polite disinterest. Young Edward, Mr. Lushington’s principal acquaintance in our household, was hardly more communicative. The two had formed an easy alliance over a pack of hounds, Young Edward’s chief interests lying in the realm of Sport; but hunting could hardly be deemed an appropriate topic of conversation, given the unfortunate circumstances of Curzon Fiske’s discovery—which left the Sporting Fellows casting unsuccessfully for a topic.
Fanny, who held the honour of hostess at the lower end of the table, was in excellent looks this evening. She had determined to meet the lowering event of
murder
by donning oneof her most cunning gowns, a very daring confection of burnt-orange silk with mammeluke sleeves—introduced last Season but still novel in Kent—which were draped and fitted at three-inch intervals from shoulder to wrist with bands of bronze spangles. The neckline of this interesting mode was cut in a diamond shape, ornamented with a garnet cross; and the whole apparition suggested a Fanny cast back to the days of Juliet and her Romeo—to which she had added the fillip of short curls held by a riband about her forehead. She required only a balcony and a swain beneath it, and looked both romantickal and ravishing. I little doubted she was the object of every male eye in the room. Fanny appeared determined to ignore Mr. John Plumptre, however. He, tho’ seated at her right hand, was in no state to appreciate either her dashing appearance or her degree of pique, being as yet engrossed in a convoluted discussion of Ecclesiastical Privilege with George Moore, seated opposite. Mr. Lushington and I faced one another in the middle of the table. He was resplendent in a bottle-green coat and dove-grey satin breeches. I was flanked by my nephews, and he by Harriot Moore and Miss Clewes, who had been added merely to round out the numbers; ordinarily the governess would have been dining on bread-and-milk in the nursery.
“And how have your young charges amused themselves today, Miss Clewes?” Mr. Lushington cried. He is a married man, after all, with children of his own, and may be allowed to shew an honest concern for the Infantry. “Sewing their samplers and toasting crumpets by the fire, while young George Moore torments them with charges of toy cavalry?”
“Oh, sir, I should hope that Master Moore may never teaze his cousins in the brutal way most boys find commonplace—he holds the little girls in such esteem, you know, as being able to speak a little Italian, and find such places as Ceylon on the globes.”
“Ceylon!” The MP was amused. “Are Lizzy and Marianne intent upon joining the Honourable East India Company? Or have they a taste for tigers?”
“I believe the matter of Ceylon arose,” Miss Clewes said in a lowered tone, “because of poor Mr. Curzon Fiske. It was in Ceylon, I believe, that he died. Or rather—where he was
thought
to have died. Oh, dear, it is all so very confusing!”
“Do you mean to say,” Lushington demanded with a penetrating look, “that you spoke of the …
accident
… in the nursery?”
Miss Clewes looked conscious. She darted a nervous glance first at Edward, and then at Harriot Moore, who appeared impervious to Mr. Lushington’s words, being engrossed in a halting tale my nephew George had commenced. We cannot curb George of his graceless habit of speaking across the table, tho’ it is frowned upon in polite society; in a family party such as this, however, much may be ignored.
“I ought to have shielded the children from all knowledge—and well I know it!” Miss Clewes threw an appealing glance at me, as if I might defend her against the Member’s attack; but I make it a rule
never
to speak across the table—when I am disinclined for a particular party’s conversation.
“I fear the intelligence so cut up my peace that I was on the point of
swooning
, Mr. Lushington,” Miss Clewes continued, “and once Lizzy had secured my vinaigrette,
Fanny, who held the honour of hostess at the lower end of the table, was in excellent looks this evening. She had determined to meet the lowering event of
murder
by donning oneof her most cunning gowns, a very daring confection of burnt-orange silk with mammeluke sleeves—introduced last Season but still novel in Kent—which were draped and fitted at three-inch intervals from shoulder to wrist with bands of bronze spangles. The neckline of this interesting mode was cut in a diamond shape, ornamented with a garnet cross; and the whole apparition suggested a Fanny cast back to the days of Juliet and her Romeo—to which she had added the fillip of short curls held by a riband about her forehead. She required only a balcony and a swain beneath it, and looked both romantickal and ravishing. I little doubted she was the object of every male eye in the room. Fanny appeared determined to ignore Mr. John Plumptre, however. He, tho’ seated at her right hand, was in no state to appreciate either her dashing appearance or her degree of pique, being as yet engrossed in a convoluted discussion of Ecclesiastical Privilege with George Moore, seated opposite. Mr. Lushington and I faced one another in the middle of the table. He was resplendent in a bottle-green coat and dove-grey satin breeches. I was flanked by my nephews, and he by Harriot Moore and Miss Clewes, who had been added merely to round out the numbers; ordinarily the governess would have been dining on bread-and-milk in the nursery.
“And how have your young charges amused themselves today, Miss Clewes?” Mr. Lushington cried. He is a married man, after all, with children of his own, and may be allowed to shew an honest concern for the Infantry. “Sewing their samplers and toasting crumpets by the fire, while young George Moore torments them with charges of toy cavalry?”
“Oh, sir, I should hope that Master Moore may never teaze his cousins in the brutal way most boys find commonplace—he holds the little girls in such esteem, you know, as being able to speak a little Italian, and find such places as Ceylon on the globes.”
“Ceylon!” The MP was amused. “Are Lizzy and Marianne intent upon joining the Honourable East India Company? Or have they a taste for tigers?”
“I believe the matter of Ceylon arose,” Miss Clewes said in a lowered tone, “because of poor Mr. Curzon Fiske. It was in Ceylon, I believe, that he died. Or rather—where he was
thought
to have died. Oh, dear, it is all so very confusing!”
“Do you mean to say,” Lushington demanded with a penetrating look, “that you spoke of the …
accident
… in the nursery?”
Miss Clewes looked conscious. She darted a nervous glance first at Edward, and then at Harriot Moore, who appeared impervious to Mr. Lushington’s words, being engrossed in a halting tale my nephew George had commenced. We cannot curb George of his graceless habit of speaking across the table, tho’ it is frowned upon in polite society; in a family party such as this, however, much may be ignored.
“I ought to have shielded the children from all knowledge—and well I know it!” Miss Clewes threw an appealing glance at me, as if I might defend her against the Member’s attack; but I make it a rule
never
to speak across the table—when I am disinclined for a particular party’s conversation.
“I fear the intelligence so cut up my peace that I was on the point of
swooning
, Mr. Lushington,” Miss Clewes continued, “and once Lizzy had secured my vinaigrette,
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