Joan Smith - Delsie

She wondered also, when she viewed her dining room, whether it might not be time for her to hold her first dinner party for the family. The only problem was to discover whether Mrs. Bristcombe, with the help of the two girls, was capable of putting on a full meal. Her luncheons and breakfasts did not lead one to suspect much in the way of culinary skills, though Bobbie had mentioned having better fare at dinner. Oh, dear, and the kitchen a shambles! That must be attended to before she invited company.

Dinner that evening was held at the Hall, at which time deVigne told Mrs. Grayshott that he had put her husband’s horses and equipment up for auction. The agent had mentioned a possible nine hundred pounds for the whole, which would provide her with a decent carriage and team for her own use. “I shall attend the auction and try if I can find a suitable turnout for you, if you trust my judgment. It would be ineligible for a lady to attend the auction.”

She agreed to this, specifying only that he must not spend a penny more than Andrew’s carriage and horses brought.

“Did you have any debtors at your door this afternoon, cousin?” he asked next. The notice had appeared in the afternoon paper, informing creditors to apply to her for payment.

“No, not yet, there has hardly been time. By tomorrow they should begin coming. I shall stay home to be ready to receive them.”

“Couldn’t you do that, Max?” Jane asked. “It will be unpleasant for Delsie to have to deal with the local merchants.”

He looked a question at her, but she firmly denied requiring help. This much, at least, she could do herself. “I have been dealing with them for years. They won’t try to pull the wool over my eyes,” she pointed out.

“I had thought you might have the dressmaker in tomorrow to get started on your and Bobbie’s gowns,” Jane mentioned. “I wanted to go to the Cottage and discuss it with you today, but my joints don’t let me about as much as I would like in this cold, miserable weather. We shall arrange it very soon.”

“I shall write Miss Pritchard in the village a note, asking her to come to me soon,” Delsie said, every bit as eager as Lady Jane to see her new gowns made up.

Over dinner, they discussed the various circumstances that led them to believe Andrew had been smuggling. “A scandal and a disgrace,” Sir Harold decreed. “Just the very sort of thing he would have got himself into. His Uncle Clancy over in Merton the same, only of course it is mainly silk he brings in. The ship he bought from Andrew was not large enough for brandy. I wonder it didn’t occur to me sooner.”

“Where did you hear this story, Harold?” his wife asked.

“Everyone says so,” he answered comprehensively, for he had no idea where he had picked up this rumor, though he had a fellow scholar in Merton whom he saw once a week to discuss philosophy.

“Strange we never heard a whisper of it, if it is true,” Jane objected. “How is it possible the servants haven’t been running to us with the story? It must have been done with the greatest secrecy.”

“The Cottage is in an ideal spot for it,” deVigne pointed out. “Well set off from any other houses, and close to the beach. No one would have expected a gentleman of Andrew’s background to lend himself to smuggling. With a really good place of concealment for the goods, he might have done it without too much trouble. He was at pains to be as unsociable as a bear. No one was encouraged to call, including ourselves. What stymies us is where he has been hiding it.”

“Taking it right into his own cellars,” Sir Harold said.

“That is taking more risk than was necessary. There would have been no possibility of avoiding the charge if he was really so foolish as that,” deVigne pointed out. “I cannot believe he took it into his own house.”

“The men I heard in the orchard did not come near the house itself,” Delsie said. “If they were removing the last load, as deVigne thinks, they were removing it from the orchard. I would have heard the commotion if they had been bringing it up from the cellars-the doors opening and so on. This last lot, at least, wasn’t in the house.”

“Right in the cellar,” Sir Harold persisted.

“No, Andrew was a scoundrel, but he wasn’t a fool,” deVigne objected.

“If he was smuggling for three years without anyone tumbling to it, he was sharp as a tack,” Jane declared, with a hint of admiration.

“It was a dashed rackety thing to do, but as I pointed out to Mrs. Grayshott, I almost hope that is the explanation for the bags of guineas, for at least it is over now,” deVigne said. “With Andrew dead, there will be no more smuggling, and she won’t be bothered with anyone in the orchard, or with unwanted bags of guineas.”

“I hope you may be right,” Delsie said.

That night she again had a visit from the pixies.

Mrs. Grayshott left the Hall early that evening. She had a busy day to look forward to herself, with her housecleaning and her creditors coming, but of more importance, Lady Jane was tired and wished an early night. Nine o’clock was an absurd hour to think of going to bed, but sitting alone in state in the saloon was not preferable. She would go to her room and read. When she passed Bobbie’s room, the lights were not yet put out, so she entered for a talk.

“We have a pleasant job to do tomorrow,” she began cheerfully. “We must go through pattern books and select designs for our new gowns, you and I.”

“I’ve already choosed mine. It’s got ribbons,” Bobbie said happily.

Miss Milne was with her, preparing the child for bed, and she too joined in the conversation. “I’ve been telling Mrs. Bristcombe for two months this child needs new clothes.”

“It’s early yet. Let us get my books and have a look at them now,” Delsie suggested. “Bobbie can stay up half an hour later for one night.”

The three girls enjoyed a pleasant perusal of the books. As Delsie arose to go to her own room, she heard the light patter of feet in the hallway. It was the two girls from the Hall, running down to the kitchen to make themselves a cup of cocoa before retiring.

“Would you care for one yourself, miss?” the elder, Nellie, asked with a respectful curtsy. Then her hand flew to her mouth. “I mean ma’am,” she corrected herself hastily. No resentment arose at the error on this occasion. The manner of it was not studied, as Mrs. Bristcombe’s had been.

“I’d like some,” Bobbie declared, while the older girls laughed at her transparent efforts to prolong her staying up. They were young enough themselves to sympathize with the desire, and though Mrs. Grayshott felt no need for cocoa after a late dinner, Miss Milne accepted, to keep her charge company. When the maids came back up ten minutes later, they bore three cups, saying Mrs. Bristcombe had insisted on one for Mrs. Grayshott as well.

“It’ll make you drowsy, ma’am,” the elder added. Being two years older than her mistress, she felt this liberty not too forward.

“Perhaps you’re right,” the lady agreed, and took it. Roberta was inclined to dawdle, with her new mama still in the room, and as it was now becoming late, Delsie took her cup on to her own room, to allow the governess to get Bobbie tucked up in her bed.

It was just ten o’clock when Delsie sat down on her chaise longue-she no longer thought of it as Louise’s room and possessions-to continue leafing through the fashion magazines. How luxurious it was to relax at one’s ease, considering future indulgences. Her eyes lingered long over the pages with ball gowns of bright hues, of riding habits and fancy peignoirs. She particularly envisioned herself in one gown of a soft mint-green, an Empress-line gown, with lace panels inset beneath the high waist, and pretty dark-green ribbons looping up the hem in swatches, with more lace showing beneath.

Next year I shall have that gown, she thought to herself, and sat musing over where she might be likely to wear it. She saw herself at deVigne’s table, dressed in a style to honor it. She must have some jewel to wear around her neck with such an elegant gown. Even a small jewel was not beyond her means now, with careful husbanding of her monies. A small strand of pearls was her modest dream. They could be worn with any color. And a set of earrings, too, would add a touch of glamor she knew to be sadly lacking.

In a happier frame of mind than she had been in since her wedding, she went to the dressing table and began pinning up her hair in a more intricate design than she normally wore. If I were rich, I would have a woman to do this for me, she thought, and found herself wondering whether the elder girl sent down from the Hall might not help with her toilette. She dipped into Louise’s pots of cream, rouge, and powder, to experiment with these dashing items. The rouge was not required, and not easy to apply either, but after prolonged efforts, she had achieved a result not too unnatural-looking. How Mr. Umpton would stare to see her painting her face, she laughed silently to herself.

Glancing at her watch, she noticed she had wasted an hour in this indulgence of vanity, and with a guilty thought to the morning, she prepared for bed. Her eye fell on the cocoa just as she was about to extinguish her candle. It was cold by this time, so she left it to be thrown out in the morning. As she snuggled into her blankets, her mind roved over her cozy future. Her house would soon be in order, she would have a carriage, new gowns, a stepdaughter to add meaning and pleasure to her existence. No real worry marred her reverie as she slipped into a sleep that promised to bring sweet dreams.

It was the sounds outside her window that woke her an hour later. She had been dreaming of herself at a ball, waltzing in the mint-green gown with Mr. Umpton, who wore a painted face, and suddenly the orchard loomed onto the dance floor. Her half-roused state tried to work the external sounds into her dream, when she was suddenly sitting bolt upright in her bed.