she would be with them early in the day, but the slow, warm hours passed without any sign of her. Mark Mauleverer hovered about restlessly, teasing his mother and Marianne with repeated questions about the preparations they had made, and making himself, Marianne privately thought, almost ridiculous by his anxiety for his guest ’ s comfort. Tired of this, she retreated at last to the servants’ quarters, where she found the cook in a state of simmering anxiety over her saucepans. The sacred hour of six o’clock dinner was drawing near; surely Lady Heverdon would not be late for that? Soothing these anxieties as best she might, Marianne suggested various means by which the elaborate meal might be retarded, if this became necessary, without undue disaster, but the cook’s lowering brow warned her of crisis to come, and she returned, with a sigh, to the front of the house. Mrs. Mauleverer was hovering in the main hall from which all the principal rooms opened. “What shall I do, my dear?” she asked. “It is high time to be changing for dinner, but if I go up, Lady Heverdon is sure to arrive, and I shall not be there to greet her. But you know how long I take to dress.”
Marianne did, and knew too how it flustered her to have to hurry. She urged her to go on and dress. “I will wait here,” she said, “and act as your deputy if it is necessary.”
Mark Mauleverer, appearing from his study, seconded her. “I cannot think what can have detained Lady Heverdon,” he said, “but do you go on upstairs, Mamma. Miss Lamb and I will form an amply sufficient reception committee, and you know it takes me no time at all to change. Nor Miss Lamb either, I suspect.”
If true, this was not exactly flattering to Marianne, who received it with a faintly mocking half curtsy and pointed out that Lady Heverdon, too, would doubtless wish to change her dress before she dined, and they would therefore have plenty of time. “Do not worry, ma’am, I will make time to come and do your hair for you in the way you like it.”
Thus reassured, Mrs. Mauleverer at last withdrew. Her son took an anxious turn about the hall. “I cannot think what keeps Lady Heverdon,” he said again. “I hope she has not met with an accident. I wonder if I should ride out to meet her.”
“If you do,” said Marianne reasonably, “she is bound to come another way; you will miss her and there will be no one here to greet her.”
“What a sensible girl you are, Miss Lamb. You have the answer to everything. I cannot think how we got on without you!”
Once again, ironically curtsying for the compliment, she found it an unwelcome one. How tiresome it was to be so sensible. But Mauleverer was looking more and more anxious and she did her best to comfort him. “After all,” she said, still reasonably, “Lady Heverdon will hardly be traveling alone. Even if she should have met with an accident, there would be someone she could send.”
“Of course there would. I am tormenting myself quite needlessly, I am sure. No doubt she has encountered friends on the way.”
“Or found herself late in starting. It is often difficult to get away from one’s hosts.” The hall clock struck a quarter to six. “I think, if you will excuse me, I had best go and commune with the cook; there is disaster brewing, I am afraid, in the kitchen.”
But he had turned away from her to stride down the hall to the front door, still open on the mild evening. “Yes,” he said, “it is a carriage. She must be coming at last.” He stood in the doorway, evening sunshine bringing out auburn lights in his dark hair and striking ruthlessly across the scarred cheek, but, for once, Marianne thought, he had forgotten himself in the excitement of the meeting. As for her, she hovered more modestly near the main stairway. Her part would be to come forward when the first greetings were over, and act housekeeper in guiding Lady Heverdon to her rooms. But, inevitably, however much she
Marianne did, and knew too how it flustered her to have to hurry. She urged her to go on and dress. “I will wait here,” she said, “and act as your deputy if it is necessary.”
Mark Mauleverer, appearing from his study, seconded her. “I cannot think what can have detained Lady Heverdon,” he said, “but do you go on upstairs, Mamma. Miss Lamb and I will form an amply sufficient reception committee, and you know it takes me no time at all to change. Nor Miss Lamb either, I suspect.”
If true, this was not exactly flattering to Marianne, who received it with a faintly mocking half curtsy and pointed out that Lady Heverdon, too, would doubtless wish to change her dress before she dined, and they would therefore have plenty of time. “Do not worry, ma’am, I will make time to come and do your hair for you in the way you like it.”
Thus reassured, Mrs. Mauleverer at last withdrew. Her son took an anxious turn about the hall. “I cannot think what keeps Lady Heverdon,” he said again. “I hope she has not met with an accident. I wonder if I should ride out to meet her.”
“If you do,” said Marianne reasonably, “she is bound to come another way; you will miss her and there will be no one here to greet her.”
“What a sensible girl you are, Miss Lamb. You have the answer to everything. I cannot think how we got on without you!”
Once again, ironically curtsying for the compliment, she found it an unwelcome one. How tiresome it was to be so sensible. But Mauleverer was looking more and more anxious and she did her best to comfort him. “After all,” she said, still reasonably, “Lady Heverdon will hardly be traveling alone. Even if she should have met with an accident, there would be someone she could send.”
“Of course there would. I am tormenting myself quite needlessly, I am sure. No doubt she has encountered friends on the way.”
“Or found herself late in starting. It is often difficult to get away from one’s hosts.” The hall clock struck a quarter to six. “I think, if you will excuse me, I had best go and commune with the cook; there is disaster brewing, I am afraid, in the kitchen.”
But he had turned away from her to stride down the hall to the front door, still open on the mild evening. “Yes,” he said, “it is a carriage. She must be coming at last.” He stood in the doorway, evening sunshine bringing out auburn lights in his dark hair and striking ruthlessly across the scarred cheek, but, for once, Marianne thought, he had forgotten himself in the excitement of the meeting. As for her, she hovered more modestly near the main stairway. Her part would be to come forward when the first greetings were over, and act housekeeper in guiding Lady Heverdon to her rooms. But, inevitably, however much she
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