‘is claret somefing cruel.”
Miranda jumped up in alarm. “Lady Wiston is badly hurt?” she demanded, trying to make sense of the extraordinary message. She hurried to take down her medicine chest, though it was sadly inadequate in the face of a serious injury. “Is a surgeon sent for?”
“Ain’t no call for a sawbones, miss, nor it ain’t ‘er la’ship what’s in queer stirrups.” Alfred took the chest from her and dropped it with a thump on the table on top of Mr. Daviot’s papers. “It’s the file what got ‘is nob scuttled.”
“Speak plain English, boy!” snapped Lord Snell as Miranda felt in her pocket for the key to the chest.
“The cove’s bleeding like blood was water,” said the footman succinctly.
“Then tell them to bring him to me in the scullery,” Miranda said calmly, opening the chest and taking out basilicum and bandages.
Alfred darted out, but from the passage were heard tramping feet and a tirade of which Miranda understood not one word in ten. The words she understood made her glad the rest was incomprehensible. Lady Wiston pattered in, followed by a grimy, unshaven man of indeterminate years with blood pouring down his foxy face and Eustace’s hand on his collar.
“I am afraid I hit him rather hard, Miranda,” said Lady Wiston guiltily. “He tried to steal my reticule as I descended from the carriage and, having my new umbrella in my hand, I struck out without thinking. Eustace believes no serious damage is done. Pray bind up his head.”
“Not here!” expostulated Lord Snell.
“No, take him to the scullery, please, Eustace,” said Miranda.
Lord Snell protested, “I meant the villain should be turned over to a constable, who will doubtless provide any necessary care.”
“He has been punished enough. I did not intend to hit so hard.”
Miranda left them arguing and followed the footmen and the pickpocket down the back stairs. His lordship was probably right, she reflected, but his aunt would undoubtedly win the argument. Never a dull moment!
* * * *
“I am beginning to give up hope, Peter,” said Aunt Artemis gloomily. “There she was actually closeted with Godfrey in the study, when I marched in and insisted on her physicking the rascal. A dirty fellow, with the rattiest face you have ever set eyes on and blood pouring down, and did she burst into tears? My dear, she did not so much as blink! What am I to do?”
Peter dropped into the chair beside her dressing-table. “Dashed if I know, Aunt,” he said with equal gloom.
His blue devils arose from a different cause. He was afraid his aunt’s plotting might succeed. Miss Carmichael deserved better than that starchy, pompous oaf, even if she did show signs of being impressed by his title and taken in by his handsome face and unctuous manner. At the very least, his presence disrupted a pleasant friendship.
“Perhaps I should have made her move out of the second best chamber,” Aunt Artemis sighed, “but I know how unsettling it is to have no space one can truly call one’s own.”
“She offered to remove,” Peter reminded her, “so she’d not have been overset if you had agreed. Shall you give up the yoga, since that too has failed?”
“Oh no, dear, the health benefits are already evident. I did hope Miranda would not like my standing on my head, but her composure remained quite unshaken.”
“Your trouble is, she’s just too even-tempered.” He fingered his cheek, recalling the slap Miss Carmichael had delivered when he kissed her. Yet five minutes later she had offered to bind up his bitten hand.
“She is such a delightful girl,” said his aunt. “Had I been blessed with children, I should have liked a daughter just like Miranda. I do want to see her happily settled. I shall have to think of something else. Or perhaps Godfrey will offer for her in spite of her cheerfulness. He is paying her far more attention than he ever did in the Spring. Do you think he is trying to fix his
Miranda jumped up in alarm. “Lady Wiston is badly hurt?” she demanded, trying to make sense of the extraordinary message. She hurried to take down her medicine chest, though it was sadly inadequate in the face of a serious injury. “Is a surgeon sent for?”
“Ain’t no call for a sawbones, miss, nor it ain’t ‘er la’ship what’s in queer stirrups.” Alfred took the chest from her and dropped it with a thump on the table on top of Mr. Daviot’s papers. “It’s the file what got ‘is nob scuttled.”
“Speak plain English, boy!” snapped Lord Snell as Miranda felt in her pocket for the key to the chest.
“The cove’s bleeding like blood was water,” said the footman succinctly.
“Then tell them to bring him to me in the scullery,” Miranda said calmly, opening the chest and taking out basilicum and bandages.
Alfred darted out, but from the passage were heard tramping feet and a tirade of which Miranda understood not one word in ten. The words she understood made her glad the rest was incomprehensible. Lady Wiston pattered in, followed by a grimy, unshaven man of indeterminate years with blood pouring down his foxy face and Eustace’s hand on his collar.
“I am afraid I hit him rather hard, Miranda,” said Lady Wiston guiltily. “He tried to steal my reticule as I descended from the carriage and, having my new umbrella in my hand, I struck out without thinking. Eustace believes no serious damage is done. Pray bind up his head.”
“Not here!” expostulated Lord Snell.
“No, take him to the scullery, please, Eustace,” said Miranda.
Lord Snell protested, “I meant the villain should be turned over to a constable, who will doubtless provide any necessary care.”
“He has been punished enough. I did not intend to hit so hard.”
Miranda left them arguing and followed the footmen and the pickpocket down the back stairs. His lordship was probably right, she reflected, but his aunt would undoubtedly win the argument. Never a dull moment!
* * * *
“I am beginning to give up hope, Peter,” said Aunt Artemis gloomily. “There she was actually closeted with Godfrey in the study, when I marched in and insisted on her physicking the rascal. A dirty fellow, with the rattiest face you have ever set eyes on and blood pouring down, and did she burst into tears? My dear, she did not so much as blink! What am I to do?”
Peter dropped into the chair beside her dressing-table. “Dashed if I know, Aunt,” he said with equal gloom.
His blue devils arose from a different cause. He was afraid his aunt’s plotting might succeed. Miss Carmichael deserved better than that starchy, pompous oaf, even if she did show signs of being impressed by his title and taken in by his handsome face and unctuous manner. At the very least, his presence disrupted a pleasant friendship.
“Perhaps I should have made her move out of the second best chamber,” Aunt Artemis sighed, “but I know how unsettling it is to have no space one can truly call one’s own.”
“She offered to remove,” Peter reminded her, “so she’d not have been overset if you had agreed. Shall you give up the yoga, since that too has failed?”
“Oh no, dear, the health benefits are already evident. I did hope Miranda would not like my standing on my head, but her composure remained quite unshaken.”
“Your trouble is, she’s just too even-tempered.” He fingered his cheek, recalling the slap Miss Carmichael had delivered when he kissed her. Yet five minutes later she had offered to bind up his bitten hand.
“She is such a delightful girl,” said his aunt. “Had I been blessed with children, I should have liked a daughter just like Miranda. I do want to see her happily settled. I shall have to think of something else. Or perhaps Godfrey will offer for her in spite of her cheerfulness. He is paying her far more attention than he ever did in the Spring. Do you think he is trying to fix his
Similar Books
