must get rid of that peculiar companion of hers for a start. You should have seen her dress. Disgraceful! Utterly disgraceful! Miss Mattie Scattersworth indeed!”
“I don’t think Miss Scattersworth meant any harm by it,” ventured Mr. Symes timidly. “It was extreme perhaps but I think poor Miss Scattersworth was only trying to follow current fashion. When she comes to her senses—”
“Pah! That one will never come to her senses. Nor my poor sister either. You should have heard her laughing last night. Wild maniacal laughter for no reason at all! I am all concern for my sister as you know, John. She has not the stability of mind to be in charge of such a great fortune. Not that she has been ungenerous. By no means!”
“No, indeed,” said Mr. Symes feverently. “Her munificence… her donations to the poor are all that is marvellous.”
“Well, well… there is much in what you say, my dear John, but you know we do hold opposing points of view. I do not consider it anyone’s duty to help the poor. Poverty is a disease. They’re simply lazy, mark my words. Poverty, indeed! Nothing up with them that a good day’s work wouldn’t cure,” said the vicar forgetting that most of his tennants worked long and hard hours each day and still did not have enough to keep body and soul together.
“But to return to the more interesting subject of my sister. When I return to town, I shall try to persuade her to see a doctor. I am sorry to leave you with so much of the parish work but blood is thicker than water.” Mr. Symes fought down a nasty, uncharitable thought that Henrietta’s blood must have been very thin indeed when she had no money.
Mr. Jeremy Holmes and Lord Reckford had repaired to the Cocoa Tree. That famous coffee house seemed to be packed to capacity but, for the moment, both were content to survey the scene around them. Suddenly Lord Reckford felt a hand tugging at his sleeve and turned round. A small, thin man was bending over him. He was tricked out in tarnished finery from the enormous silver buttons on his soup-stained velvet coat to the glittering rings of paste and pinchbeck which embellished his long, dirty, tapering fingers. “What is it?” demanded Lord Reckford, recoiling slightly from the sour-wine breath of the man.
“Would your lordship be prepared for to buy information relating to a certain young lady?”
“What young lady?” demanded the Beau, twisting round in his chair.
His friend, Mr. Holmes, unfortunately decided that Lord Reckford was being annoyed. “What’s going on? What’s your business, fellow?”
Heads began to turn for Mr. Holmes’ voice had carried to every corner of the room. The man gave a wild look round and then darted like an eel through the crowd and disappeared.
Lord Reckford swore. “Damme, Jeremy, the fellow had some information for me and you scared him off.”
Mr. Holmes looked contrite. “I’m truly sorry, Guy. Thought he was bothering you.”
“Now, I’ll never know what he had to tell me,” sighed the Beau. “Someone is playing dangerous and malicious tricks on Miss Sandford and I mean to find out who it is. Everyone looks suspicious… that terrible Mrs. Ralston and her peculiar son… Alice and her mother….”
“I would have you know that I shortly hope to have the honor of making Miss Belding my wife,” said Mr. Holmes stiffly.
“Never say she has accepted you?”
“And why not?” demanded Mr. Holmes. ‘Truth to say I have not yet had the courage to approach Lady Belding for her permission. But I am by no means a pauper and my line is as old as theirs.”
“Ah, but do you have the nose,” teased his lordship and then regaled his friend with the story of the Belding Nose.
Mr. Holmes laughed reluctantly. “All these old families have their idiosyncracies. But none of that makes my Alice any less fair.”
“She is an extremely beautiful girl,” agreed the Beau. “When I first met her, I must admit that I suspected
“I don’t think Miss Scattersworth meant any harm by it,” ventured Mr. Symes timidly. “It was extreme perhaps but I think poor Miss Scattersworth was only trying to follow current fashion. When she comes to her senses—”
“Pah! That one will never come to her senses. Nor my poor sister either. You should have heard her laughing last night. Wild maniacal laughter for no reason at all! I am all concern for my sister as you know, John. She has not the stability of mind to be in charge of such a great fortune. Not that she has been ungenerous. By no means!”
“No, indeed,” said Mr. Symes feverently. “Her munificence… her donations to the poor are all that is marvellous.”
“Well, well… there is much in what you say, my dear John, but you know we do hold opposing points of view. I do not consider it anyone’s duty to help the poor. Poverty is a disease. They’re simply lazy, mark my words. Poverty, indeed! Nothing up with them that a good day’s work wouldn’t cure,” said the vicar forgetting that most of his tennants worked long and hard hours each day and still did not have enough to keep body and soul together.
“But to return to the more interesting subject of my sister. When I return to town, I shall try to persuade her to see a doctor. I am sorry to leave you with so much of the parish work but blood is thicker than water.” Mr. Symes fought down a nasty, uncharitable thought that Henrietta’s blood must have been very thin indeed when she had no money.
Mr. Jeremy Holmes and Lord Reckford had repaired to the Cocoa Tree. That famous coffee house seemed to be packed to capacity but, for the moment, both were content to survey the scene around them. Suddenly Lord Reckford felt a hand tugging at his sleeve and turned round. A small, thin man was bending over him. He was tricked out in tarnished finery from the enormous silver buttons on his soup-stained velvet coat to the glittering rings of paste and pinchbeck which embellished his long, dirty, tapering fingers. “What is it?” demanded Lord Reckford, recoiling slightly from the sour-wine breath of the man.
“Would your lordship be prepared for to buy information relating to a certain young lady?”
“What young lady?” demanded the Beau, twisting round in his chair.
His friend, Mr. Holmes, unfortunately decided that Lord Reckford was being annoyed. “What’s going on? What’s your business, fellow?”
Heads began to turn for Mr. Holmes’ voice had carried to every corner of the room. The man gave a wild look round and then darted like an eel through the crowd and disappeared.
Lord Reckford swore. “Damme, Jeremy, the fellow had some information for me and you scared him off.”
Mr. Holmes looked contrite. “I’m truly sorry, Guy. Thought he was bothering you.”
“Now, I’ll never know what he had to tell me,” sighed the Beau. “Someone is playing dangerous and malicious tricks on Miss Sandford and I mean to find out who it is. Everyone looks suspicious… that terrible Mrs. Ralston and her peculiar son… Alice and her mother….”
“I would have you know that I shortly hope to have the honor of making Miss Belding my wife,” said Mr. Holmes stiffly.
“Never say she has accepted you?”
“And why not?” demanded Mr. Holmes. ‘Truth to say I have not yet had the courage to approach Lady Belding for her permission. But I am by no means a pauper and my line is as old as theirs.”
“Ah, but do you have the nose,” teased his lordship and then regaled his friend with the story of the Belding Nose.
Mr. Holmes laughed reluctantly. “All these old families have their idiosyncracies. But none of that makes my Alice any less fair.”
“She is an extremely beautiful girl,” agreed the Beau. “When I first met her, I must admit that I suspected
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