by Carola Dunn
Harriet, blushing with pleasure, curtsied deeply and then held up her hand for silence. “Thank you all, but I shall not sing an encore. It is Mimi's turn now.”
As Mimi stood up, a footman placed a large embroidered cushion on the floor in front of the harpsichord. There was a murmur of curiosity from the audience. Then the butler appeared with a long, narrow, many-stringed instrument borne carefully in both hands. Mimi knelt on the cushion, and he handed it to her. It had a round sound box at one end, and a fretted neck that reached a foot or two above her head. Recognizing it, Simon racked his brain for the name.
The limpid, mellow tones as she tuned it reminded him: it was a sitar.
“I shall play an evening raga,” Mimi said, a faraway look in her eyes. “It is based on a song about the love of the god Krishna for the milkmaid Radha.”
Simon heard a hiss of indrawn breath and saw Mr. Lloyd lean toward Mr. Cooper, his round face red with indignation. His lips formed the words “heathen immorality.” Mr. Cooper shook his head.
Mimi's slender brown fingers rippled across the strings, calling forth a strange series of notes, an incomplete, unfamiliar scale. Mr. Blake, proponent of music as the pinnacle of Western civilization, frowned. Simon was sure he had already decided that Eastern music was by definition primitive. He was not going to make any effort to understand an idiom unknown to him.
Gerald, on the other hand, looked fascinated. Simon glanced around the rest of the audience, but already the shivering harmonies and complex rhythms were pulling him back in memory to sultry evenings spent wandering through the streets of Bombay. The lure of the mysterious East was strong in him. He should never have left the navy while there was so much of the world yet to be seen.
The last notes faded into silence. The listeners stirred uncertainly, applauded still more uncertainly. Simon went to help Mimi to her feet.
“That was too short,” he said.
She smiled. “After all, my purpose was to startle, not to bore them.”
Gerald came up to examine the sitar. He asked some technical question about the number of strings.
“I don't know, my lord,” Mimi confessed. “I just play it as a young English lady plays the harp or harpsichord, without any claim to true virtuosity.”
“Then I shall never know which of the sounds you produced were intentional and which accidental. Nonetheless, it was an interesting experience.”
“It sounded authentic to me,” Simon said.
“I defer to your expertise,” Gerald assured him ironically.
Waring announced that a buffet supper was served in the dining room, and the guests made their way thither. Simon was not in the least surprised when the aroma of a score of spices met his nostrils. His mouth watered.
“Biriani, korma, pulao, bhaji, paratha,” he recited. “Now there no expertise is needed. I'll eat whatever's put before me.”
“Not a great variety,” said Mimi regretfully. “Mrs. Forbes had one or two receipts, and my maid recalled a few more. But I cannot vouch for their authenticity either, since I couldn't find all the right spices even in Chester. Besides, Cook was in high fidgets at being asked to make them. There are a number of English dishes too, for the less adventurous.”
The three of them were last to reach the dining room, just in time to hear Sophia Marbury's disapproving voice.
“Just a roll and butter, thank you. I do not care to... Why, Mama, how odd! Someone has decorated the table with cow parsley.”
“Queen Anne's lace,” corrected Mrs. Forbes anxiously.
“And pot marigolds,” Lady Marbury pointed out to her daughter. “Extraordinary!”
“Calendulas,” chorused Mrs. Cooper and Lady Thompson.
Mimi threw them a grateful glance, but Simon could tell she was hiding a smile. “In the holy city of Benares,” she announced, “devout pilgrims float garlands of marigolds down the sacred River Ganges in honor of the gods.”
“Pagan superstition!” Shocked, Mr. Lloyd turned to Harriet and offered to serve her from the vast array of dishes on the sideboard.
“An original bouquet,” said Gerald dryly.
Simon caught Mimi's eye. It must have been the spirit of mischief there that prompted him to ask, “And the cow parsley?”
“Why, Mr. Hurst, I thought you knew,” she said. “In India, cows are sacred, too.”
Chapter 11
“And Mr. Lloyd told me much might be forgiven anyone brought up in such unfortunate circumstances,” said Mimi indignantly, closing her dripping umbrella and dropping it in the umbrella stand. “So I described the splendors of my grandfather's palace in glorious detail.”
“`Unfortunate' is scarcely the word,” Harriet agreed. “Come into the parlor. Mama is teaching the girls in the dining room. What was Mr. Lloyd's reaction to that?”
“His little eyes glistened with greed and he said he meant unfortunate in a spiritual sense. If I would only allow him to guide me, he was sure he could persuade me of the superiority of the Church of England over the benighted idolatry of Hinduism.”
“I daresay he would say the same if you were a Papist. Papa believes all faiths are worthy of respect.”
“I'm sorry, Harriet, I did think my Indian evening was bound to drive both him and Mr. Blake into your arms,” Mimi said, plumping down into the sagging seat of an aged armchair. “And with any luck Sir Wilfred, too, but he actually admired my sari. You're not mending again! I can't darn, or mend tears. Give me something easy to do, like a split seam.”
“Are you sure?” Harriet sorted through the overflowing basket and produced a small pink garment. “Here is a pinafore of Sally's. She burst the seam, so it is to be handed on to Prue. Poor Prue! The youngest never has any new clothes.”
“I know you are still wearing out Maria's petticoats though she has been married three years.”
“No, Judith is tall enough at last! I shall have a new petticoat for the Chester assembly. Sir Wilfred may have admired your sari, but he also told me my gown was exceedingly becoming.”
“I knew those ribbons would be perfect for it. You can't wear that to the ball, though. Just let me think.” Her needle slowed to a halt as she mentally searched her wardrobe.
“I shall wear the pink tamboured muslin I inherited from Maria,” Harriet said firmly, and changed the subject. “Your Indian evening was by no means a failure. Mr. Blake called yesterday.”
“He did? Splendid! Tell me all about it.”
“He complimented my singing, and then explained in excessive detail just how Indian music fails to follow the laws of musical composition. I told him I expect they have their own laws, and he was quite put out of countenance.”
“He came up to the Hall, too. He stayed fifteen minutes and thanked us for an interesting evening. He managed to avoid the word `music' the entire time. Lord Litton, on the other hand, asked me to play the sitar again for him some time. Mr. Hurst was with him—he helped me change the tadpoles' water. They said they were on their way to the vicarage when they left. Did you see them?”
“Yes. His lordship had business with Papa, but afterward he sat with Mama and me for at least a quarter of an hour. He is amazingly approachable for a nobleman. I wish...” She sighed and left the thought unfinished. “He was most civil.”
“And Mr. Hurst?”
“He is truly amiable, as you said. Mama and Papa like him too. I believe I should like to be married to him.”
Mimi quashed the unpleasant sinking feeling in her middle and said briskly, “Then I must try harder to bring it about. The trouble is, none of the efforts I have made to upset the others seem to disturb him in the least. Perhaps I shall think of something to do at Lady Thompson's picnic. Have you received your invitation yet?”
“It came this morning. She has invited all the children, is that not kind? I do hope the weather will improve.”
They both stared hopefully at the window, but the unrelenting drizzle continued to stream down the panes.
Whe
n Mimi took her leave an hour later, it was still raining. As she retrieved her umbrella, Harriet said, “You did not walk here alone, did you?”
“It seemed silly for Jacko or Asota to get wet as well as me. Papa took the carriage to Highbury to look at the manor, because he just received Lord Daumier's approval. I don't mind walking in the rain.” Seeing a protest forming on Harriet's lips, she added hastily, “You simply cannot wear pink to the assembly, you know. Sophia's gown will be pink.”
“I know, pale-pink crêpe lisse with rose ruching, over a white satin petticoat embroidered with rosettes of seed pearls. But...”
“Leave it to me,” Mimi commanded, and set off down the garden path.
A gusty breeze had come up, and by the time she reached home she was damp despite the umbrella. The Indian climate definitely had its advantages, she thought. At least it only rained during the monsoon season; at other times of year one could safely set a date for a picnic far in advance.
Weeks might pass before the English weather would permit Lady Thompson's picnic! Still, there was no harm in planning ahead. As Asota helped her take off her damp pelisse, Mimi decided to call on her ladyship on the morrow to see if she had any good ideas.
* * * *
After several days of rain, at last the sun shone again. Mimi was on tenterhooks when Lady Thompson insisted on allowing two days to pass for the ground to dry out somewhat, but the warm, still days persisted. At noon on the third, a varied collection of carriages, riders, and walkers converged on the mere.
On the bank near the old jetty, the Mere House servants had spread rugs and cushions, with small tables and chairs in the dappled shade of new-leafed trees for the older guests. A long trestle table bore cold chicken and ham, a huge wheel of crumbly orange Cheshire cheese, pies and cakes, wine, lemonade and cider, bowls of wrinkled russet apples.
As her father handed Mimi out of the barouche, however, her gaze was on the mere. There, tied to the jetty, floated a small, flat-bottomed skiff, just as Lady Thompson had promised. Since Sir Josiah's demise, it had lain unused in a boathouse hidden by bushes at the far side of the mere. The estate carpenter, Knowles, had rescued and refurbished it. Fresh varnish gleamed in the sun, the oars were neatly shipped, and plump blue cushions graced the benches.
No one else seemed to have noticed the little boat, not even young Jim and Peter Cooper who had found a dish of jam tarts and were quietly gobbling them.
Today was to be Harriet's day. If Simon Hurst persisted in paying more attention to Mimi than to her friend, she was going to go boating without him.
He was approaching now, with his aunt and cousin, to greet them. Lady Thompson bore off Mrs. Forbes to seat her at a table. Lord Litton stood chatting to the colonel.
“Miss Cooper is saving you a cushion and a patch of rug,” Simon said to Mimi. “She is afraid Miss Marbury will arrive and... er... impose her presence, I collect.”
“I expect sitting on the ground is too undignified for Sophia. And for Lord Litton, surely. Now I come to think of it, they would suit each other very well. I'm surprised she does not set her cap at him, for his is the only title in the neighborhood and Sophia is determined to catch a title.”
“Gerald told me he was vigorously pursued a couple of years past, when she first came out. I understand he was forced to make his feelings brutally plain.”
“No wonder she avoids him then. I expect he was perfectly odious to the poor girl. To be sure, why should he settle for a baronet's daughter when I'm sure any number of titled ladies would be glad to wed him.”
“Any number,” Simon agreed, grinning. “You won't repeat the tale, will you, Princess? I ought not to have told you.”
“No, you ought not, and your punishment is at hand. Here come the Marburys. Lady Thompson and Lord Litton are otherwise occupied, so you will have to play host.” She laughed at his groan. “I shall join Harriet,” she said, departing.
Harriet waved from a rug near the trestle table, where Judith was scolding her brothers, caught jam-handed. Mr. Lloyd was sitting beside Harriet, his uneasy look suggesting that either he or his dignity was suffering some discomfort. He attempted to stand as Mimi approached.
“Pray do not rise, sir,” she said, dropping gracefully to a cushion next to him. “Only those who are accustomed to sitting on the floor can manage it without clumsiness. In India, only Europeans use chairs. My grandfather, the Rajah, sits on a large cushion, and even the gods and the Buddha are generally depicted seated in the padmasana.”
The parson's face turned an interesting shade of purple.
“What is padmasana?” asked Harriet quickly.
“Padma is the lotus, and sana simply means position. It's a Yoga posture, sitting cross-legged with each foot resting on the opposite thigh. I could show you if I was wearing a sari.” Mimi tried not to giggle—Harriet was pink-faced now, obviously wishing she hadn't asked. “There's Albert Pell,” she said, to give them both time to recover. “I'll ask him to join us.”
The squire's son was staring longingly at the laden table, not quite ill-mannered enough to follow the Cooper boys' example in starting to eat before everyone was assembled.
“Veal and ham pie,” he greeted Mimi. “Our cook can't make pastry worth a damn.”
“I'll see that there is a pie next time you dine at the Hall,” Mimi promised.
“Rabbit pie's the best. I'll bring you round a brace next time I go shooting.”
“Fish pie is good too,” Mimi said.
Albert guffawed. “First catch your pike, damme. I've brought my rod and Litton says I can have a go at the old devil this afternoon.”
“I wish him luck. Will you come and sit with us, sir?”
But he refused to leave his post by the food, as if he were afraid the veal and ham pie would disappear the moment he turned his back. Mimi needed another gentleman for this phase of her plan, but Mr. Blake had not come and Sir Wilfred was monopolized by a visiting friend of Lady Marbury's. There were one or two other unmarried gentlemen present, sons of acquaintances of Lady Thompson, but she didn't know them well enough to invite them to join her. She returned to Harriet, who had soothed Mr. Lloyd back to his usual pink complexion.
Sitting down again, Mimi listened impatiently for some minutes to a discourse on the superiority of monotheism, addressed to Harriet but directed at her. She was about to ask a question about the Holy Trinity when Simon came up to them.
“Miss Cooper, Miss Lassiter, may I fetch you some luncheon?”
“Thank you, sir.” Harriet smiled up at him. She looked very pretty in a walking dress of blue-sprigged muslin, Mimi thought. “That would be kind in you, especially after Mimi has informed us that anyone not bred to it is bound to be clumsy rising from the ground.”
“I was bred to it,” said Mimi, jumping up. “I prefer to choose my own, thank you, Mr. Hurst.”
“I tried to persuade Aunt Georgina to provide a curry,” he said as they moved to the table, “but she said that her cook is overset if asked to make a French sauce and might drop dead if asked for Indian fare.”
“Oh dear, that would never do.” Mimi chuckled. “Papa decided that after a year of nothing but English food he wants a curry now and then, and our cook has been muttering dire warnings ever since. Sally, can I help you reach something?”
“Yes, please, Miss Mimi,” said the little girl. “I can't pour the lemonade.”
“Thank you, Miss Mimi.” Judith looked flustered. “I said I'd help her when Prue has hers but she won't wait.”
“You have your brothers to watch, too, do you not? I'll give you a hand.”
Everything was working out splendidly. Mr. Hurst, though his manners were less polished than Lord Litton's, was by far too polite to abandon Harriet after filling a plate for her. Mimi went to sit with Judith and the children, helping to cut up ham, spread bread with butter, wipe sticky fingers, and stop Jimmy and Peter throwing apple cores at each other.
When she glanced over at the group she ha
d left, she saw that Harriet and Simon were talking companionably. Much to her surprise, Lord Litton had joined them. As she watched, he picked up Harriet's glass and rose with indubitable grace to go to the table to refill it. Though he had been sitting on the rug, his coat was unwrinkled, his hair smooth. It was unnatural, Mimi felt, knowing the back of her skirt was most certainly creased.
Simon looked round, caught her eye, and smiled. His sandy hair was ruffled and his neckcloth had nearly untied itself. He looked comfortable. She smiled back.
Everyone else finished eating, even Albert Pell. Baird and a couple of footmen, having discreetly left the gentry to enjoy their picnic, had returned to clear up the gentry's mess, but Prudence was still struggling with an apple. She was determined to eat it although she had a wobbly tooth which she was equally determined not to lose just yet. The boys raced off, and Sally was anxious to follow them.
“I'll go with her, Judith,” Mimi offered. “Slice the apple thin, and when Prue has eaten it come after us.”
She took Sally's hand and they set out through the trees. Jim and Peter had found a climbable silver birch and were half way up it.
“I want to climb too,” said Sally.
“You're too little,” shouted Peter.
“I'm only a year younger than you.”
“You're a girl,” Jimmy retorted.
That was enough to decide Mimi in favor of Sally, but she could not allow it without consulting Judith. She looked back the way they had come. Judith and little Prue were quite close already—and not far behind them strolled Harriet, Simon, and Lord Litton.
“Drat!” muttered Mimi. They were bound to ask her to walk with them. She would accept if she thought she could detach the viscount, but she didn't know enough about Indian music to interest him, and he scorned everything else she did. Better that Harriet should have both gentlemen than that Simon's attention should be distracted from her. “Go and ask Judith if you can climb,” she said to Sally.
As the child ran to meet her sister, Mimi slipped away through the trees and hurried down to the mere.