Bath Talks

8

Bath Talks

    There were two main points of interest over the teacups that December in Bath: it would have been understating the case to say there were two rumours, for there was most certainly more than one version of each story.

    Miss Diddy had hold of one version of one of the stories. Since Selina had adjured her grimly not to repeat it in their house, for it was but a malicious rumour which, as far as she could see, had foundation only in General Lowell’s imagination, Miss Diddy was not repeating it in their house. Instead, she had put on her warm pelisse and her new cape, and since it was very nearly Christmas after all, had adorned her rather worn brown lapin muff and tippet each with a pair of Christmas bows, green and red, and her wrists likewise, over her gloves, and pausing only to add a small sprig of holly to her bonnet before the hall mirror, had departed to Miss Sissy Laidlaw’s house. Where she was of course not spreading the rumour, merely telling dear Sissy. And Miss Sissy’s sister, Rowena Beresford, who happened to have dropped in the same afternoon. And incidentally May Beresford, who was with her. Miss Sissy was quite fluttered: it made quite a crowd in her little room!

    “Delicious!” gasped Miss Diddy over the marzipan-topped slice of cake.

    “Dear Rowena gave it me,” smiled Miss Sissy.

    “I had the receet off Mrs Dorian Kernohan’s Aunt Urqhart, who is visiting with them,” explained Mrs Beresford. “She has a French cook. I think it has turned out quite well.”

    Miss Diddy nodded emphatically round a mouthful. “Most successful indeed!” she said, swallowing. “The combination of the fruits, in particular! And yet it is not like our traditional English fruit-cake at all!”

    “No, it has a different touch,” said Mrs Beresford complacently.

    “Indeed! –Well, as I was saying,” said Miss Diddy, lowering her voice and nodding the sprig of holly at them significantly: “dear General Lowell is quite convinced that Lady Benedict’s Mamma must have been the sister of Mrs Colonel Amory! –The first, of course.”

    “Who?” said May in confusion.

    Mrs Beresford gave her a reproving look, but it was not a very reproving look, for that statement had been typical Diddy: roundaboutation and muddle!

    “My dear: Mrs Colonel Amory!” replied Miss Diddy. “His first wife was a Miss Jeffreys, and General Lowell is convinced that her older sister was Lady Benedict’s mamma!”

    There was a slight pause. A frown began to gather on Mrs Beresford’s majestic brow.

    “That is the Lady Benedict whom we met at Charlotte and Jack’s, is it, Aunt Sissy?” ventured May.

    “Indeed, my love.”

    “Why, yes! If you were at Mrs Laidlaw’s little dinner, my dear, and I am sure there is no reason you should not have been, for after all you are their cousin,” said Miss Diddy on a jealous note, “then you must have met her. “

    “Just a moment, if you please,” said Mrs Beresford grimly, holding up a hand. “Diddy, let me get this perfectly clear. The mother of this Lady Benedict is purported to have been Elizabeth Jeffreys’ sister?”

    “Jeffreys?” said May. “Mamma, is that—”

    “Be silent, if you please, May. –Well, Diddy?”

    “Yes, exactly!” said Miss Diddy, nodding. “Miss Jeffreys’ sister! –Was her name Elizabeth? I am sure you are right. She and Colonel Amory did not live in Bath, so we hardly knew her, though of course I met her when she visited.”

    “Diddy, where had you this rumour?” demanded Mrs Beresford grimly.

     Miss Diddy reddened at the word “rumour”. “It is not! I had it from General Lowell, and he remembers the lady perfectly!”

    “Which lady, Miss Diddy?” asked May.

    “Be silent!” snapped her mother.

    “Diddy, my dear, can that be right?” said Miss Sissy timidly. “For surely that would make Lady Beresford a relative of little Lizzie Amory’s? Let me see... Sisters... Her cousin!” she said brightly. “Yes, Lady Benedict, Mr Baldaya—such a pleasant boy!—Miss Daphne and—no, the other girl is a step-daughter, of course—well, they must all be Lizzie’s cousins!” She beamed. Then her face fell as she recollected what had been going to be her point. “But it cannot be, for Lady Amory does not visit!”

    “Exactly,” said Mrs Beresford grimly. “It is all a hum, obviously. And if I were you, Diddy,” she said, giving her childhood’s friend a hard look, “I would not repeat it.”

    “But it is true!” said Miss Diddy, scowling.

    “It manifestly cannot be true,” said Mrs Beresford tightly.

    “But Mamma—”

    “That is enough, thank you, May.” Mrs Beresford began to gather her wraps together. She could see that if they stayed longer, Diddy would merely outstay them, in order to have a prolonged gossip with Sissy. And she knew from long experience that there was no way of actually stopping Diddy. “Come along, my dear, it has been pleasant but we must get on, we have a thousand and one things to do today!”

    In the carriage May ventured uncertainly: “Mamma, can it be the Jeffreys family who were friends of Papa’s?”

    Her mother was about to say she had no notion, but thought better of it. “I believe the first Mrs Amory was a connection of Lord Keywes: yes.”

    “Then it seems odd that Lady Amory does not visit.”

    To Mrs Beresford it seemed more than odd. In especial as Lady Amory had been very fond of her daughter-in-law and had always been a devoted grandmother to little Lizzie. “It would seem odd,” she said grimly, “if we knew that imprimis, it is the same Jeffreys family, and secundus, the story has any truth in it at all. But we do not. And I hope I need not tell you that I do not wish you to repeat it.”

    “No, of course, Mamma. –I suppose that Jeffreys is not an uncommon name.”

    Mrs Beresford took a deep breath. “Quite. And you may also suppose, that this Benedict woman’s mother was not a Jeffreys at all!”

    “Oh. Yes, I see,” said May weakly.

    Mr Ninian Dalrymple had hold of the other story, and was very cross about it.

    “For myself, I do not believe a word of it!” He waved a slice of Miss Carey’s Madeira cake vigorously. The well-trained Fortunata of Borrowdale and her sister Cecilia of Borrowdale looked up at it hopefully, but did not move or utter.

    “No,” said Miss Carey faintly, wishing fervently he had not called, or that Diddy had been out, and trying to banish from her mind the vision of Sir Noël Amory, very early on a frosty December morning, going into the Chalfont house.

    “Why, to suppose that dear little Cherry could run off from her home is just absurd!” Mr Ninian pouted, and then placed his remaining piece of cake in his mouth. The little dogs watched sorrowfully as it disappeared.

    Usually Miss Diddy would sorrowfully watch Mr Ninian’s little dogs watching him sorrowfully—for it seemed so cruel not to give them any!—but today she was too excited. “She has stayed with Colonel and Mrs Amory before,” she admitted.

    “Exactly! And so I told Mrs Peregrine Yattersby!” he said, nodding crossly.

    “I believe I am not mistaken,” said Miss Carey levelly, “in saying that I saw Cherry driving with Colonel and Mrs Amory in their barouche but yesterday. They appeared to be doing some commissions in the town. I do not think that if there were anything odd about the visit she would care to appear so publicly.”

    “No, quite! I saw them, too, and so did Mrs Peregrine, and I said the very same thing to her,” said Mr Ninian crossly, “and she said it was done to allay suspicion!”

    Miss Diddy gave a gasp of excitement.

    “Rubbish,” said Miss Carey grimly.

    “That is precisely my opinion, and I am very glad to hear you share it, my dear Miss Carey,” said Mr Ninian.

    Miss Carey nodded, and poured more tea for them all. She was about to change the subject when her sister said excitedly to Mr Ninian: “But is not Mrs Peregrine Yattersby a close friend of Cherry’s aunt, Mrs Daveney?”

    Mr Ninian bit his lip and nodded.

    “What?” said Miss Carey in a steely voice, putting down her cup.

    Mr Ninian gulped. “Wuh-well, yes, my dear, Mrs Peregrine did claim to have heard it from Mrs Daveney herself—”

    “I knew it!” gasped Miss Diddy. “That explains why Smith was crying, and said Mrs Chalfont had threatened to sack her! And I was speaking to Miss Gump but the other day, and she said that their chef had it from Mrs Chalfont’s cook that—”

    “Diddy!”

    Miss Diddy subsided.

    “Oh, dear!” said Mr Ninian distressfully. “Well, I am very sure that if dear Cherry has taken such a drastic step, she had provocation; and—and we must all rally round!”

    “Yes, indeed,” said Miss Carey warmly, endeavouring to smile at him approvingly. “Indeed we must.” She gave her sister a glare.

    “Yes,” said Miss Diddy weakly. “Of course, yes. Rally round.”

    Naturally the two Mrs Witherspoons had not mentioned the matter to a soul. Well, June Chalfont’s mamma had of course mentioned it to her own mamma, a Mrs Hart, but Mrs Hart was bedridden and so could hardly have spread the tale. Even if she was visited fairly regularly by the Miss Careys, Mrs Grainger and her sister-in-law, Miss Grainger, and even old Mrs Dalrymple, who did not get out very much, for she had a bad foot, but would make the effort to take a chair to visit her old friend once a week. And Mrs Dean Witherspoon had but mentioned it in the strictest confidence to the Rector’s wife, to her own sister, a Mrs Anderson, who was the soul of discretion, and to Mrs Paul Ketteridge, who of course must know of it in any case, the family being so nearly concerned in the business. Oh, and to Cousin Kate Proudfoot, but you could not count her, she was the soul of discretion.

     So it was a mystery how it had got about.

    The two Mrs Witherspoons went around a lot together, for they were very close—in fact the Witherspoon tribe as a whole was a close-knit one, and wives and sisters-in-law and such-like got absorbed into it as a matter of course. It was a brisk, windy morning, but not too cold, and the ladies had ventured out on one of their usual little trips, and were seated happily in their usual corner of the Pump Room, Mrs Dean sipping the waters and trying not to grimace, and June’s mamma, who frankly came for the sociability, not the curative powers of the famous Bath waters, happily not drinking at all, though she held a glass in her hand, when the plump Mrs Grainger with her bony daughter in tow came up looking concerned. The daughter was forthwith dispatched to fetch her a glass of the waters: the Witherspoon ladies exchanged cautious glances.

    In a very lowered voice Mrs Grainger then expressed her greatest sympathy and understanding, assuring June’s mamma that she might count on her. And also that no-one believed the rumour about Sir Noël Amory for an instant—Mrs Dean very nearly spilled the remains of her draught on her good black pelisse—and that if “the unfortunate young woman” should ever need a home in the future she could rely on Mrs Grainger to recommend her most strongly to Cousin Bellamy Grainger, whose household was in need of a governess.

    The two Mrs Witherspoons were reduced to horrified silence.

    Mrs Grainger had seated herself  at June’s mamma’s side: she pressed her hand in a very speaking manner, and nodded. Fortunately her daughter came up with her glass at that moment, so nothing more could be said.

    “How did she know?” gasped June’s mother when Mrs Grainger, still full of sympathetic looks, had taken herself off.

    “I know not,” said Mrs Dean faintly. “I have not breathed a word to a soul!”

    “Nor I,” agreed June’s mamma numbly.

    Very probably both ladies truly believed this.

    After a minute Mrs Dean said in a lowered voice: “Miranda, this is terrible. If it were only the story that Cherry had left her home that had become known, it would not perhaps signify...”

     Miranda Witherspoon bit her lip, but nodded.

    “He must be made to offer!” she hissed.

    June’s mamma bit her lip again, and nodded again.

    Proserpine, Miss Kernohan, had hold of a version of the other story. Exactly how it had percolated to her from its source was not clear, but certainly Major-General Cadwallader had not been the only person to whom General Lowell had confided his first muddled, and entirely misleading, ruminations about the Year Dot.

    “Prosy, that cannot be true!” gasped Hortensia Yelden.

    Miss Kernohan looked down her long nose. “One would hope not, indeed.”

    Mr Roly Kernohan, on a brisk, windy day, had also dropped in on his sister Horty. Now he rather wished he had not, though usually one had such a merry time in her cosy little house. Not that the story was not dashed intriguing, but trust Prosy to take that prim and proper, starched-up attitude!

    “How old is Bobby Amory, anyway?” he asked thoughtfully.

    “Roly!” gasped Mrs Yelden distressfully.

    Miss Kernohan sniffed. “More than old enough. And have I not always said,” she added, directing a minatory look at her youngest brother, “that it is the influence of such flighty men-about-town as he which is most to be avoided, Roland?”

    Mr Roly knew himself to be quite up to snuff, thank you! “No such thing! You ain’t warned me against Bobby Amory at all, for he is not scarcely ever in Bath! –And if I had his gelt, nor would I be!” he noted, sticking out his rounded chin.

    “That speech was entirely indelicate, Roland,” said Miss Kernohan coldly.

    “Um—well, it was certainly rude, Roly,” quavered the plump Horty.

    Miss Kernohan took a deep breath. “I must beg you not to repeat this rumour, Roland.”

    “Pooh, you are repeatin’ it!”

    Miss Kernohan took another deep breath . “My purpose in informing Hortensia is to warn her against taking up the woman.”

    Very flushed, Ms Yelden cried indignantly: “She has three little girls and the dearest little boy, who is just Teddy’s age!”

    “That has nothing to say to the case. It was most unwise of you to speak.”

    “It was in the Abbey! Nothing could be more respectable!” cried Horty angrily. “And even if it be true, which I do not believe, a person cannot help who her father was!”

    Miss Kernohan took a deep breath, and rose. “I shall speak to Papa, and then we shall see. But be warned, Hortensia, you are behaving very foolishly.” She went out before Horty could think of anything to say in reply to this.

    “That is just like Prosy! She has warned me against every person whom I have ever liked!” cried Horty with tears in her eyes.

    “Er—mm. That’s true enough,” muttered Roly, tugging at his neckcloth, forgetting how long it had taken him this morning to arrange it in such artful disarray.

    “I cannot believe it! Mr Bobby Amory is too pleasant!” She registered Mr Roland’s wince. “Roly, surely you cannot believe it?” she gasped.

    “Well, uh— Look, how old is the woman?” he said desperately. “She cannot be all that young, surely, if she has all these brats?”

    “What? Oh! No, they are not all hers! Only the dear little boy and the baby girl are hers. She is very much younger than I. From something her sister said, I think she is but one and twenty.”

    Roland’s jaw dropped, but as the neckcloth was ruined already this could not signify. “By God, then Bobby Amory could well be her father!”

    Mrs Yelden did arithmetic on her fingers. “Oh, dear. Yes.”

    Brother and sister stared at each other. Eventually Roly croaked: “I tell you what, Horty, it would explain why Amory went harin’ off back to town in such a hurry!”

    “I cannot believe it!”

    “No-o,” said Roland uneasily. “Um... Well, look, talk to Papa.”

    “I shall not drop her!” she warned, tears starting to her eyes.

    “Uh—well, dare say he may not advise you to. Look, what does Gussie think?”

    “My dearest Mr Yelden,” said Horty in a trembling voice, “does not advise me to drop my friends upon nothing but a nasty rumour!”

    “Uh—no.” Augustus Yelden was as good-natured as she. Roly eyed her uneasily. “Um, I’d best be goin’. –And never fear me: I won’t spread the story!”

    Horty also rose, and embraced him. “No, of course you will not, Roly dear!”

    He went off with a determined stride. He would damn’ well speak to Papa himself! For Horty had no sense, and Prosy, if she had sense, was more than half spite!

    Horty Yelden sank down on her sofa, dabbing at her eyes. If it was true! How dreadful! Poor Lady Benedict!

    “That,” said Mrs Waterhouse in a lowered voice to her friend Mrs Throgmorton, “is he.”

    Mrs Throgmorton raised her lorgnette and inspected Sir Noël Amory’s elegant person briefly. “Pretty,” she said drily.

    “Er—well, yes, he has a look of his uncles, do you not think?”

    “Mm.”

    The two elderly ladies watched as Sir Noël looked through a selection of books at the Circulating Library with a bored expression on his handsome face.

    “Of course, the Amorys have always considered themselves a cut above us mere plebeians,” noted Mrs Waterhouse.

    Mrs Throgmorton had been a Vane. “Quite,” she said acidly.

    Mrs Waterhouse gave a faint sniff. “It would not surprise me if he does not offer for Miss Chalfont at all. What can the reputation of a poor little dab of a girl like that signify to a fine London buck? Less than the folds in his neckcloth, one imagines!”

    “Quite.”

   Charlotte Laidlaw went very red. “Rubbish.”

    Her long-time friend Evelina Humboldt, née Proudfoot, replied in a judicious tone: “I wish I could be as certain as you that it were rubbish, Charlotte.”

    The youngest Miss Proudfoot, who was only just out, said excitedly: “I think it is true!”

    “Be silent, Jenny, or I shall not take you about with me again,” warned Evelina.—Jenny Proudfoot sank into pouting silence.—“I am persuaded Mamma cannot have it wrong, she so clearly remembers the Senhor Baldaya’s elopement with Miss Jeffreys!”

    “So?” replied Charlotte grimly. “It must have been nigh on a quarter of a century ago. I dare say it did create a scandal at the time, as you claim. So what?”

    “But—” Mrs Humboldt broke off, glancing at her sister.

    Jenny pouted. “I am not going to leave the room!”

    “Very well, then, you may hear it, for if you fancy yourself quite grown up, it cannot be thought inappropriate for your ears,” retorted her oldest sister nastily.

    “I was under the impression that she had heard it,” noted Charlotte in a hard voice. The orange cake was as yet uncut. And if Evelina said one more nasty thing about dear Lady Benedict, it should remain so!

    “Mamma is absolutely convinced,” said Mrs Humboldt in a very much lowered voice: “that the real scandal was, that the Senhor had a wife back in Portugal!”

    “Ooh!” gasped Jenny.

    “Rubbish,” said Charlotte briskly. “That is exactly the sort of stupid exaggeration that such things as elopements do produce, and I am surprised at your mamma’s crediting it, Evelina. And perhaps you may never have heard of it, but there is such a thing as slander, and if you go round saying such things, Lady Benedict will be within her legal rights to take you to court.”

    “It’s true!” she cried angrily.

    Charlotte eyed her drily. “Is it, indeed? Last year you were convinced that Miss Diddy Carey had once had a baby by General Lowell.”

    “Ooh!” gasped Jenny.

    “—And that was total rubbish, Miss Diddy has lived in Bath all her life. And the year before that you were convinced that Major-General Cadwallader was going to make an offer for Proserpine Kernohan!”

    Jenny choked violently.

    “Exactly!” said Charlotte with satisfaction, over the splutters. “This is another one of your silly hums, Evelina.”

    “But—”

    “Do not say another word,” warned Charlotte grimly.

    Evelina subsided. But the orange cake did not get cut, that afternoon.

    Mrs Stewart smiled. “I remember Mr Bobby Amory,” she said softly. “He was very much in love with Nancy Jeffreys, that year. Of course, I was but the slip of a girl, only fourteen,” she added with a stifled sigh, “but the whole neighbourhood knew of it. My uncle’s little property marched with Mr Jeffreys’s. Mr Bobby had come down for the summer—and so had a lot of other guests, of course!—and they all had such delightful fun! My Cousin Seraphina and I used to climb up into the apple trees and watch them for hours. Such lovely dresses! And the music! One glorious afternoon they had a string quartet come and play on the lawn!”

    There was a short silence. Mrs Stewart was the gentlest of widows, and none of the company could figure out a way in which to ask her the crucial question. The more so if she had been but fourteen at the time.

    Finally young Mrs Dorian Kernohan swallowed a piece of cake and said: “Yes, but dear Cousin Catriona, did—um—well, did Mr Amory, um, succeed with this Miss Jeffreys?”

    The other ladies all looked avidly at Mrs Stewart.

    “Well, no, my dear,” she said in a bewildered voice. “For he has never married.”

    Mrs Dorian looked at her, and bit her lip. Mrs Stewart, if she was not in black, normally wore the simplest gowns in tones of grey or lilac: she had been widowed very young, but had never shown any desire to emerge from that state, and lived a very retired life in Edinburgh. It had taken all the forceful Mrs Dorian’s considerable powers of persuasion to get her to come to them for this Christmas. Today dearest Cousin Catriona was in a soft grey wool, long-sleeved and high-necked, with a crocheted lace collar and cuffs threaded with violet ribbon. Her pretty face was still unlined and she had kept her youthful figure, and her hair was a mass of feathery-soft black curls. Though today it was half-hidden, as usual, by a neat cap. Today’s at least had lace on it, and a tiny violet bow, since afternoon guests had been expected. From below the cap her huge, dark grey eyes looked back at Johanna Kernohan in meek enquiry.

    Angelica Kernohan Ketteridge, the most lately married of the Kernohan tribe, was wont to rush in where her namesakes feared. “It is the most shocking story, Mrs Stewart, only personally I do not believe it, either! Mr Bobby Amory is rumoured to be the father of a lady who has just recently come to live in Bath, and very near to his Mamma’s house: a Lady Benedict!”

    “That cannot be,” she said in a wavering voice, going very white. The cup slid from her hand and the gentle widow slumped sideways in her chair.

    “You idiot, Angie!” shouted Mrs Dorian, bounding to her feet and rushing to Cousin Catriona’s side.

    Poor Angie was almost in tears. “How was I to know— It cannot be what I said!”

    Miss Tarragona Kernohan, the youngest of Mr Henry Kernohan’s numerous family, also bounced up, and rang the bell. “Of course it was what you said, Angie! Trust you to put your huge foot in your great mouth! –Send in Mrs Kernohan’s maid immediately, please,” she said as her sister-in-law’s butler came in, “and ask her to bring the smelling-salts.”

    “Yes, Miss. Shall I send for the doctor, Mrs Kernohan?” he faltered.

    “No, I do not think so; she is coming round,” said Johanna, patting Cousin Catriona’s hand. “Just send me Jane and the smelling-salts.”

    “Burnt feathers?” suggested Pamela Newbiggin dubiously. She had spoken very little so far, being rather in awe of Jo Kernohan and her set. And also rather bewildered, for the story that Johanna and Angie seemed to have hold of was not at all the story that she had heard about Lady Benedict.

    “No! They will stink the place out!” said Tarragona scornfully.

    “Tarry, dear, that will do,” said Mrs Dorian firmly. “Come here and assist me with Cousin Catriona, if you please. I think she will be better on the sofa, stretched out with her feet up. We shall see how the smelling salts answer; and if they do not help, we shall try the burnt feathers, Pamela,” she added kindly.

    Mrs Stewart protested faintly but was overborne. She soon declared herself very well, but her hostess insisted she lie down until dinner. Johanna would have been quite capable of insisting her husband and the menservants carry Mrs Stewart up the stairs to her bedroom, but to the gentle lady’s great relief she did not do so on this occasion, and she was allowed to climb the stairs with only the aid of the sturdy Tarragona’s right arm.

    The other ladies had stayed but to see she was all right and then politely taken their leave.

    “Well!” said Johanna, collapsing onto a sofa.

    “I never said a word!” cried Tarry hurriedly.

    “No, it was not you, it was Angie,” groaned their sister-in-law. “She seems to have got worse since she was married!”

    Tarry sat down on a little satin pouffe. “Yes, for now she hears all the married ladies’ gossip.”

    “How true,” groaned Johanna with her eyes closed.

    “Jo, what set Mrs Stewart off?”

    Mrs Kernohan opened one round brown eye and peered at her. “Think. Put yourself in her place.”

    Tarry thought. “You cannot mean— But she has been married and—and everything! She cannot have been in love with him since she was fourteen!”

    “Why not?” said Jo, opening both eyes and jumping up. “Have a piece of cake. They’ve hardly eaten a thing. I knew they would not.”

    Tarry came eagerly to take a huge piece of cake. “Do you really think Mrs Stewart is in love with Mr Amory?”

    “Mush be,” said Johanna thickly through the cake.

    “It was not just that she was—um—unutterably shocked?”

    “She was shocked, but she is not that delicate, for her own cook in Scotland has four illegitimate children by four different fathers.”

    “Help!” gasped Tarry.

    “Don’t you tell your mother that,” she said hurriedly.

    Mrs Henry Kernohan’s youngest offspring shook her head wildly, her eyes as round as saucers.

    Jo took another wedge of cake. “I’m so hungry all the time.”

    “Ooh!” said Tarry. her face lighting up. “Are you—?”

     Mrs Kernohan made a face. “Yes.”

    “Huzza!” she cried. “I shall be an aunt again!”

    “Yes. Only don’t tell your mother that, either! Dorian and I would like to get Christmas over in peace.”

    Tarry laughed. “I shall not, I promise!”

    Jo smiled. “Good. Now, do you wish to stay to dine?”—Tarry nodded eagerly.—“Then you had best write Mamma-in-law a note to say so.”

    Even though Tarry was turned twenty-two, and according to her mother at risk of being left on the shelf, she gulped. “Um, yes. Um—she said I was not to hint.”

    “You didn’t hint, I invited you.”

    “I’ll write that!” she cried.

    Jo smiled “Mm. Do that.”

    Tarry dashed off to Dorian’s study to steal his paper and ink. Jo sat up and stared thoughtfully before her. Dearest Cousin Catriona and the fashionable Bobby Amory? Well—stranger things had happened... But she could not see any way to bring them together: bother. Then her eye brightened. She would ask Aunt Betsy Urqhart’s advice! Jo got up, smiling, and took the last piece of cake.

    Lieutenant Romney Hallam, home on leave for Christmas, eyed the usual throng at the Pump Room with distaste. Widows and spinsters. Plus General Lowell: now, that was a sight to improve the scenery! As wide as he was tall, and the yallerest pantaloons in Christendom!

    “Mm?” he said. “Oh: aye! Well, you will play, out of course, Jack!”

    Jack Beresford grinned, nodding. “Happy to take your money at any time, Romney.”

    “Hah, hah,” noted the gallant sailor. “Witty. –Well, you, me and Roly, that makes three!”

    “Lord, he can count, too!” choked Roly Kernohan.

    “Who else, then?” said the Lieutenant, loftily ignoring this shot. “Ferdy Sotheby?”

    Mr Roly shook his head. “No go. Got an old aunt dinin’. Colonel Sotheby was complainin’ about it like crazy.”

    “That will be the old dame what gets down on the Colonel’s port,” noted Mr Beresford sagely. The other two gentlemen choked. “Um—well, dammit! There must be some fellow in the town willin’ to make up a fourth!”

    “Um... Your brother-in-law, Roly?” the Lieutenant suggested.

    “Which one?”

    “Whatsisname. Plumpish fellow, very amiable man.”

    “Oh: Gussie Yelden! You will not get him away from his fireside o’ nights!”

    “Damn.”

    “Er, well, an older man?” ventured Mr Beresford. “What about old Cadwallader?”

    “WHAT?” they choked.

    “Just a thought,” he muttered.

    “Well, keep it to yourself,” recommended the Lieutenant sternly. “Here: I know! Heard that Noël Amory’s in town! Very good sort of fellow indeed! –Well?” he said as Mr Roly’s round, fair face took on the expression of a well-boiled turbot and Mr Beresford’s features became alarmingly rigid. “What the Devil’s wrong with him?”

    Mr Roly coughed. “Um—not here.”

    “No—um—come for a stroll, Romney, old man,” said Mr Beresford kindly, taking his arm, “and we’ll put you in the picture.”

    The Lieutenant allowed himself to be led outside and told the whole in the course of a brisk walk to the nearest hostelry. It was just as well they had taken the precaution of getting him out of the Pump Room, for the cries of: “WHAT?” and: “I don’t believe it!” and: “Noël AMORY?” were very loud.

    Mrs Anthony Hallam’s lovely face crinkled in distress. “Little Cherry Chalfont? I cannot credit it!”

    “Er, well, you know her better than I, my dear,” said Mrs Henry Kernohan, a trifle lamely. Other ladies to whom she had imparted the news had not greeted it precisely with unalloyed horror.

    “This must surely be just a Bath hum!” said Mrs Anthony with decision.

    “Laetitia Proudfoot had it from Lydia Daveney herself,” said Mrs Henry dubiously.

    Mrs Anthony drew a deep breath. “I shall call on Mrs Chalfont.”

    “I would not do that!” she said hurriedly.

    “I have known the Chalfont children since they were babies. If Cherry is in trouble I shall do anything I can,” said Mrs Anthony, rising. “Pray excuse me, Mrs Henry.”

    Mrs Henry rose numbly and watched numbly as her visitor hurried away.

    “Mrs Anthony Hallam,” said Mrs Anthony to the puffy-eyed maid who answered Mrs Chalfont’s door. “Pray take my card in to your mistress. I shall wait.”

    Mrs Anthony had pencilled on the card: “Dear Mrs Chalfont, if here is anything I can do for little Cherry, pray let me know.” Nevertheless the maid returned very swiftly to say: “Mrs Chalfont is not in to visitors, madam.”

    She took a deep breath. “I see. Please tell Mrs Chalfont I shall write.”

    “Yes, madam.”

    Mrs Anthony retreated to her chair but after some thought did not give her home address. Instead she gave that of the obscure little house where Mr and Mrs Meredith Chalfont lived.

    The elderly Mrs Waterhouse nodded significantly.

    “Which?” said her friend Mrs Throgmorton instantly.

    “In the silver fox,” she mouthed.

    Mrs Throgmorton lifted her lorgnette and pretended to be examining something in the air just very slightly to the right of Lady Benedict’s silver fox.

     Mrs Waterhouse watched eagerly. “Well?”

    “Ostentatious. She most certainly resembles the Jeffreys girl.”

     Mrs Waterhouse nodded triumphantly.

    Mrs Throgmorton’s eyes narrowed. “Rowena Beresford!” she pronounced.

    “Er—well, no, I would not, my dear; she—she does not seem to…”

    Mrs Throgmorton ignored her. She forced her way through the crowded Pump Room partly with the aid of her elbows, her cane, and her lorgnette, but largely merely with that of her personality.

    Mrs Waterhouse followed numbly. On the pavement she said weakly: “I really do not think—”

    “Rubbish! I remember the days when Rowena Beresford’s husband and the .Jeffreys woman’s—well, brother, cousin, it cannot signify—were inseparable!”

    Numbly Mrs Waterhouse allowed her to order up their chairs and give the chairmen Mrs Beresford’s direction.

    “It is too druh-druh-dreadful!” sobbed June on Mrs Anthony Hallam’s kindly bosom. “Huh-he is juh-juh-just ignoring it!”

    “Yes, but June,” said Merry anxiously, “we know he is not at fault!”

    “That does not muh-matter!” she wailed, “for he has compromi-hised her!”

    “Hush, my dear, this will not do! Baby will suffer!” said Mrs Anthony, patting her back briskly. Over her head she said calmly to Merry: “Order up a nice tray of tea, Meredith, my dear. And has she been eating properly?”

    Merry shook his head dumbly.

    “I thought as much. Some cake, then, and a few sandwiches. Something light.”

    “Yes, Mrs Anthony,” he said obediently.

    Mrs Anthony patted June’s back. “There, there, my dear! We shall sort it all out. Have you seen Cherry?”

    June nodded, sniffing. Mrs Anthony handed her her own handkerchief and she blew her nose hard. “Yes. She and Mrs Colonel Amory have called several times.”

    Mrs Anthony’s mouth opened slightly. Finally she managed to say: “My dear, are you telling me that Cherry is staying with Colonel and Mrs Amory?”

    June nodded hard.

    “I see!” said Mrs Anthony in tones of sheer astonishment. There was a short pause. June and Merry looked at her hopefully.

    “I think that is quite hopeful,” she said briskly. “But we must sort out the fact from the fiction, first!”

    “Yes, Mrs Anthony,” they both said gratefully.

    “You can count on me, old boy!” said Ferdy Sotheby, sounding both fervent and—er—furtive?

    Dom eyed him uncertainly. “Vairy decent of you.”

    Mr Sotheby did not elaborate and Mr Baldaya could only conclude he must have made a night of it, last night.

    “That was damned odd,” said Noël uncertainly.

    “Mm?” replied his uncle. –The two gentlemen had abandoned the barouche to the ladies and their shopping, and were strolling down the road to collect Lizzie from her school.

    “Old Cadwallader, Grandmamma’s military neighbour from Lymmond Square. Did you not notice him just then? Could have sworn he cut us!”

    “Er—I didn’t notice,” said Richard uncomfortably.

    Noël gripped his arm. “Richard, are the cats starting to talk?”

    “Dear boy, if they are, you have nothing to blame yourself for. Your conscience is completely clear.”

    Noël’s lips tightened. “I have written to Hawke,” he said abruptly.

    “Oh,” said Richard lamely.

    “He should be here within a day or two.”

    “What?”

    “Well, dammit, I am not prepared to discuss such a matter in a letter!”

    “Er—no.”

    “Come on, Richard,” he said grimly. “I suppose if the cats collecting their daughters from the school cut us also, we may know what to think!”

    “Who was that lady?” said Delphie faintly.

    “Old Mrs Waterhouse,” gulped Cherry. “I am sure she knows, Delphie!”

    Delphie Amory was sure of it, too. She had never before experienced the cut direct, but it was unmistakeable when you were at the receiving end. However, she said sturdily: “There is nothing to know, Cherry. Nothing happened, and you are wholly blameless.”

    “What must they be saying?” whispered Cherry.

    “Who cares, it will be a nine days’ wonder and then they will pass on to the next nasty piece of gossip, the cats!” she said strongly.

    Cherry stared at her.

    “Ignore them, Cherry, they are not worth your consideration,” she said grimly.

    Cherry’s lips trembled. “Could we not at least have the hood up?” she whispered.

    Delphie perceived that Cherry was not made of such stern stuff as she and her sister were. Well, she herself would not have enjoyed facing out the Bath cats in such a situation, but she would have done it. She swallowed a sigh. “Yes, my dear: of course we may have the hood up.”

    They stopped and had the barouche’s hood put up. During this operation three ladies hurried past on their side of the road with their eyes averted and two on the other. So really, they might just as well not have bothered.

    Mrs Anthony Hallam was a kindly parent and often permitted Kitty to have a selection of her own friends to the house, herself staying but to welcome the guests graciously before leaving the girls to their own devices. Had she known what were the subjects of conversation engrossing the young ladies this particular day, she would have regretted this maternal indulgence.

    May Beresford said cautiously: “I have met Daphne Baldaya, Kitty: she seems a very pleasant girl.”

    “Yes. But Mamma says I am not to speak: for one cannot be too careful. –Though of course,” added Kitty hurriedly, recalling her mamma’s actual words: “one must be careful not to condemn a person on mere rumour alone!”

    There was a short and somewhat guilty pause.

    “Pooh,” said May uneasily. “I am sure it is a hum. Would Lady Benedict come to Bath, let alone choose to live in Lymmond Square, if she was an illegitimate connexion of the Amorys?”

    Since the word “illegitimate” had not actually been mentioned before this, there was a short silence.

    “She might not have known that that is where Lady Amory lives,” said Kitty.

    “But she must surely have known that there would be people in Bath who can remember her mamma!” cried Tarry Kernohan.

    “Ye-es... It happens in the best families, Tarry,” Kitty reminded her.

    “Ho! In your famous brother-in-law’s, I suppose!” she retorted smartly.

    “No!” said Kitty crossly, going very red. “How can you, Tarry! The Nasebys are the most respectable of families, and Julian’s papa was known for his charitable works, and so, indeed, is his mamma!”

    “Then it cannot be said to happen in the best families,” noted Tarry, very drily indeed.

    “Um, well, in the—the great families, I think she meant, Tarry,” faltered Jenny Proudfoot. She had not so far said very much, and she was feeling rather bewildered, for the other girls seemed to have heard quite a different story from the one she and Evelina knew.

    Tarry sniffed. “No doubt.”

    May swallowed. “In any case, even if it is true, and I am sure it cannot be, one cannot blame Lady Benedict for her parentage.”

    “No,” agreed Tarry, glaring at Kitty.

    “Well, I did not make it up!” she cried. “All I know is that we saw Miss Baldaya and her sister at the Abbey and Mamma said that though they looked very agreeable, it would be wiser not to speak, and then Romney told me that story about Mr Bobby Amory and—and I realised that was why Mamma had said it!” She pouted horribly.

    “Who told him?” asked Tarry with interest.

    “Um, I am not perfectly sure. Um, but he did say that General Lowell knew Lady Benedict’s mamma in the old days!”

     “So did Cousin Catr—” Tarry broke off.

    “Go on!” they gasped.

    “Um, well... She is Johanna’s connexion, really, not mine. She asked me to call her—”

    “Tar-ry!” they cried.

    “Um, well, she knew Lady Benedict’s mamma.”

    “Was her name Jeffreys?” asked May in a weak voice.

    “Yes. Her papa’s property was next to Cousin Catriona’s uncle’s. She can remember Mr Bobby Amory visiting. But she was only fourteen, she may have misremembered!” she added hurriedly.

    “Misremembered? Pooh!” cried Kitty. “That confirms it! How thrilling!”

    “It is not thrilling,” said May grimly: “it is extremely sordid. And in any case, it is not true, because—” She broke off.

    “Of course: your family knows the Jeffreyses, don’t they?” said Tarry.

    “Not that branch of the family,” replied May grimly.

    “May is right: it cannot be true!” burst out Jenny, very flushed. “My mamma also knew Lady Benedict’s mamma in the old days, and she says that she eloped with a Senhor Baldaya!”

    There was a short pause.

    “That is circumstantial. Given that the sister’s and the brother’s name is Baldaya,” Tarry conceded drily.

    “Don’t be so horrid!” cried Jenny, now practically puce. “That is not what I meant at all! They eloped, but Mamma swears he was married already to a Portuguese lady!”

    “WHAT?” they gasped.

    Jenny nodded fiercely. She was urged for confirmation and could do nothing but repeat her story, but for some time this more than seemed to satisfy the company’s thirst for gossip.

    But eventually Tarry said slowly: “Actually, both stories could be true.”

    “Tarry!” cried May crossly.

    “Don’t pretend you can’t see it, May.”

    May reddened angrily. “No, but—”

    “What do you mean?” faltered Jenny.

    “Ooh!” gasped Kitty. “I see! Mr Amory was Lady Benedict’s true papa, you see, only as well her mamma ran off with the married Senhor Baldaya!”

    After a moment Jenny said weakly: “No-one could behave that badly, Kitty.”

    “Could they not?” cried Tarry, forgetting an earlier vow to scoff at the entire thing. “I must say, it would help to explain why Cousin Catriona fainted at the recollection of the tale.”

    “What?” they gasped.

    Tarry gave in entirely and told them the lot.

     After that the young ladies felt so exhausted that Kitty had to ring for a fresh tray of tea.

    “Have you heard about Cherry Chalfont?” said Tarry eagerly as they sipped.

    Of course Mrs Anthony had not breathed a word to Kitty, and very naturally she had hoped that the tale would not come to her eighteen-year-old daughter’s ears at all. Admittedly the gallant Lieutenant Hallam would not have been so reticent, but as yet he had not thought to mention it to his sister.

    So Kitty said in surprise: “No. What?”

    “Mamma says I am not to speak!” squeaked Jenny.

    “My Mamma says it is a spiteful rumour,” said May Beresford uncertainly.

    “No!” cried Tarry. “It is all true! I was at Angie’s just the other day, and her sister-in-law Diana Ketteridge was there, and so were Mrs Vincent Ketteridge and Mrs Hubert Witherspoon, and it is all true! She ran away from home in the dead of night, and was alone with Sir Noël Amory for I know not long, and Mrs Vincent says he has compromised her utterly, and the family is determined he must be made to offer for her! And Mrs Hubert says her papa-in-law himself has spoken to Mrs Chalfont!”

    “What?” gasped Kitty.

    “How dreadful!” gasped Jenny.

    Suddenly May got up. “It seems to me that Dean Witherspoon, if this be true at all, would have spoken not to Miss Chalfont’s mother, but to Sir Noël Amory. Excuse me, please, Kitty, I have the headache. I shall go home.”

    “May—” said Kitty in dismay.

    “Don’t bother to show me out,” said May grimly. She went over to the door. “And if I were you, Kitty Hallam, I should take care not to repeat this story to your mamma. And what is more, she is right about not condemning a person on rumour alone. I do not believe a single word of this story about Miss Chalfont, she is the mildest creature! –And all that stuff about Lady Benedict is very likely rubbish, too!” On this  she went out, shutting the door rather hard behind her.

    “I do not wish to be unkind, Charlotte,” said Aunt Beresford, seeing that her niece-by-marriage had gone very white, “and I certainly do not wish to be unfair to the woman. But as I say, there would seem to be at least no doubt that her mother did elope with this Senhor Baldaya.”

    “Yes,” she said faintly.

    “You can discount all that rubbish about Mr Bobby Amory,” added Aunt Beresford, frowning. “I have warned Selina Carey that if Diddy mentions it to her she should explain that it is nonsense. –And so I told Mrs Throgmorton and Mrs Waterhouse,” she added, very grim.

    Charlotte swallowed, but nodded. Terrifyingly high in the instep though these two dames were, there was no doubt that Aunt Beresford was capable of standing up to them.

    “However, I fear it is significant that Lady Amory does not visit. I should very much doubt that Miss Jeffreys ever married the Senhor at all.”

    “Aunt Beresford, I cannot credit it! You would but have to meet the Benedict girls: they are everything that is respectable! How could their late Papa have married Lady Benedict if there was any doubt about her parentage?”

    “Possibly he did not know.”

    “He must have. No-one marries a person of unknown antecedents,” said Charlotte faintly.

    “My dear, we cannot know what sort of a man he was, so speculation is fruitless. But mark: she was his second wife, and he already had an heir.”

    After a moment Charlotte went very red.

    “I am not implying anything,” said Aunt Beresford hurriedly and untruthfully. “I just felt that you should be warned, my dear, that however pleasant she may seem, it is more than possible that she may be— Well! Not to put too fine a point upon it, an impostor!”

    “How can anyone possibly know they were not married?” said Charlotte, clutching her hands together very tightly in her lap.

    “How can anyone know they were?” returned Aunt Beresford.

    “That is unjust!” cried Charlotte loudly. “There—there must be records!”

    “In Portugal?” she returned drily, raising her eyebrows.

    Charlotte gulped. “I dare say it is a civilised country.”

    Mrs Beresford snorted.

    “Aunt Beresford,” said Charlotte shakily: “what did— Did May speak to you?”

    “Certainly. I am glad to say that, whatever the manners of those flibbertigibbet Misses whom Mrs Anthony Hallam encourages to haunt her house, May at least knows what is proper: she was very shocked indeed to find Kitty Hallam and her set repeating that silly story about Mr Amory, and told me the whole at once. Including, I may add, Laetitia Proudfoot’s version of the Jeffreys woman’s elopement with the Baldaya creature! –She can never have met either of them, she has never set foot in London in her life,” she explained with a shrug, as Charlotte looked blank.

    “Oh,” she said weakly. “I am sure you are right. Evelina has not, either. Um, no, that wasn’t exactly...” Her voice trailed off.

    “What did you mean exactly, then, pray, Charlotte?” said May’s mother grimly.

    “Um—oh, dear. Aunt Beresford, do you truly think that Lady Benedict’s mother may never have been married?”

    “I have just said—” Mrs Beresford paused. “Yes, I do,” she said, in a much quieter voice. “What is it, Charlotte?”

    Charlotte bit her lip. “I thought perhaps May might have mentioned it, for of course she was with Jack that evening. Well, I feel you ought to know, Aunt, that—that Jack and I fear that he favours her!” she ended in a rush.

    After a perceptible pause Aunt Beresford said slowly: “My Jack favours Lady Benedict, Charlotte? Is that what you are trying to say?”

    “Yes,” she gulped. “It was clear that evening they dined with us that he greatly admired her.”

    “How old is the creature?” she said in amaze.

    “She is only twenty-one,” said Charlotte dully.

    “What?” she gasped.

    “Well, she married very young, Aunt Beresford. It is quite usual, with Portuguese and Spanish girls, I believe.”

    “Yes. Of course, it was around 1800 that her mother ran off... Did you say the little boy is four?”

    Charlotte nodded dumbly.

    “Well... I suppose that is not wholly ineligible.”

    “No.” Charlotte looked at her fearfully.

    “I see...” she said slowly. “That certainly explains why May was so upset. Unless— I believe the Baldaya boy was also here that night?”

    “Um, yes, and May did seem to like him, and he her, but truly Jack and I did not think there was anything more than that! Besides, May is so very lively and attractive, all the young men must admire her!” said Charlotte on a desperate note.

    Mrs Beresford smiled a little. “That is not altogether untrue. We have had that goop of a Romney Hallam hanging round the house with posies ever since he got home for his leave—and the Lord knows what he must be paying for them, at this season! But I am glad to say that May seems indifferent to him.”

    “Yes,” said Charlotte with a smile. “She told me that he was both pompous and empty-headed, the which was the worst combination imaginable!”

    “Quite. –But never mind that. If Jack appears interested in Lady Benedict then the situation is rather more serious than I had supposed.”

    Charlotte bit her lip. “Mm.”

    Mrs Beresford lapsed into thought.

    “My Jack said that the reason Lady Amory has not yet called may be that the Amorys are trying to find out about her family,” Charlotte offered feebly.

    “Indeed? I think,” said Mrs Beresford with a sigh, “that I had best get in touch with Lord Keywes and find out whether the Jeffreys family acknowledges her. –And we must hope that whether or not they do, Jack is not serious,” she noted grimly, rising. “For in any case, it is scarcely a desirable connection.”

    “No,” said Charlotte faintly, also getting up. “I am sorry, Aunt Beresford, but for myself, I shall not drop her,” she said, going very red. “But I promise I shall not invite Jack and May again when she is to be here.”

    To her astonishment Aunt Beresford returned: “Very well, my dear. I own I should do the same in your place.” And saluted her cheek and took herself off.

    Charlotte did not press her to remain, even though Jack was due home at any moment. For Mina and Amrita had brought Amrita’s talking bird over to show the children and they were all upstairs with it at this very moment, and she had an awful feeling that should Horrible get wind that Aunt Beresford was in the house she would immediately descend in order to show the bird off to her. The which at this precise moment would not be tactful!

    “Possibly Lord Keywes will be able to sort it all out,” she said hopefully to Jack over the dinner table.

    Jack speared a piece of ham and a slice of spiced peach and chewed juicily. “That might be difficult,” he noted.

    “Why?” she faltered.

    Jack sniffed slightly. “He’s in Sweden.”

    “What?” she gasped.

    “Sweden. Keywes is our ambassador to the Swedish court, and has been for some time. You’ve heard of Sweden, Charlotte: it’s in Scandinavia,” he said nastily.

    “Don’t be horrid! Oh, good gracious, Aunt Beresford cannot know,” she said limply.

    “No. Well, he is due home reasonably soon, it was in the Morning Post t’other day. –That ‘dull’ paper what you do not read,” he explained kindly.

    “Jack!”

    Jack shrugged. “Just as well: you wouldn’t have wanted to be the one to tell Aunt B. that little gem.”

    “No. Are—are you cross because I let it out about Cousin Jack?” she gulped.

    Jack ate a large piece of spiced peach. “No,” he said indistinctly. He swallowed. “No. Damn’ glad it wasn’t me that had to do it, actually.”

    “Oh.”

    He frowned. “If you want to know, I’m cross because I don’t like to think of the whole of damned Bath gossiping about Lady Benedict! She hasn’t had an easy life, and—well, I like her, and I very much like the children!” he ended on a defiant note.

    Charlotte got up.

    “What’s up?” he said uneasily.

    “Nothing! Oh, my dearest Jack!” said Mrs Laidlaw mistily, rushing to throw her arms around him.

    Jack Laidlaw sustained the embrace with remarkable fortitude. “Wonder how long a letter takes to get from here to Sweden?” he said as Charlotte resumed her seat. —“Depends if the place is under twenty feet of snow with the harbours iced up, I should say,” he answered himself judiciously.

    Mrs Urqhart gave one of her sniffs. “I has heard something like fourteen garbled versions of both rumours what seem to be goin’ round Bath, since I got here, and it has not scarcely been a week, yet!”

    “No,” said Mrs Dorian Kernohan somewhat limply.

    Mrs Urqhart drank tea. She and Johanna were alone and Mrs Urqhart, as was her wont, was relaxing on a sofa with her shoes off and her feet up, with a warm wrap over them. Mrs Urqhart, a stout woman of a high complexion, was Richard and Bobby Amory’s “Cousin Betsy”, but not Johanna Kernohan’s true aunt, being the relict of her father’s late business partner. As she herself was the first to admit, she was not a lady but the daughter and niece of wealthy tradesmen. Few of those who had known both Betsy and the late Timothy Urqhart doubted, however, that it was Timmy who had had the best of the bargain. For he had gone out to India a little, thin, scared, scarce-fledged Ensign, and had returned therefrom, married to his Betsy, a plump, prosperous, and competent man of affairs. Being taken into Miss Betsy Shillabeer’s uncle’s import-export business was the best thing that had ever happened to him: or, rather, as Timmy himself maintained, marrying Betsy was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Subsequently finding his niche in import-export had been merely fortuitous. Though certainly fortunate. Viola Amory had steadily refused to recognise her husband’s vulgar connection, but the late Sir Mallory and his brothers had been very fond of both Cousin Timmy and Betsy and, after the two had returned permanently to England, had seen to it that the Amory children saw plenty of them.

    It was now many years since Mrs Urqhart had been left a very wealthy widow and, though she had had several offers during that period, she had turned them all down. For none o’ them half-pay officers nor gone-to-seed town beaux could nearly come up to the standard set by her beloved “Pumps” Urqhart. Pumps had been a true man to the day he died, if he were fat as a balloon in his later days. Asides, when your children were all growed and you were a grandmother, it was past time to be thinking of having a man in your bed!

    “Does you know this Miss Cherry Chalfont, me lovey?” she asked thoughtfully.

    “Only slightly,” replied Jo. “She struck me as a very quiet, well-behaved sort of young woman. I find it hard to believe that any of these rumours are true.”

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed vigorously. “And I find it hard to believe that Noël was a-wastin’ his time at dead o’ night with a quiet, well-behaved sort of young woman!”

    Jo bit her lip a little but said: “Well, yes: that is certainly a point against the story’s having any truth in it.”

    Vastly gratified, Mrs Urqhart shook all over. “Here!” she said, mopping her eyes, “she ain’t yaller-haired and clingy, she?”

    Jo recognised this reference: she replied calmly: “No.”

    “That’s a relief. Short and cuddly with lots o’ brown curls and great dark eyes?”

    Jo’s own brown eyes twinkled. “No.”

    “Ah. Well, lovely and graceful and charming and with a head on ’er, not to say a head of dark red curls?”

    “She is not in the least like the Marchioness of Rockingham, either!” said Jo with a laugh. “She has rather soft black curls. And a sweet look.”

    “Sweet look? Well, I ain’t sayin’ as Lady R. ain’t sweet as all get out, though she would never have done for Noël. Only I don’t recall as he has ever gone for that, in especial. Is she pretty?”

    “Well, yes, but in a very quiet style.”

    “Nothing in it, then. –No, wait: what’s she like up top?”

    Normally Mrs Urqhart did not use this phrase to refer to the intellectual powers of the lady under discussion. Jo replied with a choke of laughter: “I think, nothing remarkable!”

    “Huh! Then she definite won’t do for Noël! –No, mark my words, either there ain’t nothin’ in it at all, or she’s a scheming little hussy no better than what she should be, on the catch for him, or her family have got hold of the thing and decided she will do very nice as a rich baronet’s wife!”

    Jo twinkled at her. “That would seem to sum up the possibilities, yes.”

    Mrs Urqhart put down her cup. “I should like to meet her: make up me own mind. Acos there is another possibility, and while I ain’t saying it’s likely nor even probable, well, it ain’t impossible. And if he has wronged her, he shall do right by her.”

    “I do not think there can be anything in it. She is staying with Colonel Amory and his wife, and I think all the rest must have been—well, created out of that!”

    “Aye. That and a good helpin’ of thin air: sounds like Bath. –Pass me them little cakes, deary, I’ve been a-sitting here swearing I won’t touch ’em, but they’ve been lookin’ at me too long!”

    Jo smiled, and passed her the dish of cakes.

    “Ash to thish other story!” said Mrs Urqhart through a cake.

    Jo looked at her uneasily.

    Mrs Urqhart swallowed cake. “We both knows that Bobby’s capable of it, so I won’t claim he ain’t. But he ain’t a bad lot: if the child was his, he’d’ve taken responsibility for it. Now, I do remember the thing, acos we was home on holiday that autumn. The girl turned him down flat. See, I couldn’t make out why he was so moped. Then Mallory says as he is crossed in love, and tells me about this Nancy female what’s slung ’er ’ook. No loss, by all accounts. And then I gets the story out of Bobby. –Gave him a dish of plums soaked in brandy and he come across like a lamb,” she recalled reminiscently.

    Jo swallowed.

    “You can laugh if you like, me love, but there ain’t nothin’ like a little liquor and a little something sweet to suck on, to make a man come across. –And bear it in mind, acos your Dorian, he’s got a sweet tooth! –Not only for him, but when it’s your sons as is in question.”

    “Uh—yes,” said Jo limply. Edward Kernohan was only two years of age.

    “Where was I?” Mrs Urqhart took another little cake to aid reminiscence. “Mm: Bobby and the Nancy female. She’d gone off to some heathen part with a greasy feller that you wouldn’t look twice at, unless it were to draw your skirts aside!”

    “Um, Aunt Betsy, one has to remember that he was jealous, and that, um, gentlemen seldom see other gentlemen as we do.”

    “Ain’t that the truth!” she said, chuckling. “No, well, if he had gone that far with the female, I think as it would all have come out then. –Or he wouldn’t have told me nothing at all,” she added shrewdly.

    “Mm. I agree, it seems unlikely to be true. –The other story seems to be that Senhor Baldaya already had a wife.”

    “Sounds likely,” said the old lady simply.

    “Aunt Betsy!”

    “Well, Jo, does a decent feller with no encumbrances run off with a young lady from under her Pa’s nose? No, he don’t: he asks for her hand, all proper.”

    “Mayhap there was some other objection to him. He would have been a Roman Catholic, of course, if he was Portuguese.”

    “Aye. Though this Nancy, she weren’t backwards in coming forwards, neither, from what Bobby said. Dare say she threw herself at him. Ever seen that? Pumps and me, we saw it twice in India, and both times it ended in tears,” she said, shaking her head. “First off, there was a Miss Nicholson what was a niece of a feller in trade, what we knew in Calcutta. Well, the officers didn’t mind that, not too many white girls out there in them days, but she goes and falls for a Colonel Jenner what has a wife already. Only the wife ain’t with him.”

    “You mean she had stayed behind in England?”

    “Mm. Colonel Jenner ain’t got no sense, and he encourages her. So next thing we knows she’s up country at a dak-bungalow with him. Then she comes back and bawls her eyes out all over our back verandah. Havin’ his baby. ‘Well, ain’t that the usual consequence, Miss Nicholson?’ I says. ‘You is welcome to stay here with me and Pumps: we don’t care what folks may say, and will look after the brat like one of our own. Or I dare say if you ain’t too particular, Pumps might find a nice chee-chee boy to marry you.’ But she won’t come at that, oh, no, acos she is an English lady!” Mrs Urqhart rolled her eyes.

    “Good Heavens; what happened, Aunt Betsy?”

    “Oh, it were really good. We hushed it up, only out of course half of Calcutta knew, only they ain’t saying nothing against Colonel Jenner, acos most of them is thankin’ their lucky stars it weren’t them what were caught out. And Pumps and me take Miss Nicholson up to the hills. And she has it, all right and tight. Nice little girl. Cora Ellen, we called her: pretty, ain’t it? And then I says to her: ‘Look here, Miss Nicholson, I knows a nice chee-chee girl what has lost her baby, and she will take it off your hands if you likes.’ Which she agrees to. So Jane Martin, that were her name though she were yaller as a Chinaman, Jane Martin comes up to the hills and they spend time together and Miss N. really takes to her and we think everything is hunky-dory. And eventual Pumps says well, the elephants is ready if we is, and the rains has come, so back we goes to Calcutta. And Peter Martin is real pleased acos it’s white, and agrees to take it. –His name weren’t Peter at all, me love, only he took his Pa’s name, you see. Only the next day there’s a grand ball. Me and Pumps go off to it, for Pumps says as how we deserves a bit of jollity, after that. And everyone’s there in their dress uniforms and party dresses, and the band strikes up for the supper dance, and all of a sudden there’s a sort of nasty hush, and in walks Miss Nicholson, with baby Cora Ellen in her arms! Well! She walks straight on up to Colonel Jenner and says loud as loud: ‘I think this is your property, Colonel Jenner?’ And dumps the baby on him and walks out!”

    “My God, how terrible!” gasped Jo.

    “Well, I was sorry for him, meself,” she admitted. “I ain’t sayin’ as how he behaved like a gentleman: acos he never. Only, stuck out there with his wife across the ocean: well, it ain’t a natural life! And he never had no Indian woman, nothing like that, all the time he was out there. But I ain’t sayin’ as how she didn’t throw herself at him, neither: acos she did. Faults on both sides, and only human nature to blame, when all’s said and done.”

    Jo nodded.

    “He shot himself,” said Mrs Urqhart.

    “What?”

    “Aye. I come up and took the baby off of him, acos the rest of ’em was standing round gapin’ like cods’ heads on a slab. And he walks out of the room and that was the last anyone saw of him, alive. Must have gone straight home and done it.”

    “How truly appalling! And Miss Nicholson?”

    Mrs Urqhart shrugged. “Went off with Jane Martin and her husband. –Don’t ask me the ins and outs of that one, neither! But the three of ’em was happy enough together.”

    Johanna stared. Mrs Urqhart shrugged again and took another little cake.

     After quite some time Jo said weakly: “And the other story?”

    “Mm? Oh.” Mrs Urqhart made a lugubrious face. “That were worse, me deary. Happened to a little clerk in Pumps’s office. Nice little fellow, he were. Pretty, in the Indian way: big black eyes, and so forth. Hindoo. I dunno how it happened, acos they usually keep their girls pretty well locked up, only Pumps sends him on an errand to a business friend, and he falls for the daughter like nobody’s business.”

    “An English girl?”

    “No, no, you got the wrong end of the stick, lovey! She were Hindoo, too, only the wrong caste: Brahmins, her family were. Pumps’s little clerk were somethin’ lower. The girl’s family was very strict, and there was no question of them allowing a match. Wouldn’t have been no harm done if he’d been an ugly feller, acos left to himself he wouldn’t never have stepped across the line. Only he’s pretty, you see, and the girl falls for him like a ton of bricks. So eventual she runs off to him.”

    “And they were married?”

    “Didn’t have time to be married. The father and the brothers catches up with ’em, and cuts the two of ’em to pieces. Nasty, it were.”

    “You mean literally?” she faltered.

    “Aye, literally, me love! Blood all over the little man’s room, and his landlord couldn’t never get a let for it, after that.”

    Johanna shuddered.

    “Sorry: I shouldn’t have told you that. Not in your condition. Don’t feel green, do you, my pet?” she said anxiously.

    “No,” said Jo weakly. “Aunt Betsy, I haven’t even mentioned— How did you guess?”

    “I ain’t blind, me love. You has that look to you.”

    “Oh. Well, I am perfectly well.”

    “I can see that,” she said placidly. “Well, there you are. If both parties is willin’, it only takes the woman to go and chuck herself at the feller for the whole thing to explode.”

    “Yes. –Oh! Lady Benedict’s mamma and papa! Yes, I am sure it must have been like that.”

    Mrs Urqhart nodded. “Wilful, you see? And so were Miss Nicholson, though she had a face on her like last week’s loaf.”

    “Oh,” said Jo weakly. That did not fit her mental picture, at all.

    “It don’t only happen to the pretty ones, me lovey,” said the shrewd old lady.

    “No.”

    “So Bath’s shunning this Lady B., eh?” said Mrs Urqhart over fresh cups of tea.

    “Yes, they are doing their best to give her the cold shoulder.”

    Mrs Urqhart grimaced. “You don’t need to tell me what that’s like! Hm...”

    Johanna glanced at her warily but the old lady’s face gave nothing away.

    “Bobby real keen, was he?” she said eventually.

    “Er—oh, on Lady Benedict? Dorian certainly thinks so.”

    Mrs Urqhart nodded slowly.

    “She,” said Jo with a twinkle in her dark eye, “is not very tall, with lovely pink cheeks, great dark eyes, and masses of brown curls.”

    “Eh? Are you tellin’ me she looks like them two what Noël used to fancy?”

    “Not unlike!” she admitted with a gurgle of laughter.

    Mrs Urqhart cleared her throat. “Has Noël met Lady B. yet?” she croaked.

    Jo gulped. “No.”

    Their eyes met. They went into unseemly shrieks of laughter.

    “Oh, dear!” said Mrs Urqhart, fanning herself briskly with her hand. “When he does, it’ll be all up with this skinny little Cherry Whatsername, mark my words!”

    “I must say, the thought had also crossed my mind!”

    “And Lady B. has definite given Bobby his congé?”

    “We think so.”

    “Hmm... And your lovely Cousin Catriona Stewart fancies him, hey?”

    “Well, I certainly gained that impression.”

    “Here!” Mrs Urqhart sat bolt upright on the sofa, her eyes bulging. “I’ve got it!”

    “What?” said Jo eagerly.

    “Hah!” said the old lady triumphantly, slapping her substantial thigh. “That’s it! Listen, me love, you and Dorian and Mrs Stewart must come home with me after Christmas: we’ll tell Mrs S. we’ll have a real Hogmanay like what she’s used to. And I’ll ask Bobby, too, and we can get them together, that-a-way!”

    Mrs Dorian’s face was all smiles. “Aunt Betsy, you are a genius!”

    “Aye, not bad, eh?” she said carelessly. “And I’ll think about Noël.”

    “You do that, Aunt Betsy.”

    “Now, this Lady B., poor critter. Seems like what needs to be proved there, is that her pa did marry her ma. I’ll have to meet her,” she decided.

    “Um, Dorian has asked me not to call!” she gulped.

    “Never you fret, me love, I’ll find a way!” she said confidently.

    Johanna was quite sure she would.