The Widow Of Willow Court

28

The Widow Of Willow Court

    Mrs Urqhart looked with loathing at the card of invitation. “‘An evening party with cards to be held at Willow Court’: ugh,” she groaned.

     “I suppose you could always say you were indisposed,” said Johanna dubiously.

    Mrs Urqhart scowled. “That would not answer, for then Noël would go by himself! Well, with the Major, but he won’t be of no use, he can’t take his eyes from that silly little daughter of hers!”

    “Well, no,” owned Jo. “Is it not odd, that such a seemingly sensible and—and adult man should wish to fix his interest with Mop-Head Muzzie?”

    “No, acos they is all the same,” said Mrs Urqhart sourly.

    There was a pause.

    “What did you call her, me dear?” asked the old lady weakly.

    Jo swallowed. “I beg your pardon, Aunt Betsy. I’m afraid it is what Mr Hal Maddern calls her.”

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed faintly. “Aye, well, he is not as stupid as he looks, then.”

    Jo bit her lip. “Aunt Betsy, truly if you do not wish for it, I do not. I am sure it could do no harm if the gentlemen went alone for one evening.”

    “If that is what you thinks,” she said grimly, “then you is even greener than you looks.”

    “Oh,” said Jo, flushing up. “Well, I suppose I am.”

    Mrs Urqhart had been staring blindly out of her boudoir window. Now she turned round, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, me deary, Lord knows I didn’t mean to bite your head off, just acos dratted Noël has gone and fallen for a—a floozy in sheep’s clothing!”

    Johanna choked.

    Mrs Urqhart looked at her with a twinkle in her eye. “Words to that effect, at all events! I could say what I really think of her, only I don’t know as your pa would want you to hear! No, we shall go to this dratted dinner; after all we has said we will, and if we don’t she’ll suspect something, mark my words. Only thank the Lord we’ve decided to clear out on that tour of the watering places!”

    Lady Charleson had thought out her guest list most carefully. She had not invited the Marquis and his party: while she flattered herself that Noël Amory would not look twice at a silly little goose like Carolyn Girardon whilst she herself was in the room, she was not altogether sure about Susan Dewesbury, who was, after all, a well-bred young woman, attractive enough, and with a considerable portion. And there was the secondary consideration that if she invited Mlle Girardon—or Lady Desdemona’s daughter, though as she was not officially out, she might be ignored—it might form competition for Muzzie with the Major. As he apparently favoured Misses just out of the schoolroom.

    The rest of the younger people were of less account. It did not form part of her plans for that evening to have that minx, Miss Hildegarde Maddern, at her board, but she knew that Hildy was not accepting invitations after her bout of influenza, and although of course she included her in the invitation, she did not expect her to accept. And indeed, Hildy did not.

    Being far from blind, her Ladyship had long since discovered that the attraction for Cousin Liam at the Manor was Miss Amabel Maddern. Senseless, of course: the girl was portionless and a bore besides, but Liam never had had either sense nor taste, and if that was what he wanted, why not? With her present, Liam’s attention would be safely occupied for the evening.

    All was well in hand, then, for a swimmingly successful evening. However...

    “What is you doin’ here?” screamed Mrs Urqhart, dropping her ruby necklace as she was dressing for the event. “And get out of me room, you great lummox, I ain’t even dressed!”

    Ned trod across the thick Persian carpets, grinning, to drop a kiss on the solid shoulder that peeped from under her old-fashioned powdering-gown. “I took a fancy to pop down and see you before you take off for your watering spots.”

    “You took a fancy to see Hildy Maddern afore her ma spirits her off home, you mean!”

    “I would not be wholly averse to that, no,” he admitted with a rueful smile.

    Mrs Urqhart snorted. “Idiot. Well, we is a-goin’ out to dinner with the Widder, so you will have cold comfort tonight! Unless you actually fancies an evening alone with Bapsee and old Ranjit?” Bapsee here gave a loud giggle and her mistress added crossly: “That’ll be enough out of you! And pick up that necklace, where is your wits, woman?”

    Ned smiled, and said smoothly: “I am sure Bapsee and Ranjit would look after me splendidly, but I fancy if I accompany you Lady Charleson will not be too put out to have her table upset.”

    “How does you know that, pray? For all we know she may have invited the Dean of Ditterminster and his wife!”

    Ned choked.

    “Here,” she added, side-tracking herself: “your Jo calls her The Widder of Willer Court! Not bad, eh?”

    “Very euphonious. How is Jo?”

    “Bloomin’.” She eyed him warily.

    “And how is Mr Paul Ainsley?” he said smoothly.

     Mrs Urqhart choked. “Yes, no flies on you, Ned Jubb! No, well, like as not she won’t want another like him, in the end. Girls of that age is too young to know what they fancies,” she explained. “When she does fix her interest, he’ll be quite a different type. Well, look at me and Pumps! And my first love—well, when I was seventeen, and old enough to think serious about it,” she amended with a grin, “was a swaggering great captain of dragoons, six foot tall with shoulders to match! –Aye,” she said as her old friend choked, “you may laugh, but it proves me point!”

    “Yes. –You’re a good friend, Betsy,” he said with a smile.

    “Go along with you. –And stop standin’ there with yer mouth agape and get me DRESSED!” she shouted at Bapsee.

    “Yes, memsahib. If Sir Edward Sahib is going to dinners, must be getting readies, Betsy Begum.”

    Ned got up, grinning. “A man is not half hen-pecked in this house,” he remarked, going out. He fancied something hit the door after him, but it sounded like something soft, perhaps a cushion, so she was not really cross.

    “Well,” said Mrs Urqhart with a sigh to her faithful maid, “we shall see what we shall see, I suppose. Though knowing her,” she ended darkly, “she will no doubt have the pair of ’em dancin’ on a string, no trouble!”

    “Yes, Betsy Begum. She will think Sir Edward Sahib is best bets, he is old man with much moneys and no wife. Noël Baba is being too young for English mem like that one, Betsy Begum.”

    “By gad, there ain’t no flies on you, neither!” she said with feeling.

    “No, Betsy Begum. Also am not teaching grandmother to sucking egg—”

    “That’ll DO! And get me DRESSED!”

    Giggling, Bapsee proceeded to get her dressed.

    The truly superb manner in which Lady Charleson concealed her mixture of shock, gratification and discomfiture as the nabob turned up with the party from The Towers, graciously making him welcome, was perhaps not apparent to all, but the performance was scarcely wasted on Mrs Urqhart. Nor, indeed, on Sir Edward himself.

    Evangeline had spent many anxious hours pondering what to wear this evening, for on the one hand she wished Muzzie to shine with the Major, but on the other hand she did not wish to appear matronly in front of Noël Amory. She did wish to appear elegant, desirable and essentially ladylike in his eyes, however, so it was a great pity that she had very recently worn the grey chiffon, which would have been ideal. However, as Mrs Purdue would not be present to remark on how it always had suited her, she finally chose a gown which was not new but which she knew became her: a heavy dark blue silk, with a demi-train. It made her skin look very white. With it she wore her diamonds, dispensing with a wrap as she had none that matched it.

    The gown was very low-cut, though not of course indecent, and Mrs Urqhart, shooting a sideways glance at her escort, could not help reflecting crossly that it would serve the old dog right if she was to say: “Down, sir!” Which was not really fair, for he was merely reflecting at the time that the Widow of Willow Court could appear a lady, if she chose, and it was a pity she apparently did not possess a sapphire set, for dark sapphires would go well with that glowing blue. And anything else that might be happening, he was scarcely responsible for. Noël’s aunt noted grimly that he was in the same case, as the widow smiled into his eyes, then fluttered her lashes and allowed her lids to drop.

    Mrs Urqhart herself was impressive tonight in ruby velvet which set off her magnificent jewels to perfection, and, after Ned had gently removed the topaz brooch she had pinned to her bosom and the amethyst diadem she had originally had on her head, not to say persuaded her to dispense with an acid-green silk wrap lined with silver fox in favour of marmot lined with nothing more remarkable than a black taffety, in fact was almost ladylike. Little Mrs Sophia Goodbody, unremarkable in dove-grey silk, not yet being used to her, looked at her in some awe—though reflecting that those were some of the finest skins she had ever laid eyes on. And Evangeline looked at the magnificent rubies of the earrings and necklace being wasted against the wrinkled skin, and the wonderful furs that the old lady was letting trail on the carpet, and could have screamed for jealous rage.

    The original seating plan for the dinner had placed Mrs Urqhart near the foot of the table, with Mrs Goodbody next her. Evangeline now had the dubious pleasure of seeing the nabob inserting himself between them, and proceeding politely to devote himself to them for the entire dinner. She was aware, however, that the occasional glance from the azure eyes with their thickly curled lashes was flicked up the table in her own direction.

    The gentlemen did not linger long over their port and brandy. Though Major Grey and Sir Noël chatted politely enough with their young host about the sporting delights of the district it was plain to the amused Sir Ned that they were both burning to be off. Well, he wished the Major all the luck in the world, the little girl was not a bad little thing, and if he got her away from her mother before too many more moons had passed, she would no doubt make him a comfortable little wife.

    But as for Noël—! Even setting aside his own inclinations, Ned Jubb would have made a push to rescue him from a woman a good ten years his senior and with more than ten times his amount of cunning.

    He did not, however, proceed from this thought to outright condemnation of Evangeline Charleson. No, a woman’s lot was hard enough, and if the widow was out for what she could get, he could not blame her. But it would be a little hard on Noël to find himself tied up to that for life!

    Ned Jubb had few illusions, and he had no doubt that Noël, who was a handsome enough fellow and obviously a man who liked women and on whom sufficient women had smiled in the past, would be able to satisfy Evangeline Charleson’s physical demands. But he doubted that the young man’s purse was deep enough to satisfy her other demands. Or that she would be content after marriage with the tame sort of country life that was her lot at the moment and that Noël evidently envisaged for himself. No, she would demand a house in town, and would be forever nagging at him to—well, advance himself in some way or another: perhaps go into politics as her late husband had done. Noël Amory was a decent enough young fellow, but he did not strike the canny Ned Jubb as having any sort of ambition for himself. She would lead him a dog’s life—whilst very probably doing her best to beggar him at the same time. No, it would not do!

    Sir Ned went into the drawing-room quite determined to break it up.

    “I had thought,” smiled Evangeline, showing the gentlemen to seats, “that we would have a little music. Miss Amabel Maddern plays, I believe?”

    Amabel blushed and murmured: “Only a very little, Lady Charleson.”

    “Splendid! That would be most delightful, indeed! –Do you play, Miss Jubb?”

    “I play and sing, a little,” said Johanna on a resigned note.

    “Aye, and I have made her bring her music, for I said, did I not, me dear, that that is how an evening is spent in a lady’s house!” said Mrs Urqhart smartly.

    “Yes, indeed,” murmured Johanna, hoping she was not going to laugh: Mrs Urqhart had actually said, very bitterly: “Out o’ course she will start off all ladylike and namby-pamby; I dare say she will make you girls sing or play, or some such tame stuff; only then it will be out with the card table, and whilst she is a-tryin’ to fleece me at whist she will be rubbin’ feet under table with Noël, you can bet your last groat!”

    Amabel duly played a couple of little, simple pieces, Mr O’Flynn having eagerly volunteered to turn for her. Then Johanna sang a selection of short Scottish songs. No-one appeared to listen much. Mr Luís Ainsley very kindly turned for her, but he did not do it with nearly the eagerness with which Mr O’Flynn had turned for Amabel, and Jo was very tempted to tell him kindly not to bother.

    Lady Charleson, expressing her pleasure that Sir Edward had come to help make up her card tables, then proposed whist, and lottery tickets for the younger ones or those who did not fancy cards, for she knew—merry tinkle of silvery laughter—that dear Cousin Liam did not care for cards! Mr O’Flynn agreed in great relief that he didn’t, for he knew Evangeline was not above making him play if it suited her purpose, and hurried to help Muzzie set out the table for lottery tickets.

    As the whist proceeded, Mrs Urqhart found herself pretty glad after all that Ned had turned up: she doubted that, short of brutally breaking the party up and dragging her nephew off home, she could have done much to throw a rub in the widow’s way. Because Noël’s eyes were very bright, he laughed a lot, and really, putty in the woman’s hands would not have been putting it too strong! How did she do it? Mrs Urqhart, though crossly aware that Lady Charleson was doing it, could not quite see how. It was a matter of the turn of the head, the merest flick of a glance, the lowering of the lashes, the tone of voice. It was true she addressed him twice in the course of an hour in a bantering, humouring tone as “dear boy”, but Mrs Urqhart could see plain as plain that in the first place that was meant to spur him on, to make him see that if he wanted a woman like the Widder serious-like he had best pull his stockings up and start thinkin’ about the ring, and in the second place it was meant to reassure Ned that he didn’t have no real rival in a mere lad! Huh! Artful! Mrs Urqhart’s cheeks took on a flush which was not due to the heat in the room produced by the handsome log fire.

    Ned Jubb was fully appreciative of the widow’s performance, in fact it was fair to say he was deriving vast entertainment from the evening. But at the same time he was not immune to the intimate, caressing tone which she occasionally allowed to creep into her voice when she addressed him, the occasional hesitancy and the flicker of the lashes that accompanied it, or the pale, well-shaped bosom above the dark blue silk. Though he was pretty well immune to the deferential manner to an older and experienced man of the world in which she also indulged.

    At the lottery tickets table everything went splendidly, and the Major had to help Muzzie a lot, as she got very muddled, and Mr O’Flynn had to help Amabel not quite as much, but often enough for their hands to touch and for Amabel to tremble and look down. Even Luís and Johanna enjoyed themselves tolerably well. Though he would rather have been home leafing through some of Paul’s sporting papers and she would rather have been home with a good book.

    After about an hour’s play, Lady Charleson rose, as a game had come to an end, and wandered over to see how her little Puss was managing.

    Mrs Urqhart, casting her old friend a speaking look, said: “I is all hot and bothered, it must be the fire as Lady Charleson has lit.”

    Ned very nearly burst out laughing. He managed to say gravely: “Indeed, she expressed to me earlier her concern that you should not be cold in her house. Shall we take a little turn on the balcony, my dear? I fancy these long windows over here overlook the gardens.” He rose and gave her his arm, not neglecting to rescue the furs.

    On the balcony he made sure she had the furs securely round her, and said with a laugh in his voice: “Well?”

    “I could just scream!” said the old lady through her teeth.

    “Aye,” he replied vaguely. He wandered over to the edge of the balcony. “She must have made Sir William build on; I think this part of the house is newer than the rest.”

    “No, she never: it were done at the same time as that extension at the Manor, where they has their ballroom and the conservatory and what-not, and what that has to say to anything, Ned Jubb, I should like to know!”

    “Well, nothing... Except perhaps that I was wondering how much she ruled the man.”

    “She ruled him entire with a rod of iron: if you wasn’t blinded by that bosom of hers you would see that for yourself!” she retorted crossly.

    He laughed a little and said: “That dress certainly sets it off. She has a very fine skin, does she not?”

    Mrs Urqhart snorted.

    “Perhaps I could not expect you to appreciate it. She is quite a connoisseur’s piece, in her way. Pity she cannot afford to dress as well as she should.”

    “Yes, it’s a great pity she spends every groat she can wring out of her son’s lands on her back!”

    “Mm. –The diamonds are nothing very much. The drops in the ears are not bad, I suppose. That would have been the husband, no doubt?”

    “No doubt it would. And if you is linin’ up to take his place, then all I can say is, you is run mad, Ned Jubb, and never did I think to see the day!” declared the old lady with what sounded suspiciously like tears in her voice.

    Ned came to put an arm round her. “There, there, Betsy. Very few chances must have come her way in this rural backwater, you must concede that, and it is hardly to be wondered at that she is making the most of what is now on offer.”

    “Ned, she is a woman as is selfish to the bone!” she cried.

    “Vain, certainly, and a little greedy... Yes, I grant you she is selfish, but then possibly,” he said with a smile in his voice, “she has not yet met the man who can both master her and satisfy her.”

    “And you is electin’ yourself to the post! You has run mad!” she choked.

    “Not I, my dear. But I can see very clearly that she will not do for Noël: she would eat him up in a twelve-month, and the rest of his life would be an agony. Well, so would hers,” he added by the by.

    “Aye, well... But you do not have to sacrifice yourself, Ned!”

    “I have no intention of sacrificing myself. But you may rest assured that I do have every intention of preventing any sort of liaison between her and Amory. –What a pity it is that he and young Jo could not have hit it off.”

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed dolefully. She stared out across the dark gardens. After some time she said: “Well, what is you goin’ to do?”

    “For this evening? Well... I shall just be slightly proprietorial, I think. It will encourage her to think she has snared me, and Noël to see he hasn’t much hope there. And with luck, if she does think she has snared me, she’ll give him the cold shoulder.”

    “Ho, yes, she has been workin’ up to doin’ that!” she replied with immense sarcasm.

    Ned chuckled, but said: “Well, it don’t signify. Tomorrow I’ll ride over with a bunch of flowers from your hot-house.”

    “Aye, and so will he!” she retorted smartly.

    “Well, he will be out of luck, I can tell you: I have brought down a small token of my regard for her.”

    Mrs Urqhart replied on a very sour note indeed: “I thought we was agreed it was not small?”

    Ned promptly had a terrific wheezing fit all over Lady Charleson’s balcony. “No!” he gasped at last. “I could not help but bring that, you know!”

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed.

    “Just a pretty ornament for her drawing-room.”

    She groaned.

    “You are panicking unnecessarily, Betsy,” he said firmly, putting his arm around her again. “I know what I am about. And now, I think we had better go in, you must not catch cold.”

    “I ain’t cold, Pumps didn’t spend a maharajah’s ransom on these here furs for me to catch cold in ’em,” she returned frankly, nevertheless accompanying him inside.

     Meanwhile, Lady Charleson had returned to the whist table. Noël rose politely to assist her into her seat. He allowed his hands just to brush against the white shoulders. Then he sat down, saying with an assumption of ease, but looking deep into her eyes: “May I say how much that gown becomes you, Lady Charleson?”

    Evangeline’s lashes fluttered. “Dear boy—” she said on a breath.

    Noël swallowed. His foot just touched hers under the table. She responded with a fleeting pressure of her own, then immediately withdrew it. “May I call tomorrow?” he said in a low voice.

    Evangeline took a deep breath, which for once was not calculated, and said on a firm note, though in a very much lowered voice: “My dearest boy, you must know it will not do. Not in my situation.”

    Noël bit his lip.

    “Of course I would be glad to see you at any time in company, but anything else would be quite ineligible.”

    “I see,” he said, going very white.

    There was a short pause.

    Evangeline had been looking down at her hands. She raised her eyes very slowly and said: “I wish very much it could be otherwise.”

    “It could be!” he said eagerly, flushing up, and leaning forward.

    “I think not... I am a respectable widow, you know, my dear.”

    Sir Noël could hardly insist further. Added to which he felt in a confused way that the woman was driving him into a corner: did she expect a damned proposal over the card table, or what?

    “Of course,” he said politely.

    Evangeline was not, to say truth, unmoved—but it would not do. Wholly desirable though he was, she had no intention of throwing her cap over the windmill for him. And, though she was not in the habit of doubting herself, in this instance she did not feel she had very much hope of anything but an improper proposal. Her fists clenched for a moment, but she turned away, lifted her fan, and fanned her face with all the grace in the world.

    Ned carried out his promise—though to Mrs Urqhart it had felt more like a threat—to be slightly proprietorial, in fast it was more than slightly, it was distinctly perceptible, and Noël became progressively more silent, and the widow progressively gayer and more kittenish as the evening wore on. And ever more deferential to Sir Edward’s superior status as a sophisticated man of the world.

    Sir Ned was met at the door of Willow Court next day by a housemaid who looked as if she had been crying. She showed him into the drawing-room, however, so he would have thought it was something and nothing, had not the family been gathered in there, all very flushed and disturbed-looking. Evangeline had her vinaigrette in her hand, Muzzie looked as if she also had been crying, and Eric and the mild Mr O’Flynn were both looking angry.

    “I seem to have come at a time of domestic crisis,” said Ned, bowing. “I shall just leave this little package, dear lady, and withdraw.”

    “What? No,” she said distractedly, “of course you must not go. –Liam, set a chair for Sir Edward, pray!”

    Mr O’Flynn drew a chair forward and the company sat down.

    “Er—you must excuse us, sir,” said Eric awkwardly. “Mamma has lost another butler, you see.”

    “The man has been robbing us blind!” burst out Lady Charleson angrily.

    Muzzie sniffled. “And he has run off with Jane.”

    “Er—I see,” said Ned weakly.

    Lady Charleson abruptly burst into tears.

    “That is Muzzie’s maid,” explained Eric, eyeing his mother uneasily.

    “And he is a married man, and poor Jane, now she is ruined!” wailed Muzzie, suddenly bursting into tears, too.

    “I have offered,” said Mr O’Flynn in a low voice to Sir Edward, “to go after the rascal, and rescue the girl, only from what the housemaid has been persuaded to tell us, I—I fear she does not wish to be rescued. It is all most unfortunate.”

    “I shall nuh-never use that agency again!” hiccoughed Lady Charleson. “Each man they send is wuh-worse than the last!”

    Sir Ned reached into his pocket and produced his card-case. “If this is presented to my housekeeper,” he said in a lowered voice to Mr O’Flynn, “she will furnish the bearer with the direction of an excellent and most reliable agency. And now, I think I should not intrude further.”

    He made to leave but Lady Charleson wiped her eyes and said: “No—please.”

    “I shall call again tomorrow, if I may,” he said, smiling.

    “That—that would be most pleasant— Stay, I shall be out in the morning, but should you care to take tea with us in the afternoon, sir?”

    Sir Edward agreed he should, bowed, and firmly took his leave. Not laughing until he was actually on his horse, halfway down the drive.

    After a few moments Muzzie said: “I wonder what is in the box?”

    They all looked at the box.

    “Pity it ain’t a butler,” noted Eric glumly.

    “That is NOT FUNNY!” screamed his mother.

    “Sorry, Mamma.”

    “At least he did not leave until after the dinner party, Mamma,” said Muzzie consolingly.

    Lady Charleson’s jaw trembled but she said: “True. Well, I suppose it will allow me to save on wages.”

    “Yes, indeed,” agreed Mr O’Flynn, proffering his own clean handkerchief.

    She blew her nose and said angrily: “Not that it can signify, for there will be no more entertaining in the district, and I might as well be dead!”

    “They have not all gone yet, Mamma,” said Muzzie in a very small voice.

    “Very nearly. And the Major told me himself that he is to leave for his parents’ place tomorrow, and will not return before Christmas!” she said crossly.

    “Yes,” said Muzzie in a whisper, turning a brilliant scarlet and staring at her toes.

    Hastily Mr O’Flynn said: “Well, we all of us have responsibilities, I suppose. And was there not some mention of your spending a little time with the Greys in the New Year, Muzzie, my dear?”

    “Yes,” she whispered. “If—if his mamma should invite me.”

    “Why should she not, pray?” said her mother, lowering the handkerchief, and staring.

    “He might change his mind,” she whispered.

    “Nonsense!” said Lady Charleson angrily.

    Muzzie gulped, and was silent.

    “They have dashed good duck-shooting in that part of the country,” noted Eric thoughtfully.

    “Eric,” warned his mother dangerously, “if you say one more word about wildlife or—or game of any sort, I shall have strong hysterics!”

    Some of those present had thought she already had had, so Eric fell silent. No-one else ventured to speak, either.

    Finally Lady Charleson said in a dreary voice: “And now he thinks we are a harum-scarum, makeshift sort of family with—with no standards, and I am sure no-one could blame him.”

    “Who, Mamma?” asked Muzzie in bewilderment.

    “Sir Edward, are you BLIND?” she screamed.

    “Hush, Evangeline, my dear,” said Mr O’Flynn, urging the vinaigrette upon her again. “I am sure he thinks no such thing. These domestic—er—accidents happen in the best of families, after all.”

    “They do not! And I am sure his household is the best regulated in London, and I am very sure his housekeeper is a paragon! Whereas mine is worse than useless! And I am very sure the woman drinks,” she added, pouting. “She reeks of spirits!”

    “No, it’s that stuff she rubs on her gammy leg,” said Eric.

    “BE SILENT!” she screamed.

    “Uh—” Eric looked nervously towards the door.

    Mr O’Flynn nodded at him, and he edged out.

    “Muzzie, my dear,” he said firmly, “I think it would be an excellent idea if you were to ask them to get the pony-cart ready. You and I may take a little trip to the village and your Mamma may rest upon her bed.”

    “Yes, Uncky Cousin,” agreed Muzzie in huge relief. “That would be best.” She looked doubtfully at her mother but there was no reaction, so she hurried out.

    “Now he thinks I am a woman who cannot manage her household!” wailed Evangeline, suddenly throwing herself on Cousin Liam’s chest.

    Mr O’Flynn winced. But he patted her back and said with a flicker of humour: “Well, perhaps he does, my dear. But I don’t think he is a man with whom that sort of thing weighs very much: he strikes me as more than capable of running his household for himself.”

    There was an odd silence in the room.

    “Liam—” said Evangeline uncertainly.

    “Well, dear Cousin, one cannot but see that he much admires you!” he said, smiling.

    “Yes, but does he mean marriage?” she wailed, bursting into a fresh storm of tears. “Oh, I am so un-huh-huh-happy! I fear his intentions are luh-luh-less than honourable! Help me, Liam, what shall I do-o?”

    Mr O’Flynn wished he could sink through the floor. This was perfectly dreadful. Of course he had assumed the nabob’s intentions were honourable; oh, dear! Finally he said: “I think you must be exaggerating, my dear. He must perceive you are a respectable woman.”

    “Fool!” she cried angrily through the tears.

    Mr O’Flynn blenched.

    “Oh, get out! And send me my maid, where is the wretch?”‘ she cried.

    He rose thankfully. “I shall fetch her myself. And then you really must lie down, dear Cousin.”

    Lady Charleson cried into his handkerchief. Mr O’Flynn went out hurriedly.

    Evangeline continued to cry. After a while, however, she raised her head, sniffing, and looked speculatively at the parcel which Sir Edward had placed on a sideboard.

    … “Oh!” said Muzzie, some twenty minutes later, all of a flutter, as a large figure on horseback approached the pony-cart.

    Mr O’Flynn smiled. “I expect he is riding over to pay his respects before he leaves.”

    Major Grey rode closer, smiling.

    The exchange which followed was all that was polite. But at the end of it, neither of them was in any doubt that the Major meant to have Muzzie, and that an invitation from Mrs Grey would most certainly be forthcoming, for the New Year.

    Muzzie gazed dreamily over the ponies’ heads. “It is Fate!”

    Mr O’Flynn could not but conclude it was, indeed. Happy Fate. And said so. Without casting so much as a glance in the direction of the idea that it was also a happy fate for him, for after all the Major, back nearer the beginning of summer, had come into the country in pursuit of Miss Amabel Maddern.

    The following afternoon was merely chilly and overcast, but thunderclouds were gathering in the sitting-room of Willow Court. Lady Charleson crumpled the note and hurled it to the floor.

    “Mamma—” said Muzzie in a shrinking voice.

    “I do not believe a word of it!” she said through her teeth.

    Cautiously Eric retrieved the note. “Seems likely enough to me,” he ventured. Sir Edward had explained, with polite regrets, that he would not after all be able to call this afternoon: he had had an urgent message to return to London: it was feared one of the firm’s ships was lost at sea.

    “Nonsense! It is a ruse!” Evangeline burst into violent tears. “And he has nuh-not buh-breathed a word about my offer to buh-bring that girl out! I am the unhappiest woman in the world! Now they are buh-buh-both gone, and I have no-one! Oh, oh, oh!”

    She rushed out, ribbons and shawls trailing.

    Her children looked at each other uneasily.

    “Ring for the maid,” advised Eric glumly. “Burnt feathers.”

    “Yes,” said Muzzie with a sigh, ringing the bell. “I had no notion that Mamma cared for Sir Edward that much,” she said in a puzzled voice.

    “Nor I. Well, guessed she might have had her eye on him, but— No. Not to that extent.”

    “She has always said that the merchant class are all very well in their way, but... Though of course he is a ‘sir’, like dear Papa.”

    “Aye, but he weren’t a dashed India merchant!” he said with feeling.

    “No.”

    The housemaid came in, and Muzzie asked her to send her mother’s maid up to her.

    Then there was a short silence.

    “And who could she mean when she said they were both gone?” wondered Muzzle.

    Eric went very red, and coughed. His little sister looked up at him wonderingly.

    “Uh—dare say she might have fancied Noël Amory. –Nothing in it!” he ended hastily.

    “Sir Noël?” she said in a wondering little voice. “Why, he is the Major’s friend!”

    “Aye, well, like I said! Nothing in it!”

    “I expect she is—is just feeling a little lonely,” said Muzzie valiantly. “With dear Mrs Urqhart about to go off to take the waters, and the house-party at the Manor breaking up... It will be a little dull for her.”

    “Aye, and she never did manage to get an invitation to the Place,” he noted grimly.

    “No,” said Muzzie, swallowing.

    There was a short silence.

    “Er, Grey mentioned,” he said with a cough, “that I might care to— Well, keep you company, you know? Slaughter a few of his papa’s ducks for him, eh?”

    “Oh, lovely! Then I shall not have to make the journey alone!”

    “I wouldn’t dashed well have let you make the journey alone in any case!” he said, very offended.

    “Oh! Thank you, Eric dear!” Muzzie took his arm, and smiled at him.

    Eric beamed.

    “Oh, but poor Mamma! Then she will be truly alone!” she cried.

    “Er—mm. Won’t be for some months, yet. And only be for a few weeks at most, eh? Dare say she will not mind.”

    “No-o... Though there is very little to do in the garden, in the winter. She will be lonely, Eric.”

    “Very well, don’t go.”

    Muzzie went very pink. After a moment she admitted: “I do not think I could give it up.”

    Eric grinned. “No,” he said, giving her a bit of a squeeze. “Decent chap, Grey.”

    “I am so glad you like him!” she cried.

    “Come for a drive to the village, eh? Buy, er, well, a ribbon or something,” he suggested.

    “Ooh, yes! I should like that, Eric. I shall just get my bonnet and pelisse!” She rushed out.

    Normally it took his sister some time to prepare herself for an outing, but this time Eric didn’t think she’d dawdle.

    Sure enough, within ten minutes the children of Willow Court were bowling happily down the road in Eric’s curricle. Neither of them spared their mamma another thought. But then, perhaps she was not precisely deserving of another thought.