by Joan Smith
“That is not the way I interpreted it.”
“I shall ask Mr. Fletcher.”
“He will confirm what I’ve said. Till the year is up, the stone cannot be sold.”
“But it’s mine!” she shouted, stamping her foot and falling into a strong spasm of anger. “Why will you be so miserable and selfish?”
Thoreau looked bored and sat down. “There are other reasons about which you know nothing, brat, and I have no notion of enlightening you any further, so pray don’t pester me.”
“You’re just afraid Gabriel will marry me if I can get my hands on the ten thousand,” she charged.
“If he has a brain in his head, it would take more than ten thousand to induce him to marry a spoilt child like you.”
She fulminated and turned to Gabriel for a refutation of this charge. He was looking sheepish and replied, “He’s only funning, Loo.”
“Are you a man, Gabriel, or are you a boy?” she asked coldly. “Do you mean to let him insult me in this manner?”
“It’s no insult,” Gab parried.
“Oh! You hateful dog. You needn’t think I would marry you if I had a million pounds, and so I tell you to your silly face.”
“You could do better than this cawker if you had a million,” Thoreau agreed pleasantly. “But you haven’t; and you haven’t ten thousand, either. You have a diamond, which I am holding and shall continue to hold till the year is up.”
“Or till I marry! Well I will get married, so don’t think it! Don’t think I won’t, I mean,” she corrected angrily.
“Take a look in the mirror, hoyden,” Thoreau suggested. “Next time you come courting Gab, you might wash your face and run a comb through that mat of tangles. You look like something the cat dragged in.” With this uncompromising speech, he arose and sauntered towards the door. In the doorway he paused and turned around.
“Did Miss Milmont not come with you?” he asked.
“No,” she snapped, hurrying to the mirror, where she viewed a pink face with only a tiny smear of mud from her gloves under one eye, and a few wisps of black hair dislodged by her ride.
“Pity. She would have enjoyed this dramatic scene.” He smiled sardonically and left.
Gabriel’s first thought was to reinstate himself, and to this end he said, “I’ll be happy to take you to Billericay to sell Aunt Sophie’s stuff.”
It was a step in the right direction, but he had to be punished for not standing up for her, so she said, “Oh, Billericay! That is nothing. They wouldn’t give me a quarter what it’s worth there. I could drive the gig to Billericay myself. If you don’t mean to take me to Maldon, you might as well forget it.”
“Maldon then,” he allowed. “Will you stay to luncheon, and we’ll drive up to Swallowcourt afterwards to collect the junk?”
A repast at Chanely was always a welcome treat, and she agreed with great condescension to remain. At the table, Thoreau very largely ignored the pair of them, only nodding in agreement when Gabriel outlined his plan to drive Loo to Maldon, then adding, “You’d better take my curricle, or you’ll not be back before dark.”
“Yes,” Gabriel agreed readily, for he much preferred taking the reins of Sir Hillary’s grays to poking along in the closed carriage.
When they got to the stable, however, Loo recalled the size of the carton she had to transport, and recommended the closed coach instead. “I’d better ask uncle,” Gabriel said.
“What a child you are!” Loo scoffed. “He said you might take me, and he won’t want you pulling the springs of his curricle with huge boxes weighing a ton. The stable boys will tell him why we had to take the coach instead.”
He was already in too much disgrace to argue and was persuaded to take the carriage she recommended. Claudia saw the carriage pull up to the door of Swallowcourt a little later, and hopped up eagerly thinking it might contain Sir Hillary as well as the younger couple. She was let down to see only the two emerge, but still had some hopes she might be asked to join them for the trip. Her hopes were dashed immediately.
“Will you help me load Aunt Sophie’s boxes into the carriage?” Loo asked. “Gab is taking me to Maldon to sell the things.”
“To Maldon! How nice. You’ll have a lovely drive,” Claudia said, with a hopeful smile.
“Yes. You come upstairs, too, Gab,” Loo answered unthinkingly. “You can take the big box for the poor people. I’ll get a footboy to help you.”
They struggled with boxes, and as they were put into the coach instead of on top, which would have taken more time, there remained no room for Claudia. She waved them off and walked sadly back into the house. It was rather a fine day, she decided, looking out at the few rays of sun that still lingered, and she went for a pelisse to have a walk around the grounds. She had been out for perhaps a quarter of an hour when she saw Sir Hillary’s yellow curricle coming up the road and hurried her steps towards it in case he shouldn’t see her. She thought she must be quite out of shape, for her heart was beating dreadfully from her haste. Quite thumping in her breast, in fact. Her hustle was rewarded. Hillary saw her and drew rein.
“Taking the salubrious air, I see,” he said when she had approached him. “I made sure my coach had been stolen to make room for you on the trip to Maldon.”
“Stolen?” she asked. “You mean Gabriel took it without your permission? That was very bad of him.”
“Yes, but I reckon I know where to lay the blame. It was the brat’s idea. Will you hop up with me and I’ll drive you back to Swallowcourt?” He put down a hand and she was lifted up, with his help, to the seat of the curricle.
“What a wonderful view you get from here,” Claudia complimented him. The parks looked finer, the sun brighter, the whole world a changed place from this perch beside Sir Hillary.
“Yes, I made sure I was doing Gab a favor to lend him my open carriage. Now why the deuce did he go and take the closed coach?”
“It would be because of the boxes—two large crates and a little box of trinkets besides. It would not all have fitted into this little gig. Open carriage, I mean,” she corrected herself, feeling it might be an insult to call such a wonderful conveyance a ‘gig.’
“That’s the reason, I suppose, but he ought to have asked me. I might have wanted the coach myself. In fact, I did.”
“Are you going somewhere, too?” Claudia asked, fearing her afternoon was yet to prove a dull one.
“Only back to Chanely, but I hoped to take you and Miss Bliss with me. Mrs. Robinson is pining for a coze with her old crony. They usually get together once a week at my place or Swallowcourt for a good chin wag.”
“I’m glad. It must be lovely to have someone of your own age and interest to talk to once in a while.”
Hillary felt a familiar stab of pity for the forlorn creature at these words. “I make no claim to your green years,” he replied, “but I hope our mutual interest in chess will induce you to come back to Chanely with Miss Bliss and give me a game. We can all three squeeze into this gig for the short drive without too much discomfort, I think.”
Claudia noted with relief that he himself called his fine carriage a gig. “Oh, yes. Or I could walk if it’s too crowded,” she offered.
His pity was rapidly turning to anger at whoever had given this young girl such an opinion of herself, that she should walk, while a housekeeper and a man drove. “Nonsense,” he said gruffly.
They arrived at Swallowcourt to pick up Miss Bliss and were in some danger of having Marcia Milmont add her hefty frame to the overcrowded curricle, till she recalled that Mr. Blandings might arrive during her absence. The three managed to squeeze into the curricle without an excess of discomfort and executed the short drive down the hill to Chanely, while Sir Hillary entertained them with a description of Luane’s visit.
“Why don’t you sell the diamond for her?” Claudia asked, which he had rather feared she would. He gained a reprieve from replying by Miss Bliss’s intervention.
“I wouldn’t
do anything of the sort till the year is up,” she said firmly. “It may be Sophronia means to give Luane the rest of the necklace to go with her goose egg if she still has the big diamond. She’s a deep one, old Sophronia. Selling off the diamond might be just what she was afraid of. You are right to make her hold on to it, Sir Hillary.”
“That’s what I thought,” he agreed.
“She sounds positively wicked,” Claudia announced. “Trying to lead everyone’s life, and she isn’t even alive to see it.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I sometimes imagine I hear her cackle in the house yet,” Miss Bliss replied.
“You have a wild imagination, old girl,” Hillary laughed, though a little shiver ran up his spine as he remembered that strange echo in the graveyard, when Gab had managed to wrest the wooden coffin open and been confronted with the steel box inside.
Miss Bliss was taken to the housekeeper’s room for their weekly chat and dissipation of two glasses of very good sherry, and the chess board was set up in the main saloon for the others.
“Now,” Sir Hillary said, rubbing his hands and admiring the carved pieces, “I must keep a sharp eye on the plaguey bishops today, and make sure you don’t steal my little crown. Will you be white or black?”
“I am usually black. Grandpa likes to go first.”
“So did Sophie. You were black the last time. Be white this time.”
She agreed and moved her black knight forward first. Sir Hillary kept careful note of every move she made, hopeful of learning something, if he could not beat her. But Miss Milmont appeared to pay only a cursory attention to the game and was more interested in talking. “I have some good news for you, Sir Hillary. Luane has given up stealing the diamond necklace. We don’t mean to go digging up Aunt Sophie any more.”
“Sad news for you, little Claudia,” he replied, noting that her next move was to advance her white knight. “She mentioned it to me.”
“Well, aren’t you relieved? It bothered you no end when you thought we were going to go after the diamonds again.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his major interest clearly on the game. “Would you like some wine? Do have some of this Madeira. If I could manage to make you tipsy, I might beat you yet. Why did you advance your queen’s pawn?”
“Good gracious, I don’t know. You have to move something to get the game started, and that leaves me a nice long shoot to the right here for my black bishop, if your queen or somebody should wander unsuspectingly into my line of attack. Next I’ll move the king’s pawn and give the white bishop a clear field.”
“I see.” He noted this strategy, and warned himself to keep clear of her two curst bishops. He poured two glasses of Madeira, and they played on a while.
“I suspect we are leaving a clear field to Jonathon and mama and Mr. Blandings. Do you plan to stop them from taking the necklace?” Claudia asked.
“Purge your mind of diamonds if you can. We are going to relax this afternoon. My only immediate plan is to win this game.”
She advanced her knight and took a pawn. “This fellow is in my way,” she warned, and he was set to scouring the board with his eyes for attacking bishops and crowns.
“That was foolish of you, little Claudia. You are just exchanging my pawn for your own,” he said triumphantly, lifting her pawn from the board.
“I was hoping you would fall into that obvious trap,” she replied, scooting her queen forward and lifting his knight from the board.
“Damnation! It’s not fair for you to keep gabbling away to me and ruining my concentration.”
“You’re just like grandpa. He always grumbles, too, if I say a word while we’re playing this silly old game. You’d better not move that pawn you’re giving the eye, or you’ll put your own queen into check. And I shan’t warn you this time either.”
“You just have,” he said, pulling his hand away from the pawn.
“It’s not much fun once the crowns are gone. I should have you stymied within five minutes.”
“There is nothing so foul as a poor winner. A poor loser I can comprehend, but a poor winner is repugnant. There,” he said, moving his rook’s pawn. “I don’t think I can get myself into any trouble with this move.”
“No, nor me either, for I see you hope to take my black knight with that innocent looking little pawn. I am not such a flat as that. And if you try to take me with your horse, you are leaving your horse at my crown’s mercy, you see.”
“It is kind of you to point out all my likely errors, but I’d like to try my own skill, if you don’t mind. Drink your wine and get bosky.”
She sipped the Madeira, and finding it quite nice and sweet, she tipped the glass back and drained it.
“I didn’t mean you to take me literally, Claudia,” he said, smiling at her.
“Not little Claudia this time?”
“You are no longer a little girl, are you?”
“No, and I wonder that you keep calling me that odious name. It is a term of contempt, I think, like your calling mama darling.”
“It is nothing of the sort,” he argued, refilling her glass. “It is only that I have heard your mama call you ‘little Claudia’ for years past numbering—that is, for several years.”
“Ever since I was little, very likely,” she laughed. “Your bish . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She looked around the room, then back to the board, where he had put his bishop in front of her rook, so she whisked the bishop off on him.
He clenched his fists and howled. “How do you manage to chatter like a magpie and drink and still beat me all hollow? Now leave me alone, and let me concentrate.”
She sipped her wine with a smug smile on her face and in absolute silence slid her bishop sideways to pick up his knight.
“I don’t believe it! I saw that pest of a bishop not two seconds ago, and was determined he wouldn’t get me. What did I do wrong?”
“You moved that pawn; that has been all that stopped me from taking your horse these past three moves, for it would have taken me, till you moved it. I was going to warn you, but you asked me not to.”
“Ha! Well, I’ve got you this time, for my rook can move sideways as well as forwards, and I’ll just shoot him across here and have your bishop, since you think you’re so smart.”
“Oh dear! I like my bishops so much. I shall have to rush this pawn to the finish line and turn it into a bishop. There! Now I’ll have my bishop back, if you please.”
“I’m outclassed,” he said and drank his wine to revive him. “That is the simple fact of the matter. I’m outclassed by a green girl that doesn’t know the time of day.”
“You’ll pay for that piece of poor losing, Sir Hillary,” she vowed and turned her full attention to the board. “I’ll have your queen within four moves, and then it is but a moment to put you in check.”
“Fair speech, ma’am. We’ll see about that.”
“There’ll be no more fair speeches from me. I leave you to the mercy of your own stupidity.” On this condemnatory phrase she clamped her jaws shut and made good her boast of relieving him of his queen, in not four moves but three.
“There—now who is a greenhorn?” she asked in gloating accents.
He stared at the board in perplexity. “Shall we continue this uneven match to its inevitable conclusion, or shall I just admit defeat and start anew?”
“We’ll finish it! It is such fun when I see you can’t make a single move to save your king’s skin. Don’t rob me of my simple pleasures.”
The game was over shortly after this contretemps, and Sir Hillary firmly reassembled the pieces for another match, muttering to himself as he did so. “It’s the pawns I’m not paying enough attention to. It’s a mistake to underestimate the pawns.”
“The mistake is in underestimating the opponent, little Hillary,” she said smugly.
“Little Hillary!” he gasped.
“I observe you do not take the description as any complime
nt.”
“I am six feet tall!”
“It was more an intellectual description,” she admitted, laughing at him.
“I will beat you at this game, Claudia Milmont, if I have to move you into the house, bag and baggage, and bolt you to your chair to do it.”
“In that case, I think you must give us a fire. It is a trifle chilly in here, is it not?”
“Yes,” he said promptly with a smile. “That is, I am not chilly, and we won’t want a footman clattering round the grate, but I shall get you a shawl.”
“What are you doing with a lady’s shawl in the house?” she asked, rather impertinently.
“It is one of mama’s,” he replied, and shouted out the door for a footman to bring the new shawl that was on the parson’s bench in the hall.
“How convenient!” Claudia remarked, thinking it odd that his mama’s shawl should be so handy, when she had been dead for a number of years.
A very beautiful rose-colored shawl with a long fringe was brought in, and Sir Hillary arose to arrange it around his guest’s shoulders.
“How lovely!” she said, running her fingers over the soft wool. “It looks brand new. Your mama cannot have worn it much.”
“No.” He stood back to admire the effect. “She hardly wore it at all. She found it too bright after she had bought it and put it away. It is more suited to a young girl. In fact, you may as well keep it, for there is no use for it here.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? Do you dislike it because it belonged to a person who is now dead? The fact is, mama never had it on at all.”
“No, it isn’t that. I wear Aunt Harriet’s old blue shawl at home all the time, and she is dead, but it is not proper to take such a gift from a stranger.”
“A stranger?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Upon my word, I thought we had got past being strangers a long time ago.”
“Oh—acquaintance is what I meant, of course.”
“Connection is the word you are grasping for, Claudia, and it is quite unexceptionable to take a small gift from a connection.”
“Is it?” she asked doubtfully. “It is lovely, and I should like to have it, but I am in mourning, and it wouldn’t do, being such a nice shade of rose.”