sleep that night, but Peter slept fitfully. Images of a monstrous bellowing figure dripping with tar kept intruding into his dreams. The sound of voices outside woke him after an hour, and he got up to look out of the window.
It was a hot night, with scarcely a breath of wind, and the clear sky was grainy with stars. When Peter hoisted himself up onto the high window ledge of his attic room, an amazing sight met his eyes. Twenty or thirty flaming torches illuminated the garden, causing the many trees to cast giant inky shadows behind them. A long table, placed on the lawn two floors below him, glowed with so many candles it seemed a raft of light against the dark grass. Peter could easily make out the diners' wigs, their powdered faces, and their sumptuous costumes in shades of turquoise, peach, and yellow. Sidney, looking half-asleep and wearing a ridiculous long wig, sat next to his mother, who gave him a sharp tap on his back with her fan every time he slouched. White-gloved footmen patrolled the table, replenishing glasses and serving the guests from silver platters piled high with roast meats of every sort.
Peter listened to the buzz of conversation punctuated by occasional gales of laughter. One voice in particular swept up from the table and echoed off the walls of the house and into the night.
"Damn your eyes, sir!" exclaimed a stout, hearty gentleman whilst removing his wig and wiping his bald head with a lace handkerchief. "I'll wager you ten--no, twenty!--bottles of my best port that the bay mare is in foal before her sister."
"I accept your wager, Parson Ledbury, as the whole table can bear witness," declared the man sitting opposite him. "And as you boast you keep the best cellar in these parts, I shall look forward all the more to consuming my winnings."
"Gentlemen," said Mrs. Byng reproachfully, "I hope your passion for gambling does not lead you down the same path as my husband's friend Lord Arlington. He lost a king's ransom last month betting that one raindrop would reach the bottom of the windowpane before another."
Parson Ledbury roared appreciatively.
"What is a life without risk? A sorry one, I should say, madam. How much did the young feller lose?"
"Three thousand guineas."
Wow! Peter said to himself. They sure are fond of betting.
The parson slapped his thigh. "Sidney," he exclaimed, gripping the boy's arm in his meaty fist, "by the look of disapproval on your dear mother's face, I believe she is beginning to doubt the wisdom of entrusting her jewelry to me. My dear Charlotte, do you think me capable of betting your diamond necklace on a raindrop?"
Mrs. Byng laughed. "All I ask is that you have the clasp properly repaired and the necklace returned safe to me in time for the Harvest Ball. In any case, if I could not trust you with my precious necklace, I should scarcely be entrusting you with my two precious sons."
The parson's fleshy face folded into a roguish smile. "I see your reasoning, cousin, although it occurs to me that Sidney here is a strapping young fellow. Now that it is the custom in London to wager one's relatives when one's purse is empty, what is to stop me losing your son and heir in a bet?"
Sidney shot to his feet, affronted, and the whole table burst into laughter.
"The parson is teasing you, Sidney," said his mother gently. "You know he cannot stand to be serious for more than five minutes at a stretch."
Peter chuckled into his sleeve. This was a different Sidney from the one he had seen lord over his sisters at breakfast. Parson Ledbury gave Sidney a friendly punch to the shoulder, causing him to spill his glass of wine, which Peter suspected was the parson's intention. A footman appeared out of the shadows to mop up the mess, although Peter noticed that nobody bothered to say thank you.
Peter watched the parson turn serious all of a sudden as he leaned toward Mrs. Byng. He lowered his booming voice, although it was still perfectly audible to everyone.
"You will
It was a hot night, with scarcely a breath of wind, and the clear sky was grainy with stars. When Peter hoisted himself up onto the high window ledge of his attic room, an amazing sight met his eyes. Twenty or thirty flaming torches illuminated the garden, causing the many trees to cast giant inky shadows behind them. A long table, placed on the lawn two floors below him, glowed with so many candles it seemed a raft of light against the dark grass. Peter could easily make out the diners' wigs, their powdered faces, and their sumptuous costumes in shades of turquoise, peach, and yellow. Sidney, looking half-asleep and wearing a ridiculous long wig, sat next to his mother, who gave him a sharp tap on his back with her fan every time he slouched. White-gloved footmen patrolled the table, replenishing glasses and serving the guests from silver platters piled high with roast meats of every sort.
Peter listened to the buzz of conversation punctuated by occasional gales of laughter. One voice in particular swept up from the table and echoed off the walls of the house and into the night.
"Damn your eyes, sir!" exclaimed a stout, hearty gentleman whilst removing his wig and wiping his bald head with a lace handkerchief. "I'll wager you ten--no, twenty!--bottles of my best port that the bay mare is in foal before her sister."
"I accept your wager, Parson Ledbury, as the whole table can bear witness," declared the man sitting opposite him. "And as you boast you keep the best cellar in these parts, I shall look forward all the more to consuming my winnings."
"Gentlemen," said Mrs. Byng reproachfully, "I hope your passion for gambling does not lead you down the same path as my husband's friend Lord Arlington. He lost a king's ransom last month betting that one raindrop would reach the bottom of the windowpane before another."
Parson Ledbury roared appreciatively.
"What is a life without risk? A sorry one, I should say, madam. How much did the young feller lose?"
"Three thousand guineas."
Wow! Peter said to himself. They sure are fond of betting.
The parson slapped his thigh. "Sidney," he exclaimed, gripping the boy's arm in his meaty fist, "by the look of disapproval on your dear mother's face, I believe she is beginning to doubt the wisdom of entrusting her jewelry to me. My dear Charlotte, do you think me capable of betting your diamond necklace on a raindrop?"
Mrs. Byng laughed. "All I ask is that you have the clasp properly repaired and the necklace returned safe to me in time for the Harvest Ball. In any case, if I could not trust you with my precious necklace, I should scarcely be entrusting you with my two precious sons."
The parson's fleshy face folded into a roguish smile. "I see your reasoning, cousin, although it occurs to me that Sidney here is a strapping young fellow. Now that it is the custom in London to wager one's relatives when one's purse is empty, what is to stop me losing your son and heir in a bet?"
Sidney shot to his feet, affronted, and the whole table burst into laughter.
"The parson is teasing you, Sidney," said his mother gently. "You know he cannot stand to be serious for more than five minutes at a stretch."
Peter chuckled into his sleeve. This was a different Sidney from the one he had seen lord over his sisters at breakfast. Parson Ledbury gave Sidney a friendly punch to the shoulder, causing him to spill his glass of wine, which Peter suspected was the parson's intention. A footman appeared out of the shadows to mop up the mess, although Peter noticed that nobody bothered to say thank you.
Peter watched the parson turn serious all of a sudden as he leaned toward Mrs. Byng. He lowered his booming voice, although it was still perfectly audible to everyone.
"You will
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