The Merry Month of May by Joan Smith

interested in Idle. He is as close to a lunatic as makes no difference.”
    “The ladies seem to find him an engaging lunatic.”
    “Sara has more sense. But if you think it necessary, you must by all means keep Miss Harvey with you for the painting session. I don’t suppose Idle would like to paint her?”
    “I’ll suggest it to him.”
    “Only he must not do it here. He can paint her at his place. His mama is at home.”
    “He could paint her in our garden.”
    That was too close to please the dame. “Fish and company always stink after three days. There is nothing so bothersome as unwanted company. Best run along now.”
    * * * *
    When Miss Harvey arrived at Whitehern, it was only Mary who had on her bonnet. “Are you not coming with us, Miss Wood?” she asked Sara.
    “I have some work to do this morning,” Sara lied politely.
    “Can’t the servants do it for you?”
    “I am helping with some sewing for the church-altar cloths,” Sara added, to lend an air of authenticity to her lie.
    “You’ll destroy your eyes. Shall we go, Miss Mary? Lady Haldiman insisted on sending a footman along. I declare she treats me like a daughter. And Rufus couldn’t be kinder. I have to dash back to ride with him this afternoon.”
    Sara heard this with a twinge of jealousy. “What about Peter?” she asked.
    Miss Harvey narrowed her handsome eyes. “Why, he will be at leisure as far as I know. This is your opportunity, Miss Wood.”
    Sara’s nostrils pinched and she took out her ill humor on her sister. “Don’t be too long, Mary. Remember Swithin is coming this afternoon, so we must have lunch a little early.”
    “He doesn’t come till after three,” Mary reminded her, and without further ado the ladies left.
    Sara heard Mary’s excited voice chattering as they went toward the door. “What will you wear to Haldiman’s ball, Miss Harvey?”
    “Lud, you can call me Betsy. Everyone does.”
    The door closed with a slam, and Sara sat, breathing hard in her vexation. ‘This is your opportunity, Miss Wood.’ The bold girl had set her cap at Rufus! It was as plain as the nose on her face. To work off her anger, Sara took her ride in the morning and returned for lunch in better spirits, till she learned Mary had not returned.
    “We had a note from her,” her mother explained. “She is taking lunch at the Fife and Drum in the village. Now don’t poker up, Sara. They are with Haldiman, so it cannot be called fast. He sent his groom to tell us.”
    This had the effect of increasing Sara’s stiffness. She jabbed her fork at her food and scarcely ate a bite. In the afternoon she had another visit from Idle to look forward to. He came early to show her sketches for a water gala, which was what his ball had become.
    “With a sprung floor built over the stones behind the house for dancing, lit all around by torches,” he explained.
    Mrs. Wood looked askance at the drawing. “What if it rains?” she asked.
    He slid his second drawing from beneath the first. “Semper Paratus. In that case we remove inside to dance by this babbling brook. Achieved by a pump and hose led down to the ocean. Quite ingenious. I am amazed at how easily the idea came to me.”
    “How will you contain the water in your ballroom?” the lady asked, agog at such ambitious plans.
    “I have not overcome that little difficulty yet. Some sort of trough must be arranged. I want a serpentine effect, with wandering water.”
    Sara saw the ball would be a long time coming to fruition and urged him to lower his standards. “I dare not,” he told her. “London will anticipate a spectacle when I ask them to come so far. Nothing less than a miracle to behold will maintain my reputation.”
    “You are not aiming for canonization after all,” Sara scowled.
    “My aim is more difficult: to topple Prinny as the most ambitious host in England. Shall we go to the garden?”
    Mrs. Wood gritted her teeth and went with them, for she thought Haldiman might