no consequence now, for Matilda has put me out of temper. Only listen to this,” she added, holding up a letter. “As I have just been telling Judith, Matilda has now quite passed beyond the bounds of what I will tolerate.”
“Good gracious, ma’am, what has she done now?” Carolyn asked as she stooped to rescue the cushion. This was not done without spirited objection from Hercules, but she succeeded at last and returned it to the sofa as she took her seat there.
The moment she had done so, the dowager, having watched her with a jaundiced eye and an air of extreme patience, said Matilda had now gone her limit. “Laboring under a mistaken belief that my Louis-Fifteen console table belongs at Swainswick, she desires that I shall return it to her, if you please. The nerve of that woman, choosing to believe that my belongings are hers! I had thought to leave that table to Skipton in my will, but now I shall leave it to Sydney, for I never heard the like.”
Surprisingly, in view of the uncountable number of furnishings that the dowager had brought with her from Swainswick to Bathwick Hill, Carolyn knew the table to which she referred, an elegant piece with gracefully curved legs and a classically decked frieze. She had no wish to attempt to convey to her godmother the fact that the console table, like most of the furniture she had carried away, did indeed belong to the estate and not to her, but was spared the necessity by the dowager’s habit of talking without expecting a reply from her audience.
“Not one line about poor Harriet’s health, of course, or dear little Stephen,” she said, “but she dares to take exception to the gift I sent Reginald for his eleventh birthday and seems to believe I have encouraged his misbehavior at school. I do not understand the woman.”
“What did you send him, ma’am?” Carolyn asked, being in no rush, now that she had a chance to speak, to change the subject to the previous evening’s activities.
“A perfectly splendid archery set. Very dear it was, too.”
“I collect,” Carolyn said dryly, “that it somehow contributed to the mischief.”
“Reginald,” said the dowager loyally, “did nothing very terrible, whatever Matilda may say.”
Miss Pucklington said in a reasonable tone, “It cannot be thought unwarranted, Cousin Olympia, for a master at Eton to object to being made the target of a steel-tipped arrow.”
“Reginald did not shoot a master, Judith. He made a guy to resemble him out of a few of the man’s clothes stuffed with straw. A perfectly understandable act, I’m sure.”
Carolyn chuckled. “Not to the master, perhaps.”
“Nonsense,” declared the dowager. “He would have liked it a deal less had he been in those clothes. He made a great piece of work out of a mere game, and he ought to be ashamed. Matilda insists that Reginald was lucky not to have been expelled, but that is absurd. ’Twas only a boy’s prank, after all.”
Carolyn, seeing an opening not to be missed, drew a quick breath and said, “I hope you will be as understanding about something just as childish that I have done, ma’am, although I fear that you will not.”
The dowager, whose mouth had been open to continue her diatribe against her daughter-in-law and the minions at Eton, snapped it shut for a brief moment to level a gimlet eye at her goddaughter. “What’s that you say? What childishness? You are not eleven years old, you know.”
“I know I am not, ma’am, but that did not prevent me from being childishly thoughtless in this matter, a fact that Sydney has made abundantly clear to me.”
“My son is displeased with you?”
Carolyn realized that she had said the wrong thing. Remembering the economies enforced upon the household during its master’s absence, as well as her godmother’s uncharacteristic tolerance of Sydney’s wishes, she began to see matters in a new light and hastened to put the dowager’s apprehension to rest.
“To be sure, he
“Good gracious, ma’am, what has she done now?” Carolyn asked as she stooped to rescue the cushion. This was not done without spirited objection from Hercules, but she succeeded at last and returned it to the sofa as she took her seat there.
The moment she had done so, the dowager, having watched her with a jaundiced eye and an air of extreme patience, said Matilda had now gone her limit. “Laboring under a mistaken belief that my Louis-Fifteen console table belongs at Swainswick, she desires that I shall return it to her, if you please. The nerve of that woman, choosing to believe that my belongings are hers! I had thought to leave that table to Skipton in my will, but now I shall leave it to Sydney, for I never heard the like.”
Surprisingly, in view of the uncountable number of furnishings that the dowager had brought with her from Swainswick to Bathwick Hill, Carolyn knew the table to which she referred, an elegant piece with gracefully curved legs and a classically decked frieze. She had no wish to attempt to convey to her godmother the fact that the console table, like most of the furniture she had carried away, did indeed belong to the estate and not to her, but was spared the necessity by the dowager’s habit of talking without expecting a reply from her audience.
“Not one line about poor Harriet’s health, of course, or dear little Stephen,” she said, “but she dares to take exception to the gift I sent Reginald for his eleventh birthday and seems to believe I have encouraged his misbehavior at school. I do not understand the woman.”
“What did you send him, ma’am?” Carolyn asked, being in no rush, now that she had a chance to speak, to change the subject to the previous evening’s activities.
“A perfectly splendid archery set. Very dear it was, too.”
“I collect,” Carolyn said dryly, “that it somehow contributed to the mischief.”
“Reginald,” said the dowager loyally, “did nothing very terrible, whatever Matilda may say.”
Miss Pucklington said in a reasonable tone, “It cannot be thought unwarranted, Cousin Olympia, for a master at Eton to object to being made the target of a steel-tipped arrow.”
“Reginald did not shoot a master, Judith. He made a guy to resemble him out of a few of the man’s clothes stuffed with straw. A perfectly understandable act, I’m sure.”
Carolyn chuckled. “Not to the master, perhaps.”
“Nonsense,” declared the dowager. “He would have liked it a deal less had he been in those clothes. He made a great piece of work out of a mere game, and he ought to be ashamed. Matilda insists that Reginald was lucky not to have been expelled, but that is absurd. ’Twas only a boy’s prank, after all.”
Carolyn, seeing an opening not to be missed, drew a quick breath and said, “I hope you will be as understanding about something just as childish that I have done, ma’am, although I fear that you will not.”
The dowager, whose mouth had been open to continue her diatribe against her daughter-in-law and the minions at Eton, snapped it shut for a brief moment to level a gimlet eye at her goddaughter. “What’s that you say? What childishness? You are not eleven years old, you know.”
“I know I am not, ma’am, but that did not prevent me from being childishly thoughtless in this matter, a fact that Sydney has made abundantly clear to me.”
“My son is displeased with you?”
Carolyn realized that she had said the wrong thing. Remembering the economies enforced upon the household during its master’s absence, as well as her godmother’s uncharacteristic tolerance of Sydney’s wishes, she began to see matters in a new light and hastened to put the dowager’s apprehension to rest.
“To be sure, he
Similar Books
