by M. C. Beaton
Jilly and Mandy went down to the kitchens with Lady Harrington and looked around with interest. They had never been allowed to visit the kitchens at home in case they might be spoiled by the servants and given sweetmeats. But Lady Harrington believed that any lady worth her salt should be able to do anything her servants could do, and do it better. And so the girls were taught how to make jam tartlets to give them a feeling of being part of the preparations. They enjoyed the warm, spice-scented kitchen, where great hams and sides of salt beef hung from the beams along with bunches of dried herbs. Lady Harrington looked at their absorbed and happy faces as they rolled out pastry and was glad she had burned that dreadful letter.
The letter had arrived addressed to the girls by the morning post, and Lady Harrington had immediately recognized the Davenport seal. Ignoring a horrified exclamation from Sir John and his cry of “You are never going to read their post!” she scanned the crossed page; that is, Mrs. Davenport had written across the page in her spidery writing and then, to save paper, had turned the sheet sideways and written across it.
“As I thought,” said Lady Harrington. “Moralizing and more moralizing. Read your Bible, say your prayers, get to bed at ten, ignore all Christmas festivities, a pagan festival… . What a jaw-me-dead. The only good news is that they are off to Yorkshire and they have taken that terrible maid with them; although she is recovering from the fever, she is still weak. Good, we can be comfortable.” And with that, Lady Harrington had thrown the letter on the fire.
“No, I have no intention of letting them see such stuff,” she said as her husband protested. “Too utterly depressing for words.”
But remembering that letter, she asked Jilly and Mandy, “Have you written to your parents?”
Mandy colored up and looked guilty. “We do not seem to have had time. I think we should do that as soon as possible.”
“I would not distress your parents with tales of skating and dancing and things like that,” said Lady Harrington airily. “They might get the wrong idea and come and take you away.”
“We will tell them nothing to distress them,” said Jilly firmly.
“Good,” said Lady Harrington, “and if you write it on the morrow, I will send it express so that it will be waiting for them in Yorkshire when they arrive. If it is not impertinent of me to ask such a thing, I should like to see what you have written.”
“Gladly,” said Jilly, who felt that there was no need at all to have secrets from such as Lady Harrington.
They then helped arrange the dining table with the best silver and glass, and Lady Harrington taught them how to make wreaths of evergreens woven with fresh flowers to decorate the table.
Again another day flew past towards evening, and it came as a shock when the dressing bell sounded.
“You don’t think the Harringtons are trying to matchmake for those two dowds,” said Lord Ranger as they drove towards Greenbanks.
“You are too hard,” remarked Lord Paul. “I thought they looked vastly pretty in the inn dining room when they took off those dreadful bonnets. Have you formed a tendre for Lady Harriet? She is very elegant but no substance, I think.”
“When did you ever demand substance in a woman, Paul? You always demanded that they be decorative and nothing more, and the fair Harriet and her friend, Lucinda, answer that description.”
“There is a sort of calm assumption at Colonel Tenby’s that we should propose to them, or haven’t you noticed?”
“When there are two bachelors anywhere in England at a house party, then it is always assumed that they will propose to two single females before the end of the visit. It is all part of the game.”
“You might get trapped this time, Ranger. I sense that under Lady Harriet’s soft exterior lies a soul of pure steel.”
He laughed. “I might like to be trapped. Here we are. Brace yourself for a very dull and correct evening.”
When both men entered the drawing room, they felt themselves being enfolded in warmth and welcome. The air was scented with hothouse blooms, an apple wood fire roared in the chimney, James, his wife, Betty, and their baby sat on a sofa with two mangy old dogs snoring companionably at their feet.
Sir John went to meet them. “Welcome,” he cried. “My wife will join us presently. She has gone to fetch the young ladies. How goes Colonel Tenby? Well, I trust.”
“Very well,” said Lord Ranger.
Then the door of the drawing room opened and both he and Paul turned round.
Jilly and Mandy entered the room. They both wore simple muslin gowns but of a different pattern. Jilly’s had a green sprig, and Mandy’s, a blue. Their hair had been dressed in different and elaborate styles. Their large eyes were shining with excitement. They looked very modish apart from that expression in their eyes. The Davenport girls did not know that it was fashionable to look bored.
Jilly privately felt a little overawed. Lord Ranger looked so very tall and exquisite in his faultless evening clothes, as did Lord Paul.
“Now we are all here, we will sit down to dinner immediately,” said Sir John. He led the way to the drawing room, holding his wife’s hand. James followed with his wife after giving the baby to a maid. Lord Ranger held out his arm to Jilly, who did not know that one put the tips of one’s fingers on it and linked her own arm with his.
Jilly had been delighted to learn earlier that she was to sit beside Lord Ranger at the dining table, but now she began to feel gauche and nervous. She wondered if her gown, which had looked so modish and fashionable abovestairs, was grand enough, and then chided herself for such an ungrateful and vain thought. “Are you enjoying your visit?” Lord Ranger asked politely.
“Oh, so very much,” she said. “We have been reading and dancing and skating and going to bed so very late.”
“How late, Miss Davenport?”
“Two in the morning.”
“In London five or six is the usual time. Have you not had a Season?”
“No, my lord.”
“Why?”
Too nervous to do other than tell the truth, Jilly said, “My parents prefer that suitable husbands are chosen for us in Yorkshire.”
“But you should have some fun first.” His eyes teased her. “Marriage can be a grim business.”
“So I believe,” she said, sadness clouding those green eyes.
He was immediately sorry for having teased her and said quickly, “But you are enjoying yourself here?”
“So very much. But the days go past so very quickly. In Yorkshire one week can sometimes feel like a year, particularly in winter.”
“Do you celebrate Christmas in the good old-fashioned way in Yorkshire?”
“We do not celebrate Christmas at all, my lord.”
“Why is that?”
“My parents consider it a pagan festival.”
He reflected that the Davenport parents must indeed be a pair of antidotes. “I am sure you will celebrate Christmas here,” he said. “And there is a local ball at Moreton-in-Marsh next week. Do you attend?”
She gave an endearing gurgle of laughter. “We must go. Lady Harrington and the family have been to such trouble to teach Mandy and me to dance. You never saw anything like it, my lord. Poor Sir John and James were so exhausted that the curate and the schoolmaster had to be brought in to take over the tuition. And then Lady Harrington tried to show us how to perform entrechats, which she assured us were the height of ton, but we all kept falling over in a heap.”
“Had you never danced before?” he asked curiously.
“No, never. My parents would not approve, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime visit, and Mandy and I will have memories, don’t you see, for the dark days ahead.”
“You are very young and quite beautiful, Miss Davenport. You should not have gloomy thoughts.”
“How kind of you to say so, my lord,” said Jilly. “But red hair is a sad defect.” Again that gurgle of laughter. “Poor Ma. She shaved my head several times hoping it would grow in another col
or, but she said it just seemed to get redder and redder.”
“It is like a flame,” he said, and sheer happiness began to bubble up inside Jilly. It was dampened a little by the quick reflection that compliments probably came easily to him.
“And what of you yourself, my lord?” she asked.
“What am I doing now, what do I intend to do with my life, or do you want to know all about me?”
“If you tell me all about yourself,” said Jilly earnestly, “it will pass the time and Lady Harrington will think I am a success, but the sad fact is, I am not in the way of conducting elegant conversation.”
He laughed. “Eat your food and I will try to give you a summary of my life. I left school at sixteen and went into the army. I fought in the Peninsular Wars, as did Lord Paul, and then at Waterloo last year. Paul and I have just sold out. We are both going to settle down and become respectable gentlemen.”
“Are you going to get married?” Jilly asked, and then blushed.
“Possibly. I always thought of living in Town.” He looked around. “But a snug little place like this has its merits.”
“A house with twelve bedrooms is hardly a little place, my lord.”
His eyes teased her again. “But think of all the rooms I will need for all the children I would expect my wife to have.”
James, on the other side of Jilly, saw that blush and remembered his mother’s instruction to look after Jilly and promptly drew her attention to himself.
Lady Harrington had forgotten that two young ladies with such a Puritan upbringing would not be accustomed to wine. Jilly had been too busy talking to Lord Ranger to drink much, but Mandy had been emptying her glass steadily, until Lord Paul, seeing that her eyes were becoming rather unfocused, leaned back in his chair and asked a maid to bring lemonade. The Harringtons only employed female servants indoors.
“Lemonade, Lord Paul?” queried Sir John.
“I like lemonade,” replied Lord Paul firmly.
“Thank you,” whispered Mandy when a glass had been put in front of her. “I am unaccustomed to wine and it makes me feel dizzy.”
“I, too,” he lied, being able to sink six bottles a day. “We will drink nothing but lemonade for the rest of the evening and then we will feel well again. Now you must eat. You have barely touched your food.”
Like an obedient child, she picked up her knife and fork. She badly needed someone to look after her, thought Lord Paul, who, like Lord Ranger, had been startled by revelations of the girls’ strict upbringing.
At the end of the meal, after the covers had been removed and the wine passed round, or in the case of Lord Paul and Mandy, more iced lemonade, both guests waited for Lady Harrington to rise and lead the ladies from the room. But Lady Harrington stayed where she was, and it was Sir John who finally suggested that they all move back to the drawing room.
Lord Ranger exchanged a rueful glance with Lord Paul when Sir John, once they were in the drawing room, immediately suggested they play a game. “Let us play Hunt the Slipper,” he said. “I have hidden one of my best morroco slippers somewhere in the house. Whoever finds it gets a prize. I suggest you hunt in pairs. I cannot join in because, of course, I know where the slipper is. Lord Ranger, you go with Jilly, and Lord Paul with Mandy. Betty, you had better stay by the fire.” For Betty had taken charge of the baby again. “My wife and James will make up the other pair. Now, off you go.”
“We should have thought of some excuse and left right after dinner,” muttered Lord Paul.
But the Davenport girls seemed to find nothing unfashionable in such a simple game. Lord Ranger and Jilly began to search in the corridors, in the bedrooms, and on the landings, without success. Jilly was so caught up in the game, so determined to find that slipper, that Lord Ranger began to find her enthusiasm infectious.
He stopped outside a cupboard under the stairs and opened the door. “Perhaps it is in here.” A spirit of mischief overtook him and he seized Jilly by the hand, dragged her in, and shut the door.
“Let me out,” said Jilly in an urgent whisper, and to his amazement, he heard stark fear in her voice. He promptly opened the door and led her out. She was white and shaking.
“Miss Davenport,” he said stiffly, “I was merely being playful. I had no intention of—”
“It is my fault,” said Jilly weakly. “I am so used to being shut in cupboards as a punishment that… that… I panicked.”
“My dear, how old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Surely you are not still punished so?”
She nodded her head.
He suddenly wanted to say something really nasty about her parents, but good manners stopped him. Instead he took her hand in his and said gently, “Let us not think of bad things. Where have we not tried to look for that wretched slipper?”
“The kitchens!” she cried.
They went down the back stairs together and into the warmth of the kitchens. The staff had retired for the night, leaving a tray ready with chicken sandwiches under a cloth.
Lord Ranger lit a candle by thrusting it through the bars of the grate. He set it in a flat stick on the table and looked around. “Now where?” he asked.
“Up there perhaps,” said Jilly, “among the bunches of herbs.”
He climbed up on a chair. “What a hard taskmaster you are.”
“Let me look as well,” cried Jilly.
“You are not quite tall enough to stand on a chair, sweeting.”
“Then I shall stand on the table,” she said, climbing up on it.
“What a hoyden you are.” They searched diligently among the bushes of sweet herbs.
“I am tired of this,” he said at last. “Look, there are some jam tarts over there and a jug of coffee on the stove. Let us have a little picnic down here and leave the others to the search.”
He climbed down from the chair and lifted her down from the table. For one brief moment, her light body was pressed against him, for a second those glorious green eyes flashed darker with some emotion, and then she had turned away from him and was saying in a rapid voice, “If you can find some cups, my lord, I will fetch the tarts. I… I baked them myself. It is the first time I have ever been allowed in a kitchen.”
“Poor Miss Davenport. Kitchens are the best part of the house. Let your little sister find that slipper and let us be comfortable.”
Mandy and Lord Paul stood in the corridor upstairs. “I do not know where else we can look,” said Mandy. “Surely we have looked everywhere. Perhaps Lady Harrington has found it. After all, she must know how Sir John thinks.”
He smiled at her. “Let us consider the character of Sir John, easygoing and perhaps lazy. I cannot think of him putting it anywhere too difficult, and that, I think, has been our problem. He has probably put it somewhere very simple.”
“Such as?” Mandy’s eyes were very wide and dark.
“Now, where would you expect to find slippers?”
She frowned. “Under the bed, I suppose.”
“That’s it. And do you know where I think we will find it? With its fellow under Sir John Harrington’s bed!”
Unselfconsciously she seized his hand and began to drag him along the corridor while he followed, laughing. They opened the door of Sir John’s bedroom, and Mandy promptly dropped to her knees. Lord Paul crouched down beside her.
“Would you just look at that!” cried Mandy gleefully. And there under the bed was one red morocco slipper.
She seized it and jumped up, waving it. “The prize is mine,” she cried.
“No, mine,” said Lord Paul, making a playful attempt to seize it. “It was my idea.”
“Wretch! You shall not have it.” Mandy jumped on the bed and then fell over laughing, holding the slipper high. He rolled on the bed beside her, pretending to try to get the slipper away from her.
They suddenly both became aware at the same time that they were lying very close on Sir John Harrington’s bed. “If anyone should see us,” la
ughed Lord Paul, “you would be compromised.” He kissed her lightly on the nose and went to the door. “Come along, and bring the slipper with you. I agree, you found it.”
But I’ve lost my heart, thought Mandy suddenly, and I don’t know how to get it back.
The prize was a large bottle of scent, the first Mandy had ever had. “What would you have done if one of the gentlemen had won?” she asked.
But Sir John would only look mysterious. He did not want to spoil her fun by telling her that gentlemen usually allowed the ladies to collect the prize. “We must tell Jilly it has been found. Where is she?” asked Mandy, looking around.
“The fun is to leave the poor losers to search for a little longer,” said Lady Harrington, who had no intention of separating Lord Ranger and Jilly one moment sooner than necessary.
Betty, who had put her precious baby to bed, offered to play some tunes on the piano. Sir John and Lady Harrington began to sing duets, with more enthusiasm than good voice. Lord Paul, after joining in several of the numbers, began to feel uneasy. Lord Ranger was away far too long. He hoped his friend was remembering he was dealing with a highly respectable virgin.
“Do you know what I would really like to do when this visit is over?” confided Jilly, inelegantly licking jam tart crumbs from her fingers.
“No, what?” asked Lord Ranger, his eyes dancing.
“I would like to take Mandy and run away, far away, to somewhere sunny and never go home again.”
“Have you no money of your own?” he asked.
“I do not know. I believe my Aunt Margaret left me money in her will, but such matters are never discussed with us. I could find work. Perhaps if Mandy and I could become maids in a household such as this, it would not be so very hard. The Harringtons are most kind to their servants.”
“The Harringtons are highly unusual. Has it not struck you that they are very unconventional? They do not have any indoor menservants and have a free manner I have not met in any household before. Besides, I have never been to a dinner party before where the servants were allowed to go off duty before the guests had left.”
