by Joan Smith
“As you wish. It will make a cozy blanket for my hounds.”
“Sir Hillary! You cannot mean to do that with it! It is much too fine, and brand new, too. If only I weren’t in mourning . . .”
“You don’t plan to mourn forever for an aunt you scarcely knew, I shouldn’t think, but it is up to you, of course.”
“It seems a terrible waste to make a dog’s blanket of it,” she admitted, and from the proprietary manner in which she snuggled into it, Hillary thought she had decided to keep it.
“You should wear brighter colors—when you are out of mourning, I mean. They suit you very well,” he said, admiring her fashion.
“I would love to,” she allowed shyly, “but I have three gowns already, and they are all dull colors, so I shan’t be wearing anything so bright as this for a long time.”
“Is three a magic number?” he asked.
“Of course. One for best—for Sundays and so on, and one for second best—for going to the village, and one for the evenings at home. Plus a couple of gowns for working in the schoolroom, of course,” she added.
“I see,” he replied, as though she were explaining some matter of which he was totally ignorant, though he had a good idea of the number of gowns belonging to his friends.
“Your mama has more than three gowns, I think.”
“Mama leads a different sort of a life from me. She is very sociable and has dozens of lovely gowns.”
“A Feigning Woman, in fact?” he teased.
“Sir Hillary! Have I induced you to have a look at good Bunyan’s book? Where else did you hear such a phrase?”
“Nowhere else. I have been scanning it, as you guessed, and I don’t think you have much in common with his Feigning Woman.”
“More than I like to consider. ‘Sin is very sweet to my flesh,’ as Hope says to Christian.”
“Idiot!” he laughed indulgently. “What sins can you possibly have committed?”
“It is a matter of coveting,” she explained. “I want all the good things of the world, and I want them now, like Passion, instead of waiting for them in the next world, like Patience.”
“There is nothing so demoralizing as an excess of Patience. Your friend Passion sounds much more interesting. If a little judicious coveting is your worst transgression, you are out of gunshot of the Devil. I see nothing sinful in a pretty young girl wanting a few gowns to show herself off to best advantage.”
“Show herself off! You see, you do think it bad, even if you are too polite to say so.”
“Not in the least. Only consider how fine God has decked out the peacock.”
“Well, but He didn’t deck the wren out so finely, did He?”
“No, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if He liked the peacock better. Everyone else does. Don’t strive to such a pitch of godliness that you have no human passions. No pride, covetousness, lust, anger—well, I forget the rest of ‘em but I daresay you don’t.”
“Gluttony, envy and sloth,” she reemed them off without a second’s hesitation. “No danger, I have them all. I think grandma is right, and I’m tainted in the blood.”
“Good God! What nonsense is this?”
“Or at least six of them,” she said, in a considering mood.
“Which one do you figure you’re lacking?” he asked with interest.
“Not the same one as you,” she replied enigmatically.
“But how intriguing, little Claudia. Have I managed to escape one? Tell me which. I made sure I had the whole lot.”
“I don’t think you’re a glutton,” she allowed.
“What a flattering tongue she has! And yourself?”
“It is time to begin our second game if we’re to finish before Gab and Loo get back.”
“We needn’t finish before they get back. I would much rather consider our many vices—and our single virtue apiece, since you say we have one. I lack gluttony, and as to you. Now let me see, you have admitted shamelessly to covetousness; you are an acknowledged glutton, proud as a queen I think, beneath that humble facade you wear . . .”
“And the greatest sloth in the world. I hate work.”
“Dear girl,” he said with a winning smile, “are we working our way around to finding your young body to be without a trace of lust?”
“Why should you think that? I am as lusty as anyone.”
“I was thinking more of lustful, as it is sins we are discussing.”
“What we were discussing actually was my single virtue, and the one I meant was pride. In spite of what you think of me, I am not proud in the least.”
He looked unconvinced, but admitted he was happy to hear it was only pride she was lacking. “I have enough of that one for both of us. And you have been making a shambles of my pride with your mastery of this curst chess game. There, I shall be white this time, and set this little horse out here for you to steal away on me. Come along, take it before I change my mind.”
She moved queen’s pawn and ignored his taunting. “Sir Hillary,” she said after a moment.
“Yes, darling?”
Her eyes narrowed at this term of endearment, or possibly contempt, though it had not quite the same tone as he used to her mama. “Were you serious when you said you thought I might be Loo’s abigail? You haven’t spoken to mama, or she would have said something to me. Do you think it a feasible plan?”
“Would you really like the job? She is a rare handful, you know.”
“I don’t doubt she is, but it would be such fun. The thing is, if you are serious, you ought to say something to mama now. My holidays are half over, and once I am back in Devonshire, there will be no getting away.”
“It is just a trifle early yet.”
“What difference can a few days make?”
“No difference, but still I must wait a little.”
“Is this just talk to amuse me? If so, it is cruel,” she said wistfully.
“Hush, Claudia. I’m thinking.”
“About my position?”
‘‘About your queen.”
This callous response set Claudia’s hackles up. “Talkative, of Prating Row. Did you come across him in your reading, Sir Hillary?”
“Shh!” He held up one shapely hand and quite ignored her question.
“He seems to be a pretty man. Notwithstanding his fine tongue, he is but a sorry fellow,” she quoted at him.
“Sorry.” He moved his queen sidewise at last. “Now what were you saying?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Don’t sulk. You said something about a sorry fellow, so you must have been talking about me. What was it?” he asked, diverting his mind from the game.
“I was just mentioning one of Bunyan’s characters.” They played on, but for Claudia the charm had gone out of the afternoon. He had no intention of making her Loo’s abigail. She would go back to Devonshire in a week, and resume teaching her cousins. Luane would stay at Swallowcourt till Sir Hillary allowed Gabriel to marry her, and that would be an end to the whole thing. The game dragged on for over an hour, with Claudia winning again. Shortly after its end, Miss Bliss rejoined them.
“Are the youngsters not back yet?” she asked.
“They were going to Maldon,” Hillary explained. “In the closed carriage it will take them all afternoon. We shan’t wait dinner for them. They can eat later if they don’t stop along the way.”
Miss Bliss nodded and looked at Claudia. “What a lovely shawl,” she said. “You didn’t have that on when we came, did you?”
“No, it was a little chilly, so Sir Hillary loaned it to me.”
Miss Bliss shot a quizzical glance at her host but didn’t press the matter. They went in to dinner, and during the meal Sir Hillary beguiled Claudia back into a good mood. She had never really believed she would be able to live with Luane. It was all nonsense, of course, and Sir Hillary must think her a fool to have taken his little joke seriously.
After dinner, Miss Bliss suggested they be getting
back to Swallowcourt. “I thought we might as well wait for Loo, and I could take you all back together,” Sir Hillary replied.
“Gabriel must have taken her home,” Claudia replied.
“I thought they would stop here. Well, it will be the curricle again then, ladies. Ready for the squeeze?”
They professed themselves ready, and when Claudia put on her pelisse, she laid the rose shawl aside and prepared to leave without it.
“You are forgetting your shawl,” Hillary reminded her.
She looked at Miss Bliss, feeling foolish to take it in front of her. “It belonged to Mrs. Thoreau,” she explained to the housekeeper.
“I’ve seen it on her,” Miss Bliss lied gamely.
“You are thinking of mama’s mauve shawl, Blissful,” Sir Hillary intervened. “I was telling Claudia earlier that mama never wore this one, for she thought it was too bright.”
“Yes, yes, I remember now, it was the mauve one I was thinking of. This would be the one you told me you had put away in a cedar chest.”
“Yes,” he said curtly and ushered them out the door before Claudia should enquire how it came to be sitting in the hall.
Though she did not make the enquiry, the fact occurred to her and its being untrue discovered by the simple expedient of sniffing it. Not a single fume of cedar was discerned. She felt she had been conned into accepting a gift under false pretenses and was pleased rather than offended.
When they reached Swallowcourt, Hillary said he would check to make sure Gab and Loo were there before stabling the curricle. He was informed by the shuffling butler that there hadn’t been a sign of them, and everyone was becoming worried as it was now dark.
“I’d better drive down the road and see if they’ve had an accident,” Hillary decided. “Will you like to come with me, Miss Milmont?”
She pointed out, “If there has been an accident, you will need all the space in your gig.”
“Very true. Always thinking ahead, like a good little chess player,” he replied. “I’ll be back to let you know what has happened. If that cloth-head of a Gab has broken my horses’ knees, you will want to have a bed ready for him. I’ll likely beat him to a pulp.”
Claudia went to her room to dispose of her rose shawl before mama should see it and ask questions. As she folded it with great care, she noticed a little white tag on the back. She saw it was the merchant’s ticket, and her eyes widened to see what a shocking sum Mrs. Thoreau—or someone—had paid for it. She sniffed again—not a trace of cedar aroma, and the ticket too looked very new. She wondered whether Sir Hillary had not bought it himself for the sole purpose of giving it to her. And if he had, why had he? It was a singular mark of attention, too, that he had asked her down to play chess with him—quite enough to turn a simple girl’s head, till she remembered how fond he was of the game. Yes, really he had not wanted to talk of a thing but the game, and it was only because she could play better than he that he asked her. But it was very odd about the shawl.
She went downstairs and found her mama and Jonathon seated in the Crimson Saloon playing cards. Miss Bliss had not returned belowstairs.
“Has any company come while I was away, mama?” Claudia asked, knowing her mother was on tiptoe for the arrival of Mr. Blandings.
“Not a soul, and I might as well have gone to Chanely with you as not,” her mother replied angrily.
“Who was you expecting?” Jonathon asked suspiciously.
“No one,” Mrs. Milmont snapped. “Why should I be expecting anyone?”
“Seemed to me you both sounded as though you expected somebody to be arriving.”
“No such a thing. It is only that Mr. Blandings knows I am here, and if he happened to be going to London from Marcyhurst, he might pop in to say ‘how do you do’,” Mrs. Milmont admitted. “Tell me, Claudia, what did you do all afternoon at Chanely?”
“We played chess.”
“Played chess!” her mother scolded. “Was there ever such a slow top as this girl. Such a fine opportunity to make yourself agreeable—not that Sir Hillary is not a good deal too old for you, of course—but there is no need to bore the man to distraction. What had you for dinner?”
Claudia enumerated a list of appetizing dishes that made Marcia wish more than ever she had joined her daughter for the feast.
“We had mutton again,” she complained. “We must do better than that, Jonathon, when we return Sir Hillary’s hospitality.”
“You forget he was here last night to dinner.”
“Don’t be a ninnyhammer,” Marcia said sharply. “It would do you no harm to be on terms with Sir Hillary. You will be looking to make a good marriage now that you are a man of property, and you might meet all the heiresses at his London mansion if you buttered him up a little. Now that you have this property, you are not so ineligible, for even if it is a shambles, no one need see what it looks like. If you nab a girl with a good dowry, you can bring the place to rights.”
This called to Jonathon’s mind that Miss Milmont had a fine dowry, of unspecified proportions. Luane wasn’t worth bothering about with her one little diamond, but someone had to get the load of blunt, and who was to say it wouldn’t be Miss Milmont. “Would you care to give mea game of chess, Miss Milmont?” he asked.
“I have already had two games today,” she pointed out.
“Dull old game anyway,” he replied, relieved. “Would you care to see how I’ve arranged Aunt Sophie’s room, now that I am moved into it?” he plunged on, having decided to amuse her in some manner.
She didn’t look much interested, and her mama playfully slapped him with her fingers, saying he was a naughty boy to be trying to lure little Claudia away alone with him. “Run along and have a look, Claudia,” she added, now that she had given Jonathon a hint that he was to be naughty. It was hard getting such an unwise daughter settled.
“Very well, but let’s hurry back,” Claudia said, “I want to be here when Sir Hillary brings the others back.”
They went upstairs, and she observed a room unchanged from the morning but for the captain’s brushes and personal paraphernalia decorating the dresser in place of Sophie’s, and his polished boots standing in the corner, instead of Sophie’s sewing basket.
“It’s very nice,” she said, but without much enthusiasm.
“I’ve moved the clothespress over a couple of feet, you see, to make room for this chair with the hanger built onto the back. Be dandy for hanging up my jacket at night. Saves rooting around in that big old clothespress. Found the chair in one of the guest suites. Always liked those chairs. Clever idea.”
“Very clever. Shall we go back down?”
“This room is really very fine,” he continued. It was the best furnished room in the house. “Pretty good window hangings, and a new curtain to the bed lately, I think. I like the golden satin cord draws on the window curtains. A touch of class, you know, that twisted satin.”
“It’s very elegant. You must be quite comfortable here. It is a pity the rest of the house is in such decay.”
“As to that, a couple of thousand would put it into shape. Your grandpa—does he live in a good style in Devonshire?”
“The house is fine, but grandpa is a bit of a skint with his money. He saves a great deal,” she replied.
Such tidings were music to Jonathon’s heart. The girl must be worth a bundle. “And you’ve lived with him like a daughter, as you might say?”
“Yes, I am considered a daughter, since he has none of his own. Grandpa and I are very close.”
“The devil, you say.” Every phrase she uttered raised her to a higher pinnacle of eligibility. “He will make some provision for you before he goes, no doubt.”
“Yes, some provision will be made for me,” she agreed, and thought it none of the captain’s business that the likeliest provision was for her to remain on with his son and his wife, as a teacher to their children.
He said no more as he piloted her back to the Crimson Saloon, but he kept a fi
rm hold on her elbow all the way down the stairs, as if afraid she might slip through his fingers. Still Sir Hillary had not returned.
“Wouldn’t surprise me too much if the pair of them had slipped off to tie the knot,” Jonathon said. Money and marriage were at the top of his own mind, and Gab might have thought a single diamond worth marrying.
Claudia stared at him in horrified fascination. “Do you mean they might be getting married?” she asked.
“Why not? She’s a devilish hurly-burly girl, been hot for Gab ever since she landed in here, and does just as she pleases with him, too. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”
“Mama, do you think it possible?” Claudia asked.
“Certainly not. We are all in mourning, and besides, Luane is a minor. They would require a special license.”
A commotion at the door diverted their attention. Claudia dashed to the hall to see the pair of miscreants, looking like two puppies caught with their paws in the bacon bowl, being led in by a scowling Sir Hillary.
“Thank God, you’re back!” Claudia shouted, running to her cousin and throwing her arms around her. “We were so worried about you! Jonathon thought you were run off to be married. What on earth happened to keep you so late?”
Luane looked sheepishly at her guardian, and said, “Nothing,” in a small voice.
“Well they might be ashamed to own up to their conduct,” Hillary said. “We shan’t regale the whole company with the tale, but I shall tell you before the others join us, Claudia, and you decide how much of it is fit for the others ears. They drove to Maldon and sold Aunt Sophie’s stuff . . .”
“Oh, and I got fifteen pounds, Cousin!” Loo inserted, rallying from her shame, “for they took the whole lot, the old black gowns and all, that I planned to give away. Only fancy that. And you should have sent your old cracked vase with me, for I daresay I could have got a guinea for it. I swear the fellow was a Johnny Trot, wasn’t he, Gab?”
“He hardly looked at the old clothes,” Gab reminded her. “It was the silver-chased traveling case and that little opal pendant on a golden chain that he gave you the money for. I didn’t know you meant to sell it. It was worth more than he gave you, I think.”