Escapade by Joan Smith Page B

shade, looking like Gainsborough paintings. It wasn't so in my day.” She elaborated on this theme a little, meeting agreement from her companion, and left with a favorable impression of Miss Fairmont.
    Ella nipped back to the library to browse amongst a selection of books on magic, ghosts, and witchcraft. She had a hearty chuckle over them later, read a few passages to Sara, and declared them absurd.
    When luncheon was announced, the Dowager had to be called twice, for she was deep into her novel and the problems confronting the penniless Bennet family in finding husbands for their five daughters. As soon as the meal was over, she hastened back to her suite. Mr. Collins had just made his entrance into the story, and she was enraptured with him.
    The other inhabitants of Clare Palace were less thrilled with their afternoon. The rain continued, effectively confining even the gentlemen to the house. “What shall we do?” Miss Sheridan voiced the old familiar question. She was not averse to remaining indoors, for her new yellow voile was really a summer gown, and would not do for chasing frogs, if Miss Fairmont started that again.
    'The library here is excellent,” Ella volunteered, which statement might as well have remained unsaid for all the interest it elicited.
    Only Clare cocked an eyebrow and said to her aside, “Making your debauchery quite public, are you, Miss Fairmont?"
    “What do you mean?” Belle asked, moving her chair closer to Clare so that she might join this private chat. “There is no debauchery in books. I read all the time."
    “It is a private joke,” Clare said in a damping voice.
    “Speaking of private jokes, Clare,” she said, softly now, so that Miss Fairmont might not hear, “Did I tell you what we saw in the village two days ago?"
    His face stiffened, and his voice when he replied was cold. “No, ma'am, but I have observed you are having the greatest difficulty in keeping it to yourself. Let us hear it, by all means."
    “Oh, I can hold my tongue,” she replied, laughingly. He was looking so disapproving that she said no more on that score. “Let's play a word game,” she said, to the room at large. “Do you have letters, Clare?"
    “There may be some in the nursery,” he replied, thus stating, either intentionally or by accident, what he thought of the idea.
    “Got any jigsaw puzzles?” Bippy asked. Harley reached out and hit him, and Peters rolled up his eyes in disgust.
    “We could write limericks,” Ella suggested. No one was enthralled with this idea either, except Miss Prentiss who was so clever with her pen that she was sure she could out-write the others.
    Belle took the idea up, and with two interested in it, it was sold to the others.
    “Whom do we write about?” Bippy asked.
    “Anybody you like,” Belle told him.
    “I know whom I shall write about,” Miss Sheridan said, twinkling her black eyes at Clare. The angry look Miss Prentiss shot her gave rise to the suspicion that she might have the same idea.
    “It's best to write about dead people,” Ella advised. “Or at least people who are absent—public figures. It would be all right to do Wellington or Prinney, or Princess Caroline."
    “Let's make out a list,” Sara said. “Henry VIII would be a good one to start with."
    “And Lady Godiva,” Ella added.
    “You must include Anne Boleyn! I shall do her, if I may, since she is the subject of my verse play, and I am familiar with her history."
    “I'll do Byron then,” Ella decided.
    “I'll do Princess Caroline,” Sara remarked.
    “I'll do Prinney's other wife, Fitzherbert,” Bippy mumbled.
    “Who will you do, Clare?” Belle asked. “Anne Boleyn's ax-man perhaps?"
    “I'll do Prattle,” he replied. He told Lady Honor she would do Shakespeare, and stuck a pencil in her hand. “All right,” she said.
    The others made their selections, and the party was soon busy scribbling away, with Miss Prentiss interrupting at frequent intervals to remind them of