling. “It is great fun, is it not, when the waves come and go up the sands!”

    “Yes. I got wet and Old Nurse was cross, but Grandmamma said it was to be expeck’ed.”

    “¡Sí, sí, querida!” he said, laughing.

    “What is that?” asked Tabby, staring.

    “Mm? Oh, I’m sorry, Tabby! That was Spanish for ‘Yes, darling.’”

    “Rommie is learning French and Italian,” said Ermy.

    “She sings songs,” explained Tabby.

    “Yes, we have heard from Hildy of Rommie’s beautiful singing,” agreed Paul.

    Rommie went very pink, but also looked very pleased.

    “Musical family, y’know,” explained Sir Lionel to the company. “Well, apart from Julian, poor fellow. Can’t carry a tune—dreadful.”

    “Er—mm,” agreed Paul.

    “May I get down?” asked Tabby.

    “Look, there’s no picknick, y’know!” warned Sir Lionel.

    “I know!” she said crossly, pouting.

    “Aye, well— What is you all doin’ here, then, if it ain’t a picknick?” he demanded, staring.

    “We came with Christa and Amabel!” cried Bunch.

    “We’re waiting for them!” cried Bungo.

    “Lurking,” muttered Luís to himself with a grimace.

    “Christa felt we would all be too much for Hildy, just yet, but we thought we would at least like to ride over this far,” explained Paul. “She and Amabel have gone up to the house in the barouche.”

    “Aye, but why the Devil didn’t you all go on up?” he said, staring.

    “You could see my room! I have a big bed!” cried Tabby.

    “Liar!” cried Ermy indignantly. “She tells lies all the time,” she explained to the company.

    “I do NOT!” cried Tabby crossly, beginning to dismount.

    “Oy, I never said you could get down!” said Sir Lionel heatedly.

    “You never said no!”

    “That’s true,” agreed Paul, giving her a helping hand.

    “I can do it! I am nearly seven!” she panted.

    “Yes, but she can’t mount again by herself,” noted Ermy.

    “I can TOO!”

    “Can NOT!”

    “That’ll DO!” shouted Sir Lionel. “By gad, I’ll wager fifty guineas your lot don’t go on like this!” he said to Paul. He produced a large handkerchief and to Paul’s delight solemnly mopped his forehead.

    “You would lose your fifty guineas, I am afraid, Sir Lionel,” he said politely.

    “They go on far worse, actually, sir,” said Luis.

    “Precisely,” agreed Paul. “Er—not on the grass, Tabby, querida, it’s horridly damp. Sit on a piece of Luís’s greatcoat—here. Next to Maria, mm? Er—it was felt that we should not impose on Lady Lavinia’s hospitality at a time of crisis in the household, Sir Lionel,” he explained.

    “Eh?”

    Bunch clarified helpfully: “Christa said it would be an imposition and Lady Lavinia would say we must come into the house.”

    “I should hope she would! –Oh!” he said. “Oh, like that, is it?” he said to Paul with a wink.

    Paul found himself incapable of explaining delicately to Sir Lionel Dewesbury that the relationship between himself and Christa was not in the least like that between Sir Lionel and Lady Lavinia, and that the baronet’s assumptions about this present situation were therefore not precisely correct. “Yes,” he said weakly. “Very like that.”

    “Oh, dear!” gasped Amabel, clapping a hand to her mouth, as they sighted the group at the gates.

    “Pull up just along here, Higgs,” said Christabel, leaning forward. “I suppose we should be grateful it is not the Marquis himself,” she added in a lowered voice.

    “Um—yes,” said Amabel. “Oh, dear: what must Sir Lionel be thinking, Christa?” she hissed.

    Miss Maddern surveyed the group on the grass in some amusement. “Very little, I should think, for as far as I am aware, Paul did not bring bread, cheese and—er—buttermilk, I would judge, from Bunch’s moustachio: it must have been Sir Lionel who provided them.”

    Amabel swallowed.

    “Come along, dearest!” said Miss Maddern with a twinkle in her eye, as young Higgs pulled in carefully by the picknickers. “And do not neglect, on any account, to admire Potter Pony!”

    “What? Oh! No! Which is he?” she gasped.

    “The very little one,” said Christabel, straight-faced.

    “The very— Oh!” she cried. “Of course! Is he not adorable?”

    That was all right, then.

    Miss Maddern and Paul did not have any opportunity for private speech until much later, for Hildy’s improved state of health had to be reported to the company and gone over to everyone’s satisfaction, and the provenance of the picknick had to be explained; and Sir Lionel apparently felt it necessary also to explain (a) that the woman from the lodge had urged them to step inside when she provided the refreshments, but that Paul had refused, and (b) that he himself had breakfasted at crack of dawn—Tabby and Ermy explaining antiphonally that they also had, but Rommie, being older, remaining red-faced and silent, only partly because she was vividly recalling what they had consumed earlier at a cottage. And, of course, ponies had to be admired and comparisons, though it was to be hoped not invidious ones, duly made. Then, coming home, Marybelle and Floss rode with their sisters in the barouche, Marybelle loudly expressing her relief and gratitude at being allowed to do so and Floss, though not expressing any such thing, not actually objecting when Paul suggested she might care for it, too. Bunch looked scornful, but this did not mean that her two elder cousins were not quietly thinking “Hot bath.”

    “So she is really better, Christa?” said Paul, as they were finally alone together.

    “Oh, yes: that hectic flush has quite died away. Of course, it will be some days before she is feeling herself again. But I think the children could visit—well, perhaps the day after tomorrow.”

    “In that case, I will send to see if Bungo and I may call on Mrs Urqhart tomorrow, I doubt that the nerves of either of us could stand further delay!” he choked.

    “He has not been so very bad,” said Miss Maddern dubiously. “I have found Bunch more trying, these past few days.”

    “Not yours and mine, dearest Christa: mine and his!” he choked. “I have promised he may discuss the East India Company with Mrs Urqhart. And if we go tomorrow, we may expect Sir Edward Jubb still to be there, he may take some of the burden off her!”

    “Yes, though he has never been a servant of the Company,” she said dubiously.

    “No, poor fellow!” he choked. “But I think he is forewarned, by now!”

    “What can you mean?”

    Paul related with relish the encounter with Sir Edward by the gates of Daynesford Place.

    “I see,” said Miss Maddern, chewing on her lip.

    “You may laugh, dearest: there are only the two of us here—Dieu soit béni,” he added piously.

    “Well, now you see what I—” Miss Maddern broke off, very red.

    “—have had to bear all these months—nay, years,” he said, squeezing her arm against his side. “Yes, I know, my dear. I fancy, however, that I have born the burden of—er—parental duty with considerably more fortitude than has Sir Lionel!”

    “He did look somewhat heated,” said Christabel in a stifled voice.

    “¡Sí, sí!” gasped Paul. “The food, however was a great inspiration!”

    “It always is,” said Miss Maddern placidly.

    There was a short pause.

    “Christa, why did you not warn me to take a picknick?” said Paul in amaze.

    “Well, I—” Miss Maddern was very red. “I suppose— Well, for the one thing, I did not wish to—to impose my views on you, my dear,” she said in a low voice.

    “But I would have been only too grateful—” He broke off, and stared at her. “And for the other thing?”

    She was silent, staring down at her feet.

    “You—you thought it was a stupid scheme and—and wished me to bear the full brunt of my foolish decision?” he said in a shaken voice.

    “I—when I came to think it over, I did think it was a mistake, and... I’m very sorry, Paul,” said Miss Maddern glumly. “I suppose there was an element of—of spite and—and resentment, because it was not I who—who had organized it… Oh! How petty!” she cried, clapping her hands to her cheeks in horror at herself.

    “Feet of clay, Christabel,” said Paul gravely, shaking his head.

    Miss Maddern gulped. “Pray forgive me,” she whispered.

    “¿Querida, you do not seriously think I am admonishing you?” he gasped, giving way to laughter.

    Miss Maddern stared at him blankly.

    “Oh! I’m sorry, my darling!” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “But you cannot imagine what a relief it is to find that you—you may descend on occasion to the level of us mere mortals! Luís and I were united in humble admiration of your behaviour over the decision to let the children come!”

    Miss Maddern pulled her hand away, very red. “What a lie!”

    “No, true!” he gasped. “He told me how much he admired you, whereupon I, deceived fellow that I was, expressed my gratification at having been allowed to participate in the decision!”

    “I—I think I was genuine at that moment,” faltered Miss Maddern. “It was just a little later that it dawned that—that it might not be entirely smooth going if—if they all went on such a long ride with a period of inactivity at the end of it.”

    Paul laughed again, and swept her into his arms. “Wicked woman,” he said in her ear.

    “Was it very dreadful?” she asked in a small voice.

    “Mm: horrible,” he said in her ear.

    “Oh, dear! I am truly sorry, Paul,” she said in a small voice.

    “Don’t apologize, it taught me a valuable lesson: stomachs first!” he said merrily.

    “Yes. –I wish you would be angry,” she admitted.

    Paul looked into her eyes. “Possibly you do. But then, I am not your papa, I think?”

    Abruptly Christabel turned scarlet and attempted to pull away from him. “No. I have been entirely petty and childish over it from beginning to end.”

    “Only a very little, my dearest. But if there should be a next occasion, perhaps you would allow me the benefit of your vast experience in such matters?”

    “Yes,” said Miss Maddern in a stifled voice. “Only pray do not—do not assume that I am telling you what you should do.”

    “I shan’t assume that,” he said calmly.

    “Many people would, I think,” she said dubiously. “And in such circumstances it is very hard not to assume a—a hectoring and superior tone.”

    “Hectoring and superior?” croaked Paul incredulously.

    “Yes.”

    “Dearest imbecile, you could not sound hectoring and superior if you tried for a thousand years!”

    “Please don’t joke about it, Paul. It is a—a habit which it is very easy to fall into, I fear. There are many examples of such women; you—you must be aware of it,” she said anxiously.

    “Lady Lavinia Dewesbury,” spotted Paul. “Also Mrs Purdue. Oh, and Mrs Knowles.”

    Christabel swallowed.

    “Querida, you are not in the least like those women. And the more we—we endeavour to share things equally between us—both burdens and knowledge,” said Paul with a lurking twinkle in his eye, “the less likelihood there will be of our developing into a couple like those: n’est-ce pas?”

    At this, to his intense gratification, Miss Maddern burst into tears and cast herself upon his chest. Possibly she had forgot his injunction that he was not her papa. But then, possibly he had, also.

    When she had recovered she said uncertainly: “Paul, this may sound silly, but did you—did you remark anything in Sir Edward’s manner to Hildy during the dinner at the Place?”

    “Well, not during it, no: a gentleman seated next Lady Lavinia would hardly have dared— Yes,” he said quickly: “later, when we were playing at lottery tickets, of course I noticed.”

    “No, well, I thought his attentions, though perhaps I am exaggerating, were more than those of—of an older gentleman who merely wished to be kind to a young lady.”

    “More than those of Sir Lionel Dewesbury to Amabel,” he noted drily. “Yes. But never fret, I shall not breathe a word of it to Tia Patty!”

    “I doubt you will need to,” said Miss Maddern in a hollow voice. “I chanced to overhear something she and Mrs Parkinson were saying that evening, just before the tea-tray.”

    “Mm. Well, my dearest, you know her better than I: would you say she was encouraging him in a flirtatious way?”

    “Yes,” gulped Miss Maddern. “Paul, he must be well over fifty! It is not to be thought of!” she said strongly.

    Paul eyed her drily. Evidently Tia Patty and Mrs Parkinson were already thinking of it.

    “What shall we do?” said Christabel faintly.

    “Nothing. For in the first place, it is not our business, and in the second place I would most strongly doubt that Sir Edward Jubb is a man to allow himself to think of such an entirely unsuitable union.” He paused. “Did I have that syntax correct, my dear?”

    “What?” said Christabel distractedly. “Oh! Yes, of course, my dear, your English is wholly excellent!”

    “In spite of the dagoish accent,” he said smoothly.

    “You cannot help— No!” she gasped.

    “True! Though at leatht I do not lithp ath Luís tendth to! No, well, we have always spoken Spanish at home for at least half the time. I also remember using German, and we have all spoken French for far longer than we have English. Indeed, until… I suppose it would have been well after Maria came along,” he said thoughtfully, “in fact until I was about ten or eleven years of age, we rarely spoke English at home. Then Harry decided we must all learn it properly. Well, if one was in doubt as to when his sympathies veered definitively to England’s side in the late conflict,” he said drily, “I suppose that must resolve it.”

    Miss Maddern gulped.

    “Mm,” said Paul, sliding an arm round her waist.

    “This will not do, you assured Mrs Parkinson that we were merely going to sit quietly,” she said in a stifled voice.

    “¡Querida, she is not that stupid!” he returned, rolling his eyes wildly.

    “Don’t do that,” she said weakly.

    “No, very well.” Paul hid his face in her neck instead. He waited, but she didn’t tell him not to do that.

    “I—I shall discourage Mamma from thinking of it,” she said eventually.

    “What?” Paul sat up straight, very flushed. “Oh! From thinking of Sir Edward and Hildy? Sí, sí, but let us hope her anxiety over Hildy’s health will be a distraction. And as for Hildy—if Tia Patty does send her to Bath perhaps that will help her to forget all about him,” he said comfortably.

    “Yes,” said Miss Maddern with a little sigh. “I do hope so.”

    “They are lovely,” said Hildy in a thread of a voice.

    Carolyn read out the card on the bouquet in congratulatory tones: “‘With best wishes for a speedy recovery, Edward Jubb.’ He brought them himself. He has called every day since you were taken sick, Hildy!”

    “They are from Mrs Urqhart’s gardens: I dare say it was all her idea,” said Hildy faintly, closing her eyes.

    Carolyn and Anna looked at each other in dismay as a tear crept down her cheek.

    “The influenza is said to make you terribly weak and weepy,” murmured Anna.

    “Yes, but— We did nothing to—to set her off!” hissed Carolyn.

    “No-o…” Anna looked dubiously down at Hildy.

    Carolyn swallowed. “I shall put them here, where you may admire them!” she said-in a bracing voice.

    Hildy did not respond.

    The girls looked at each other helplessly. Finally Anna said in a low voice: “Put them in that vase: it can do no harm, at all events.”

    Carolyn removed some overblown roses from a vase by Hildy’s bedside and replaced them with the colourful blooms from The Towers.

    “Shall we go away, Hildy?” said Anna in a low voice.

    Hildy turned her head to one side, her eyes still closed. Another tear slid down her cheek.

    Anna looked at Carolyn for help.

    Carolyn stood first on one leg, then the other. Dezzie, having declared herself to be desperately in need of fresh air, had gone out for a long walk not half an hour since, Lady Lavinia and Susan had driven in to Ditterminster to call on the Dean’s wife, and Mrs Maddern, since Hildy had seemed so very much better this morning, had gone home to the Manor, though with assurances that she would visit tomorrow, of course. And that very soon Hildy would be strong enough to go home, too! Hildy had not reacted in any way to that statement but Mrs Maddern had blamed it on the weakness consequent upon her fever.

    “Um—I do not think we should leave her, Anna,” she said finally.

    “No.” Anna looked at Hildy in indecision. Finally, very cautiously, she took the pale, thin little hand in her own small, plump, warm one. Hildy did not say anything or open her eyes and, indeed, more tears slid slowly down her cheeks, but Anna felt her hand tighten on her own, and nodded composedly at Carolyn. Looking relieved, Carolyn sat down, too.

    The curtains were half drawn, and with a fire in the grate the room was very warm, and Carolyn and Anna, by the time Hildy was seen to be definitely asleep, had very nearly nodded off themselves.

    “Shall we go?” breathed Carolyn.

    Anna smiled. “I cannot, she is holding my hand in her sleep. But you go,” she whispered.

    Carolyn dithered, but finally went: after all, if anyone should call, there was no-one downstairs to receive them, for the gentlemen had all ridden out early, on the pretext of inspecting Giles’s preserves, and had not returned. Carolyn was rapidly coming to the conclusion that this was typical of gentlemen—her experience, of course, having hitherto not ranged much beyond her doating Papa—and was in a state of considerable disillusion with them. So much so that she did not really care who might come to call, and decided that her crumpled blue print gown was good enough for them. So there!

    In her favourite little sitting-room she was soon joined by Rommie, who reported that it was very boring in the nursery and asked if she would like to hear her sing. Carolyn let her, after all she could always not listen. And there was nothing else to do.

    Rommie had almost exhausted her repertoire and had suggested three times that it must surely be an appropriate time for a tray of tea—though the clock on the mantel had three times assured Carolyn it was not—when William entered. Mr Ainsley, Mr Luís Ainsley and Mr Charleson had called to see how Miss Hildegarde did. His voice was expressionless, but this did not mean that either Carolyn or Rommie for a moment thought that he believed it appropriate to show these young gentlemen into a room occupied only by two young ladies.

    “You had best show them in, William, as they have called to enquire after their relation,” said Carolyn superbly.

    “Very good, Miss Carolyn. Should you care for tea and cakes?”

    “Yes!” cried Rommie, forgetting herself.

    “Er—well, his Lordship did say he would be back…. I may ring for it a little later, William, we shall wait and see if he returns,” said Carolyn, still superb.

    “Certainly, Miss Carolyn.” William bowed, and withdrew.

    “I wish I could do that!” gasped Rommie enviously.

    Carolyn smiled graciously. “It is just a trick, my dear, you will very soon pick it up when you have to do it for yourself.”

    “Ye-es... Shall I go away?” she hissed.

    The superb Carolyn had a moment’s sheer panic. “No, don’t!” she gasped.

    Rommie looked at her uncertainly. “Grandmamma doesn’t like me to be in the sitting-room unless sent for,” she explained.

    “Oh!”—M. Girardon, needless to state, was much more flexible on the matter, and indeed, Anne Girardon very nearly as much.—“Well, consider yourself sent for!” she said with a giggle.

    Rommie smiled, but nevertheless looked down at her very ordinary brown print dress nervously, and smoothed it, and hoped very much that no-one would remark the fact that her apron was crumpled and grubby.

    “Take your apron off!” hissed Carolyn. “Vite, vite!”

    Rommie tore it off, and Carolyn stuffed it behind a cushion and rose smoothly. “Mr Ainsley, how very good of you to call.”

    Rommie stumbled to her feet in a numbed sort of way, goggling at her in huge admiration.

    The gentlemen had not come empty-handed. Paul had merely a small, neat posy, but Mr Charleson had brought both an huge bunch of flowers from his mamma’s beautiful garden and a basket of choice fruits. He explained, with a blush, that their succession houses were doing so well, and the orchard, which was in a very sheltered position, surprising well, considering the weather, and—and Mamma had insisted and he hoped Miss Girardon would not think it an impertinence?

    Carolyn goggled at him, but recollected she was the sister of a marquis, and made a quick recover, accepting the offering graciously on Hildy’s behalf and assuring the blushing Mr Charleson mendaciously that they had nothing half so fine in their hot-houses.

    Luís Ainsley also had a basket. It was, however, closed.

    Carolyn looked at it with interest but as he did not speak, was too well-mannered to enquire. Rommie also looked at it with interest, but as Carolyn did not ask, did not venture to, either.

    “Mon cher, you have forgot your basket!” said Paul with a laugh, as Mlle Girardon invited the gentlemen to be seated.

    “Eh? Oh, by Jove! Must have gone to sleep—been mewin’ its head off all the way over!” he said with a laugh. “Belongs to the stable cat, and I dare say it’s as wild as they come, but Floss would have it that it was just what Hildy needs to cheer her up!” he said to Carolyn, smiling.

    “Oh!” cried Rommie excitedly.

    “A kitten?” cried Carolyn.

    Luis peeped into the basket. “Mm—little black fellow. See? He is asleep.”

    The two girls peeped and were duly enchanted: he was black and, though obviously not a very young kitten, very fluffy; and some hand had put a red bow round his neck. Luís closed the basket up hastily. “Think we might name him Diablo,” he noted.

    “We do not intend foisting a wild kitten on the household, Mlle Girardon, rest assured,” said Paul, smiling. “However, we thought there could be no objection to Hildy’s being shown it.”

    “Floss started to bawl,” elaborated Mr Luís.

    “I see,” said Carolyn with a smile.

    “She was upset because of yesterday, I expect,” said Rommie wisely.

    “What happened yesterday?” asked Mr Charleson simply.

    “Floss and the others came over to see Hildy, but she was very weak, and cried,” returned Rommie with equal simplicity.

    “Oh, I say!” he exclaimed in sympathetic horror. “That’s no good!”

    “One is like that when recovering from the influenza,” said Rommie calmly. “But she ate an egg this morning. Poached.”

    “Ah. Good sign, eh?” he said.

    Rommie nodded seriously. “Yes.”

    “Can’t stand ‘em poached, meself,” he said.

    “Nor can I!” she cried.

    “No, but they are very suitable for an invalid,” said Carolyn on a firm note.

    “Well, it is excellent news that she is taking nourishment,” said Paul.

    “Yes: Aunt Lavinia is very pleased with her progress,” Carolyn assured him, ringing the bell.

    Rommie eyed her hopefully, but when William appeared all she said was: “William, would you find out whether Miss Hildy is still sleeping, please?”

    William duly bowed and withdrew.

    “The Place has many more footmen than Papa’s house, but William usually looks after this room,” Miss Naseby then informed the company.

    “Oh, aye? Bulgy-eyed Gregory generally does our little downstairs sitting-room,” responded Luís.

    “Does he? Uncle Giles is generally served by John. He called him a dolt one day, but that was when he had his cold,” revealed Miss Naseby.

    “That right?” Luís looked desperately at Paul.

    “A bad cold may put any gentleman out of sorts,” he said gravely.

    Rommie nodded. “Papa was cross as a bear when he had it.”

    “Yes, but we are all better now,” said Carolyn desperately. “Giles and the other gentlemen have ridden out, Mr Ainsley,” she explained. “He—he was intending to be back by now, but... Well, they went to look at the preserves, I think.”

    “Indeed? We did not come that way, though I fancied I heard shots in the distance,” he said politely.

    “Poachers in your preserves,” noted Luís.

    “Not in broad daylight,” said Mr Charleson seriously.

    “No,” agreed Paul without a tremor. “Well, Jake and I are doing our best,” he said to his brother. “But we cannot see to everything at once, querido.”

    “You could help,” noted Mr Charleson.

    “Er—sí, only I don’t know anything about preserves,” admitted Luís.

    “Oh. Um—well, dare say I might give you a few hints. We have a few pheasants, y’know. Only Mamma don’t encourage it,” he said gloomily.

    “But—” Rommie blushed and broke off.

    “What?” said Mr Charleson simply.

    “Nothing!” she gasped.

    “I think she was about to say that in general ladies do not take much interest in that sort of thing,” said Paul smoothly. Rommie nodded, looking at him nervously. “But when you are of age, of course that will all change!” he said bracingly to Mr Charleson.

    Eric looked dubious. “Aye...”

    “My papa does not have preserves at all. But he does keep ducks: he is very interested in domestic poultry,” said Carolyn calmly.

    Eric’s eye brightened. “Ah! Now! Ducks! If you should happen to be down here over the colder months, you know, I can show you the best places,” he said to Luís and Paul.

    “You’re very kind, Charleson—but I abhor lurking in the reeds with my feet in icy water,” responded Paul.

    “No, no, no, dear fellow! Well, I don’t know how it may be done on the Continent,” he admitted, “but hereabouts, one gets out in a flat-bottomed boat, y’know—with a decent dog! Which reminds me, I can put you in the way of a very decent retriever pup or two.”

    “That’s very good of you, Eric: we shall certainly need some dogs,” replied Paul.

    Here Luís nodded enthusiastically, and Rommie, who was rather more interested in the livestock present here and now, looked wistfully at his basket, which had emitted a mew.

    “Oh, I have been meaning to ask,” Paul added: “is there a local hunt?”

    “Aye: old Purdue is M.F.H.,” he said glumly.

    “No, no, it is Sir Clinton Gerrity!” cried Rommie in astonishment.

    Eric shook his head. “No. Not over our way—that’s the Upper Daynesfold hunt,” he explained to Paul. “I do get out with ’em, sometimes: old Gerrity gives you a damn’ good run, in general. But Purdue—” He shook his head glumly. “Will have it he knows it all, y’see,” he explained.

    “And don’t he?” asked Rommie in fascination.

    Eric shook his head. “Nary an idea. Don’t think he ever set foot in the countryside before he built that monstrosity.” There was a slight pause. “Mamma calls it a monstrosity; dare say it may be all right,” he said sheepishly.

    “‘Swamp House’,” quoted Rommie thoughtfully to herself.

    “Eh?”

    “Hush, Rommie,” said Carolyn. “It—it is a silly joke of my brother’s, Mr Charleson: I beg you will not regard it.”

    “Calls it that, do he? Well, it’s a better name for it than Dittersford House!” he said with feeling. “For the one thing, it’s five miles from Dittersford if a yard, and for another, it dashed well is in a swamp! –Worse than our place,” he added by the by.

    Carolyn shot Rommie a pleading look, but there was no need: Rommie, as was not unusual for one of her age, was looking overcome at the incautious speech she had already been betrayed into.

    William returned at that moment to announce that Miss Hildy was still sleeping but that Miss Anna had suggested that her cousins might care to peep in on her.

    “William,” said Carolyn, turning very red: “would that be acceptable, do you suppose?”

    Concealing his gratification, William bowed gravely. “Quite acceptable, Miss Carolyn. Miss Anna will remain with her. Should you care for me to conduct Mr Ainsley and Mr Luís upstairs?”

    “Yes, thank you very much,” she said in relief. “Oh, and please take Mr Charleson’s basket and his flowers.”

    Mr Charleson resigned these offerings thankfully. “Wouldn’t do for me to go up, y’know, Miss Girardon,” he said awkwardly. “Mamma would say it was not the thing.”

    “That is what Papa said when I said if he was so concerned about Hildy, why did he not look in on her,” agreed Rommie on a scornful note. “But Uncle Giles said it was fustian, and if he did not scruple to look in, why the deuce should not Papa?”

    Paul had risen, but now he paused, with an arrested look in his eye. “So Lord Rockingham has looked in on her?”

    “Yes, many times,” said Rommie serenely. “Every morning, when he gets up, and always before he retires.”

    “How do you know that?” said Carolyn numbly.

    “Dezzie told me. May I go up, too, Carolyn?

    Carolyn did not even need William’s assuming the expression of a well-cooked turbot to realise that this would be quite ineligible, in that it would leave herself and Mr Charleson alone in the little sitting-room. “No, Rommie, it is the turn of Hildy’s relatives. You may stay here with me.”

    As the footman opened the door of the blue bedroom with great precautions, Paul heard his brother take a deep breath. He smiled a little, patted him gently on the shoulder, nodded to William and stepped in. Luís took another audible breath, and followed him.

    Hildy was still asleep, still holding Anna’s hand. Anna had looked up when the door opened: she smiled and nodded, but did not speak.

    William gestured to the two chairs by the side of the bed.

    Paul nodded. “We shall not stay long,” he murmured.

    The footman bowed, and, setting his burdens on a table, withdrew silently.

    The brothers sat down, Paul meantime registering with tremendous interest that on seeing little Anna tenderly holding their cousin’s hand as she slept, Luís had gone bright red. Well! What a promising sign!

    They watched silently. After a few moments Anna breathed: “She has been asleep a while.”

    Paul nodded.

    “What lovely flowers,” she whispered.

    He nodded again and smiled, and Luís said hoarsely: “I have a cat here.”

    Anna looked at his basket in surprize, but nodded.

    “The children would have me bring it,” he muttered, very red.

    Anna nodded at him encouragingly: Paul could not help thinking that it was just the motion of a plump little pigeon!

    After a few more moments Luís’s basket rocked violently and the little cat began to mew loudly. Luís bit his lip and looked helplessly at Paul.

    Hildy stirred a little, and muttered.

    “Ssh!” hissed Luís desperately, bring his face very near to the basket.

    “It is all right, Mr Ainsley: she has been asleep for the better part of the afternoon,” said Anna in a low voice.

    At this Hildy opened her eyes groggily, saying: “Mrs Spofford.”

    “That is the cat at her home,” said Paul calmly. “Hullo, Hildy, mi querida; how are you?”

    “Paul,” said Hildy fuzzily.

    “Sí. And Luís.”

    “Hullo, Luís. It was nice of you to come,” said Hildy in a tiny voice.

   Paul was horrified at how weak she sounded, but he said, raising a chuckle: “He is not afraid of infection, you know!” He clapped Luis on the shoulder.

    “Stout fellow,” said Hildy faintly.

    “¡Sí!” agreed Paul with a grin.

    “It’s so nice to see you both, Paul,” she said, tears starting to her eyes.

    “Sí, sí, and you, my dear. But it is nothing to cry for,” he said gently.

    “No,” she agreed faintly. “Silly.”

    Paul took the hand that was nearest him. “Luís has brought you a little cat. It was Floss’s idea. We thought you might like him for your very own, though of course we would not ask your kind hosts to have it here!” he said with a smiling glance at Anna.

    “A cat? I thought... I had a dream about Mrs Spofford and she was going away from me, and though I called she would not look round,” said Hildy, beginning to cry.

    “Sí, sí, querida,” replied Paul soothingly, “but this is the naughty old fever, making you cry.”

    Silently Anna handed him a clean handkerchief, and he mopped Hildy’s cheeks gently. “Now, let me help you to sit up a little, Hildy,” he said.

    Anna watched in some amaze as Mr Ainsley then put an arm behind his cousin and, entirely sans façon, assisted her to sit up in her bed. He pulled up the covers  gently and said: “Now, take a peep in the basket. Careful: he is rather wild!”

    Hildy peeped. “Oh!” she gasped as two cross yellow eyes glared out of the bundle of black fur.

    “Is he awake?” asked Paul.

    “Yes,” she said in that weak little voice.

    “Had the Devil of job to catch him,” revealed Luís.

    “Did you, Luís?”  she replied, trying to hold the basket still.

    Paul put his hand hurriedly on the lid. “Fasten the catch, imbecile!” he said to his brother in Spanish. “Er—yes, Hildy: Luís caught him. Which explains the horrid scratches on his hand,” he added, as Luís fastened the basket.

    “Diablo, we thought his name could be,” acknowledged Luís, grimacing.

    “Mr Ainsley, have you had anything on that scratch?” gasped Anna in horror.

    Luís turned to her with a smile. “Oh, Lord, yes, thanks, Miss Hobbs! I think I have had every lotion in the house on it, to say truth!”

    “They are like that,” said Hildy faintly.

    “Aye, are they not! Well, do you like him, Cousin? There are three others, but Floss would have it this was the prettiest. Not to say the liveliest. But we need not take any notice of her, you know!” said Luís with a laugh.

    “I love him, he’s beautiful,” said Hildy. A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away with her hand and whispered: “It was lovely in you to catch him for me, Luís.”

    Luís turned puce with gratification and choked: “Oh, I say! It wath nothing!”

    “And I think Diablo is a perfect name,” said Hildy with a weak little smile, leaning her head back against her pillows. Her hands fell limply from the basket: Paul picked it up without remark.

    “Aye. Well, we’ll take him home again, but he can be yours. Floss assures me she can tame him,” Luís said on a dubious note.

    “Yes, she’s very good with cats,” whispered Hildy, sniffing.

    “Sí,” agreed Paul. “And you will soon be well enough to come home and help to tame him, querida.”

    Hildy did not respond. Her eyes were closed.

    “Dr Mitchell thinks, at the end of the week,” said Anna.

    “Splendid!” said Paul on a bracing note. “Well, everyone sends loving messages, Hildy, my dear, but I can see you are tired, so I will not go into details. But I must just mention that John Pringle has asked me to report that a small cactus plant has burst forth with a large bright red flower this very morning!”

    Hildy opened her eyes in amazement.

    “¡Sí, sí! And no-one was more surprized than Amabel!” he choked.

    She smiled weakly. “I knew it was a lie,” she said faintly.

    “When she told John Pringle she was sure the things would flower? ¡Sí, and I!”

    “I wish I could see it.”

    “Well, querida, we would have brought it, if only to prove that our story was not apocryphal,” he said smoothly.—Hildy chuckled weakly.—“Only Luís did not think he could manage it along with Diablo’s basket! But if another should flower—though mind you I do not anticipate it—I promise I shall bring it,” finished Paul, twinkling at her.

    Hildy leaned back on her pillows once more. “That would be nice.” Suddenly another tear slid down her cheek.

    “What is it, sweetheart?” said Paul, taking her hand again.

    “Nothing. I can’t stop,” she said faintly.

    He squeezed her hand comfortingly. “I know. It’s the horrid influenth—influenza, making you weak. We shall take ourselves off, we must not tire you.”

    Luís got up hurriedly. “Aye. Don’t cry, Hildy, everyone is thinking of you,” he said awkwardly.

    “We shall come again very soon,” Paul assured her.

    Hildy smiled very, very faintly, with her eyes shut.

    “I shall see you out,” said Anna in a low voice. In the passage she said simply: “She is very weak.”

    “Sí,” said Luís, suddenly getting his handkerchief out and turning away from them.

    “Don’t, dear old lad,” said Paul, touching his arm. “It is very typical of the influenza.”

    “Yes, indeed,” said Anna anxiously. “You would not think it, for she is the strongest creature, but when Mamma had it two years back, she was just the same.”

    Luís blew his nose loudly and turned round. “Really?”

    “Yes, really!” said Anna, nodding and smiling anxiously.

    “I’m glad. Well, not that Lady Dezzie had it, of course!” he said with a sheepish smile.

    “No, no: I understand,” said Anna, nodding sympathetically.

    Pigeon! thought Paul. “Is it true that the doctor thinks she will be strong enough to come home at the end of the week?” he asked, walking towards the stairs.

    “Well, if it is a very fine day, and if she makes good progress,” Anna admitted.

    “But then she is not doing so well?” cried Luís in horror.

    “No, no, Mr Luís! She is recovering very well, but Dr Mitchell says she needs plenty of rest. He thinks her Season in London may have tired her unduly.”

    Luís had gone very white. “Poor little thing.”

    Paul took his arm firmly. “Sí. She was too young, I do not mean in years, but emotionally, to be suddenly plunged into Society. She mentioned to me once that she had never so much as slept a night out of her own house, before I removed them all bodily to London. –That may not seem such a great thing,” he added a trifle awkwardly to Anna’s sympathetic round face, “but Hildy is such a sensitive little soul.”

    Anna nodded understandingly.

    This time Paul did not raise even a mental smile at the pigeon-like little plump thing. “I wish— Well, it is too late to repine, but had I thought more about what I was doing, I think I might have done things a little differently,” he concluded ruefully.

    The three young men encountered Lady Desdemona returning from her walk as they headed down the drive for home, and Paul, letting the others ride slowly on, was very glad of the opportunity to question her privately.

    Dezzie concurred in Dr Mitchell’s opinion. “Girl needs a good rest,” she said gruffly. “Had enough of all this débutante nonsense to last her for several lifetimes, if you ask me. Not that sort.”

    “We had thought she might like to go to Bath to visit with our friend Mrs Parkinson’s mamma, later in September.”

    “Might answer. Might not. Don’t strike me as the sort that cares for visiting round.”

    “No. –No, you are right, Lady Desdemona,” he said with his flashing smile—Dezzie blinked a little—“she needs her own home and her Mrs Spofford on her bed.”

    “That a cat with a spotted belly?”—Paul nodded.—“Aye, she has been muttering about her. Well, I’d send her home, if she was mine.”

    Paul held out his hand. “I shall,” he said with determination. “Thank you very much, Lady Desdemona.”

    “I’m no expert,” she warned.

    Instead of returning a conventional answer to this as she had expected, Paul replied with a twinkle in his dark eyes: “No, not on the usual simpering débutante, I can see that. But I think you might be an expert on sensitive girls who don’t care for rackety London Seasons, and would rather stay home with a book than attend the greatest squeaze of the year.”

    “Uh—yes. Never did care for parties,” she admitted gruffly.  “Well, goodbye then, Mr Ainsley. Come again.”

    “I shall,” he agreed. “Good afternoon, Lady Desdemona.”

   Dezzie went into the house looking thoughtful. “That Ainsley isn’t all bad,” she reported to the girls in the sitting-room.

    “No, indeed, he was so good with Hildy, I have just been telling them!” cried Anna. “I think I had best go up to her again.”

    “No, I’ll go: you have been with her all afternoon,” said Carolyn with sudden decision. “I haven’t rung for a tray of tea, yet, Dezzie, but it doesn’t look as if Giles is coming back for it after all.”

    “Never mind about him, I’m parched! Run on up, and if she’s asleep come back down for tea, Carolyn. And if you don’t come, we’ll send some up.”

    “Yes. Um,” said Carolyn, going over to the door.

    “Mm?” Her half-sister yawned.

    “Um—Mr Charleson was here,” she gulped.

    “Yes. Saw him.”

    “No, um…” Carolyn looked feebly at Rommie.

    “I was the chaperone, Dezzie!” she said proudly.

    “Mm? Oh. Good show.”

    Carolyn and Rommie looked weakly at each other.

    “I’ll go up, then,” said Carolyn.

    Dezzie yawned and stretched. “Yes.”

    Carolyn exchanged one last helpless glance with Rommie, and went. Going up the stairs slowly she told herself silently that she might have known—well, she had known, really: as a chaperone, Dezzie was hopeless! No, worse than hopeless, it sort of meant that—that you had to look to the conventions for yourself! This discovery gave a Carolyn a very odd feeling: she felt a lot older all at once. The possibility that Dezzie might have made a deliberate decision to let her take some responsibility for her own actions did not, of course, cross her mind.