Peg Makes A Decision

22

Peg Makes A Decision

    The Morton-Laidlaw wedding had gone off most satisfactorily, a goodly crowd of relations, friends and well-wishers having assembled in Bath Abbey—so much so that certain predictions of echoing were proven wrong—and having then proceeded to eat Mr Laidlaw out of house and home. Of course, nothing could have outshone the Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen in pale bronze silk with mounds of feathers, but Nobby had looked fairy-like in white silk, and the bridesmaids, Hortensia and Georgiana, had looked very fresh and dainty in matching pale green. Or, as the scowling Georgey had put it, dashed idiotish. And the tiny flowergirl had looked positively adorable in an embroidered white organdie, the which, as Mr Laidlaw had accurately predicted, had gathered so many smears, smudges and drips during the damned reception that it had to be thrown out. The which proved his wife was mad ever to have dressed the brat in— Oh, Lor’: don’t bawl, Charlotte! It all went off dashed well!

    Of course Mrs Laidlaw ignored this injunction and sobbed all over him, such words as “the first” and “eldest girl” and “looked so frail” being dimly discernible through the sobbing. Jack Laidlaw didn’t bother to say anything in reply, he just patted her back and made murmuring noises. Well, for one thing, she wasn’t making sense: far from being frail, Nobby was the sturdiest creature that ever walked, and to name no other occasion had barely appeared tired after a five-mile hike followed, after a hearty dinner, by a dance that lasted until the small hours. Mrs Laidlaw, sniffing and accepting his handkerchief, finally declared that it was all very well for him: he could go off to his study and guzzle brandy! At which he gave in almost entirely, rang for Adam Ames, and called for the decanter and two glasses. And admitted, once she had been forced to sip, that it did feel odd to have the first girl leave the nest, yes.

    Mr Valentine produced a chaise and four and the grinning Mr “Rollo” Valentine but two days after the wedding. And the fluttered Anne, accompanied by Mrs Beresford’s very own maid, was tenderly handed into the coach, with a score of last-minute instructions, promises in re writing without fail—

    “Go, dear boy,” said Mrs Beresford. “Or you will find yourself less than five miles from Bath by nightfall.” And Mr Valentine, grinning, mounted his horse, and gave the order to the postboys. And off they went.

    “She went,” said Peg limply, as Aunt B. went back inside.

    “Did you think she would not, dearest?” replied Alice cautiously.

    “Well, it is quite a long way, and she has never been anywhere by herself. I thought she might give way to nerves, at the last. More than the bawling, I mean.”

    “The fact that she did merely bawl, must prove that she truly affects Mr Valentine, I think?”

    “Mm,” Peg agreed, chewing on her lip. “You are right, of course. Um, Mr Rollo seemed different, do you not think?”

    “I scarcely know him, Peg. Different in what way?” said Alice, leading her back into the house.

    “We-ell… In town he always dresses very well, and—um… Well, of course he is young and silly. But he appeared a lot less sophisticated, or anxious to make an impression, and, um, more natural, I suppose I mean.”

    “Yes? I think he was very excited to see his big brother bringing a young lady home.”

    Pegs swallowed hard, and sniffled a little. “Mm!”

    As their great-aunt had stayed with Mrs Beresford for the wedding and was still with them, Alice warned: “Great-Aunt Portwinkle will not wish you to bawl, Peg.”

    “I’m NOT!” she shouted. Forthwith bursting into a storm of tears and rushing up the stairs.

    Alice Buffitt shook her head slightly and went sedately into the morning-room.

    Mrs Beresford smiled at her but said: “Was that Peg rushing upstairs?”

    “Yes. I think she had some notion that Anne would jib, at the last. Not that she wished her to do so, of course.”

    “It is a shock to see her little sister grown into a young woman,” replied Mrs Beresford placidly.

    “Nonsense, Rowena. Young women of their age should be fixing their interest!” said Mrs Portwinkle on a testy note.

    “I quite agree, Aunt. And I am sure Peg found it quite natural and normal when Maria married. But Anne is younger than she, you see.”

    “Aye, well, if she had not thrown her chances away,” said the old lady grimly, “she would not have had to stand by and watch it.”

    “But we do not think that she has thrown her chances away,” said Mrs Beresford calmly. “Is that the crochet edging you were showing me the other day, Alice? –Good. Then pray come and sit by me and show it me again, for I do not think I yet have the knack of it.”

    Smiling just a little, Alice came to sit by Aunt Beresford.

    “I say: Anne actually went,” announced Horrible, entering her mother’s dining-room.

    Charlotte Laidlaw was breakfasting wanly in the company of a scowling Georgey and Georgey’s panting Pug Laidlaw. “What? Oh—yes.”

    “Next thing, Aunt Beresford will be hauling Peg off to Cumberland—whether or no,” said Horrible significantly.

    Georgey brightened. “I say! Would it be legally kidnapping, do you think, Horrible?”

    Horrible winked. “Illegally, ain’t it? Well, no idea, actually. Though Mr Buffitt has not positively writ her ordering her to send Peg home, so I dare say she might make a case that she was ignorant of his wishes. Mind you, Maria wrote Peg that he seems to be expecting her. Dare say she may not have passed that on to Aunt B.”

    “But ain’t it true,” said Georgey with relish, “that ignorance is no excuse, in law?”

    Horrible sniggered.

    “Stop that, girls,” said Charlotte without conviction.

    Georgey sighed. “Mamma, I thought you wanted to see Nobby married?”

    Charlotte got up unsteadily. “That is not the point, Georgiana Laidlaw, and you are a horrid, unfeeling little muh-monster!” Tears filling her eyes, she hurried out of the room.

    Georgey eyed Horrible uneasily but did not neglect to pass Pug a piece of buttered roll.

    “He’s getting awfully fat,” said Horrible detachedly.

    “Yes, because she has hardly let me out of the house since you deserted us!”

    “Never mind, I’m back now. Any ham?”

    “Not for us, Horrible,” she said sourly. “Though the boys are allowed to guzzle as much as they like, out of course.”

    “Rubbish.” Grimly Horrible rang the bell. Grimly she ordered the faithful Adam Ames to bring a plate of sliced ham. The footman opened his mouth, met her eye, thought better of it, and exited meekly to fetch the ham. “And don’t give Pug any! –Dare say we could get out for a decent walk this morning.”

    “She won’t let us,” said her little sister glumly.

    “Lord, Georgey, I would not have thought you could be so feeble! We’ll say we’re going to Aunt Sissy’s or somewhere equally harmless. To see Mr Ninian Dalrymple and his pugs, if y’like.”

    “Last time Pug Laidlaw and me went to see him she made Adam Ames walk behind us all the way,” reported Georgey glumly.

    “Pooh, there is nothing in that! I’ll give him a shilling, and tell him he can go to the pastrycook’s while we chat with Mr Ninian and the pugs.”

    “One doesn’t chat with pugs, you ape. Have you got a shilling?” asked Georgey cautiously.

    “Several. –Good: ham. Put it here, please, Adam.”

    Prudently waiting until the footman was out of the room, Georgey said: “In that case, we’ll do it. Though Mr Ninian is so proper, there is no hope he’ll let us go out through the grounds or anything of that sort.”

    “No, y’fool! Once Adam has gone we tell Mr Ninian we cannot stay, and get on out of it for a decent walk!”

    “Aye!” agreed Georgey in huge relief. She helped herself generously to ham. “Fort ’oo migh’ a’ go’ uh-i-hi,” she said through it.

    “Hey?”

    Georgey swallowed. “I thought you might have got ladified, in London,” she explained.

    Horrible eyed her tolerantly. “So did Mamma.”

    Forthwith Georgey went into a terrific shaking, spluttering fit, nodding her red head madly.

    Horrible smiled slightly. She knew she had got a bit ladified, but she wasn’t about to give in and admit it, just yet.

    … “I say!” she panted, rushing into her mother’s sitting-room, two days later.

    Charlotte was sitting on the sofa, staring wanly into space, to the accompaniment of Pug’s panting from the hearth rug. She jumped. “What is it now, Horrible?”

    “You will never guess!”

    “Just say it,” she sighed.

    Horrible eyed her uneasily. “Yes. Um, well, you know Great-Aunt Portwinkle intentions dragging Peg and Aunt Beresford off to her lair as well as poor Alice—”

    “Yes,” she sighed. “If that is all, please go away.”

    “No! But if you don’t want to hear—”

    Charlotte made an effort and gave her a shaky smile. “No, I’m sorry, dear. Come and sit down and tell me all about it.”

    Horrible approached warily, and perched on the very edge of a hard chair. “Well, she was about to drag them off, when a very odd letter arrived—no, well, two. One for Peg and one for Aunt Beresford—”

    “My God: from poor little Peg’s father?” gasped Charlotte, bolt upright.

    “No. That wouldn’t have been half bad: I wouldn’t have minded seeing Great-Aunt Portwinkle’s apoplexy— Um, no. Sorry. The letters are from a lady I don’t think you’ll ever have heard of, Mamma, and the thing is, Aunt Beresford hardly knows her either, and Great-Aunt Portwinkle’s never met her, but they were invitations!”

    Charlotte lost interest. “Great-Aunt Portwinkle never goes anywhere, so do not get your hopes up on poor Alice’s behalf.”

    “No, no, you have it wrong: the invitation was to Peg! The letter to Aunt Beresford was in order to bring in the big guns—” She met her mother’s eye and said quickly: “They were from a lady called Lady Bullivant, Mamma. Nobody knows her! Well, we met her daughter in London: Diane. –Po-faced, under the thumb,” she reported with a sniff.

    “That is neither amusing nor kind, Hortensia,” said her mother in a steely voice.

    “True, though,” replied Horrible, uncrushed. “Anyway, she has invited Peg to stay at, uh, their country place. Forget its name.”

    “Possibly she wants some company for this Diane this summer, so that the girl will not drive her out of her mind,” sighed Charlotte.

    Horrible eyed her warily. “Yes. Well, anything is possible. But it’s odd, don’t you think? Only that isn’t my point!”

    Charlotte leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. “I warn you, Hortensia, I am about to go into a decline.”

    “No, you’re not, don’t be silly!” replied her second daughter cheerfully. “Just listen. Peg said she would like to go, and as it is not far from their home—are you listening?”

    Charlotte opened her eyes and sighed. “Yes. Go on.”

    “Peg said,” said Horrible impressively, “that as these Bullivants live not that far from Lincolnshire, it would be most convenient to go home, and then go on there! Yes!” she ended triumphantly, as her mother stared. “Instead of going to Cumberland—see?”

    “But— Oh. I suppose she and Aunt Beresford have had a falling out.”

    “A row, you mean. I don’t say Peg isn’t capable of standing up to her, but ’tisn’t that. Aunt Beresford was completely stunned, actually. I’ve never seen her so taken aback.”

    Charlotte goggled at her. “I thought—well, apart from that nonsense you and Georgey were spouting—that it was definite that Peg would go to Beresford Hall?”

    “Exactly!”

    “Good Heavens,” she said faintly, as it began to sink in.

    Horrible sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly!” she repeated on a triumphant note.

    “My dear, don’t sit like that… Horrible, Damian Buffitt must have forbidden the Cumberland scheme!”

    Horrible shook her red head. “Don’t think so, not this time. Alice walked part of the way back with me—she said she had some errands to run, but actually she wanted to interrogate me, which was good, ’cos I wanted to interrogate her! Peg’s never breathed a word to either of us about not wanting to get over to Cumberland, but Alice did say she’d been very odd for a while. Well, bursting into tears at odd moments, that sort of thing, but they’d concluded it was merely, um, seeing Anne, um, growing up and about to contract an—an eligible connection.”

    “That is understandable,” allowed Charlotte. “Well, perhaps she has cold feet about it… Horrible,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I am convinced it is all Aunt Beresford’s fault, and having decided Peg will be just the helpmate for Jack, she must have hinted to the poor little girl, and put her off! Do you not think?”

    “Yes,” agreed Horrible sourly. “I do, actually. Given that she seems even keener than Aunt Sissy on the thing.”

    “That is Aunt Beresford all over,” said Charlotte with a groan. “Makes up her mind to something and goes for it, trampling whatever delicate feelings she might happen across on the way!”

    Horrible had to swallow. “Ye-es. But Peg has sense: don’t you think that even if Aunt Beresford dropped her an embarrassing hint, or, um, even worse, told her outright she approved, she wouldn’t sheer off? I mean, ain’t it better to have your future-mamma-in-law approve, than t’other thing?”

    “Oh, but my dear! You don’t understand how delicate a young girl’s feelings are at such a time!” she cried mistily.

    Horrible eyed her dubiously. She most certainly didn’t, true. But Peg Buffitt heretofore had not struck her as such a sensitive flower as all that.

    Alice Buffitt of course knew her sister rather better than Horrible did, but she would not, on the whole, have said that Peg was a sensitive flower, either. She bearded her in her room that evening before bed.

    “Peg-Peg, I should like a straight answer, and I am not prepared to go away until I have one,” she said, sitting down on the edge of Peg’s bed.

    Peg stuck out her chin. “Go on, then.”

    “Why are you suddenly so keen on accepting Lady Bullivant’s invitation?”

    “I am not keen on it at all,” said Peg frankly. “But I certainly don’t wish to go to Cumberland.”

    “Why not? You must see that Aunt Beresford likes you and, to be frank, I think that Cousin Beresford likes you, too, Peg, and would require only a little encouragement from you to—”

    “No!” cried Peg in tones of genuine anguish.

    Alice stared. “But my dearest—”

    Tears began to trickle down Peg’s cheeks. “I duh-don’t want to, and I can't!”

    Alice thought she saw what it was. “Peg-Peg, don’t cry. Every girl must have moments of maidenly—”

    “No!” said Peg angrily through her tears. “It is not that at all, and I should have thought that you of all people would have been the last to fall back on such a cliché!”

    “It may be a cliché but clichés are nonetheless representative of truth, are they not? Peg, dearest, there is no need to feel you must rush into anything or make any decisions; but at least give yourself the opportunity of seeing Mr Beresford at home, in his own setting—”

    “No,” said Peg, now very white. Another tear slid down her cheek, unheeded. “That is precisely what I do not want and—and I do not think his affections are engaged, and—and I am determined it must not go further.”

    “But dearest, his mother clearly likes and approves you—”

    “No,” she said tightly. “Please don’t let’s discuss it, Alice. I just—I just want to go home to Ma, and—and then, if she and Pa say I may, I shall be happy to go on to Lady Bullivant.”

    Alice sighed, and got up. She could see there was little point in arguing with her, at this juncture. “Very well, my dearest. I shall support you, whatever your decision.”

    Mrs Beresford bearded her in her room not two minutes later.

    “Alice, my dear, what is wrong with Peg?” she said baldly.

    “I don’t know, Aunt Beresford,” replied Alice calmly. “I have spoken to her, but all she will say is that she does not wish to go to Cumberland this summer after all, and, if you will pardon me for speaking frankly, that she does not wish to risk raising any hopes in Cousin Beresford’s breast which she cannot fulfil.”

    “But why?” said Mrs Beresford limply, suddenly sinking down on the bed. “I thought— Well, Jack can be very obstinate, but I thought he was learning to care for her, and that the summer would be the ideal time for them to see if they might suit!”

    Alice sat down on the bedside chair. “So did I,” she agreed simply.

    “Alice,” she said tensely, bending forward: “has your father writ to forbid it?”

    “No.” She hesitated; then she said: “I think that it is not a rational thing, ma’am, though doubtless Peg would claim it is. My suspicion is that it has all been a little too much for her, what with Anne’s attaching Mr Valentine so suddenly, and the—well, not to put too fine a point on it, the hot-house atmosphere of London, with all the young things being forced into sudden growth, so to speak. You know, before she came to London, Peg never had a single admirer.” She smiled, just a little. “Most unlike Anne,” she murmured.

    “What? Oh, well, yes: that silly Bon-Dutton boy—”

    “No, no, there were others: Sir Horace’s young nephew—the odd curate or two! But Peg was never like that.”

    “Oh. Oh, good gracious, yes, I see what you mean! Forced into sudden growth—yes, indeed!” She thought it over. “She needs time, then?”

    “Mm, I think so, Aunt.”

    Rowena Beresford sighed. “And I was so looking forward to this summer! I had it all planned out… I had even planned to speak to Mary and George about removing to the dower house. –My besetting sin: rushing into things, regardless,” she said with a wry grimace. “Well, poor dear little Peg: if time is what she wants, time is what she shall have!”

    “Thank you, ma’am,” said Alice in considerable relief.

    “But wait: this invitation from Lady Bullivant—”

    “I think Peg merely seized on that as an excuse, Aunt Beresford.”

    “Yes, I see that. But Alice, what on earth can have prompted it?”

    “I have no notion, ma’am; I did not think that Peg and Diane Bullivant had a thing in common.”

    “No… Well, I scarce know them, myself. They are a Tory family, of course… Good God!” she gasped, bolt upright. “Lady Bullivant is one of Geddings’ sisters!”

    Alice’s jaw dropped.

    “He—he must be serious about Peg,” she croaked.

    Alice nodded numbly.

    “Unless she wishes to promote the match and has done it behind his back. It would not be the first time,” she said with a wry look, “that a gentleman’s female relation did such a thing. –I did not see him in Brighton. Did he strike you as that much épris of Peg in London?”

    “I have not seen them together, Aunt. In fact I have not met Lord Geddings, at all. I think he left town not long after I arrived—at all events, though I have met Lady Bullivant and Diane, I have never set eyes on him.” She hesitated. “Er—there was a rumour that the Duke of Wellington was looking favourably on his suit.”

    “Yes, and had agreed he should not pursue poor little Anna von Maltzahn-Dressen,” said Mrs Beresford with a wince. “But if the man wished to press his suit, why did he not stay in London?”

    “I know not, ma’am.”

    Mrs Beresford sighed and got up. “I suppose we must give Peg her chance… But he is too old for her, Alice!”

    Alice also rose, looking at her uncertainly.

    Mrs Beresford took a deep breath. “My dear, I should like both you and Peg to come to me for next Season. Do not worry, I shall speak to Aunt Portwinkle. I think she will agree: you girls must be allowed your chances!”

    “Thuh-thank you, Aunt Beresford,” stuttered Alice, very red. “You are too good.”

    Mrs Beresford eyed her drily. “I am not as good as all that, my dear, for I am still hopeful of bringing Jack and Peg together, you see! And I am looking forward to having you in my house: we shall be enabled to enjoy some rational conversation, in the midst of the forcing house!”

    Alice’s cool grey eyes twinkled. “I shall do my best, Aunt.”

    It was too late to speak to Aunt Portwinkle that evening, but Mrs Beresford tackled her the next day. The old lady eyed her coolly. “I cannot imagine why you thought I would object, Rowena.”

    “Nuh-no!” she stuttered. “I— Thank you so much, Aunt Portwinkle!”

    “So!” she said briskly. “You will all come to me for a week, as we planned, and then I shall send both Alice and Peg home in the carriage. Then Peg may conveniently have the carriage for the visit to Lady Bullivant, and Alice will come back to me.” She eyed her thoughtfully. “I think Peg might come to me for the winter, too: if you want her for Jack it is high time she stopped living like a savage.”

    Mrs Beresford winced, but nodded, and allowed the old lady to settle all the details of the journey—both journeys—without argument. It was best not to argue with Mrs Portwinkle when she was, miracle of miracles, in a complaisant mood!

    Peg’s relatives were not aware of it, but Mrs Portwinkle’s expression “living like a savage” pretty much summed up the reasons for her decision to stay away from Cumberland and any possible involvement with Mr Beresford. During that conversation with him and Aunt Sissy about Chelford’s family’s financial affairs, her cousin’s depiction of the rôle expected of a wealthy gentleman’s helpmate had struck her forcibly—nay, with a sickening jolt. Of course she was aware that he had meant nothing by it, but the fact that he could mention it in such a casual way, as a—a given, thought Peg drearily, mulling it over innumerable times, could only make it so much the worse! Naturally he would expect the mistress of Beresford Hall, if it were not so huge as Dallermaine, to be able to do all those things. And, if she could see Alice capably running Chelford Place, Dallermaine, and any other house the Duke might own, Peg could not see herself performing creditably in a gentleman’s house. Why, she had never so much as set eyes on household accounts, and was very sure Ma kept no such records! And—well, yes, she could do simple arithmetic, and possibly the task of comparing this year’s accounts with last year’s would not be beyond her—but ordering up the right amount of linen and so forth? How did you know what was the right amount in the first place? Let alone tell your housekeeper she had done the wrong thing! Well, perhaps she could have done that, it would only be a matter of speaking honestly, but not if she did not know what the right thing was! And by now Peg had seen enough of the way which Mr Beresford’s town house ran smooth as clockwork to be aware that she didn’t have a notion—not a notion!

    At one stage, she recalled groggily, one of Maria’s letters had gone on about what was spent on candles at Monday Hall, and she had dismissed it as just Maria being Maria—oh, help! What a little fool she was! For now she could see that it was neither piffling nor boring, but a serious matter, and that, never mind a gentleman’s comfort, it would be quite possible to overspend a gentleman’s budget drastically and—and she could never do it! Oh, if only it were herself that had gone to Great-Aunt Portwinkle and not Alice— Well, there was no point in thinking that, and she must just be glad that Alice had had all those years of training and knew what was what in a genteel household, and what things should cost.

    It did not occur to Peg, as she agonised over all of this, that in the first instance Mr Beresford was not as rich as the Duke of Chelford, that in the second instance, should he ever take her to Beresford Hall as his bride, his Aunt Mary would be only too glad to put her in the way of things and train her up at a nice slow pace, that in the third instance a man in love does not usually expect his young bride to be completely on top of all the small details of household management immediately and does not generally give a fig if she is not, and that in the fourth instance she might throw herself on Aunt Beresford’s mercy, admit her ignorance, and ask for her help. For one thing, though she could see Aunt B. liked her, she was not at all sure that she desired her for a daughter-in-law or thought she would be at all suitable in the rôle.

    And then—though Peg was perfectly genuine about her feeling that she was an unfit helpmate for Mr Beresford—it must be admitted that Alice’s reading of the situation was correct, too. Part of Peg’s conviction that she just couldn’t was, indeed, due to the “forcing-house” atmosphere of London, and to a strong feeling that things were rushing along at an uncontrollable rate, in a direction in which she was not at all sure she wished to go—whether it were with Mr Beresford, or another. It was not a feeling that she had defined to herself: nevertheless it was a very strong factor in her decision to go home to Ma, this summer.

    “Oh, there you are,” said Damian Buffitt in a vague tone, wandering in very damp from his experiments to find his second and third daughters seated in the parlour.

    Used though she was to him, Rose took a deep breath and reminded him grimly that he had not seen Alice for six years.

    “Is it that long?’ he said vaguely. “Better give us a kiss, then.”

    Dutifully Alice rose and pecked his cheek.

    “You’re looking thinner,” said Damian in disapproving tones, returning the kiss. “Aunt Portwinkle trick you out in that disaster of a gown, did she?”

    For the trip home to Lincolnshire Alice had naturally not worn any of the exiguous summer garments forced on her by Aunt Sissy or loaned by her sisters. The gown was a respectable snuff-coloured poplin. Even her beauty did not manage to make it look more than passable. On the other hand, her father was wearing damp rags, not to put too fine a point on it. “Yes,” she replied succinctly.

    “Always did reply exactly to one’s question: quite a good mind, but not an original one,” he noted to the ambient air. “Don’t suppose the old girl sent up a dressed goose, anything of that nature, did she?”

    “Pa, a dressed goose would not have travelled all the way from Bath, especially not in this summer weather!” cried Peg.

    “Peg, he said it on purpose,” warned Rose.

    “Yes,” confirmed Alice mildly.

    “Yes,” agreed Damian simply. “See they ain’t taught you not to rise to one’s every cast like a damned trout. –Talking of which, saw a few up towards the head of the stream, where those bushes overhang the bank, if anyone fancies getting up there with a rod.”

    “I’ll tell George,” said Rose on a limp note. “Damian, aren’t you pleased to see Peg?”

    “Eh? Of course I am—not surprised, though. Knew that fellow wouldn’t make an offer,” he said in vindicated tones.

    Peg went very, very red, and Alice’s lips tightened.

    “What fellow?” asked Rose in bewilderment.

    For once Alice was shaken out of her normal placidity. “Ma, don’t you know?” she gasped.

    “Don’t, Alice,” muttered Peg, biting her lip.

    “Who?” cried Rose. “Not that old man with the big red nose?”

    “’Course not!” said Damian Buffitt scornfully before either of his daughters could formulate a reply. “That Beresford fellow. Knew he wouldn’t come up to scratch—no sense of honour at all.”

    “That is NOT TRUE!” cried Peg very loudly. “There was no reason at all that he should offer!”

    “Yes, there was. Explained it quite clearly to him. Said exactly what I put in my letter to you.”

    “What letter was this?” croaked Rose. “And when?”

    Damian merely looked superior and Peg’s mouth opened and shut without producing sound, so Alice said calmly: “Some time back, Ma. When Mr Beresford was up here to fetch Anne. Pa seems to have ordered him to offer for Peg on the joint score of a casual kiss bestowed on her when he was under the impression she was a carter’s daughter, and his not having found any eligible parti for her during his stay in her house.”

    “Yes,” agreed Peg hoarsely.

    “What? Damian! How could you possibly think that Mr Beresford would feel himself obliged to offer on that account?”

    “Never thought it at all,” he said smugly. “And I was right, see? Knew he’d have to send you back to us.”

    “He didn’t!” cried Peg.

    “Um, you are here, Peggums,” said Rose limply. “I must say, I thought you might like a trip to Cumberland: aren’t the Beresfords in the middle of the lakes?”

    “Yes, well, there you are,” said Damian smugly. “Seems the girl has a sense of duty, after all.”

    Rose got up, taking a deep breath. “Damian Buffitt, what did you write to the poor child?”

    “Eh? To Peg? Just what I said,” he said airily. “Told that Beresford fellow he must make an offer, or failing that, find her a fellow what would, or else send her back home at the end of the stupid Season. Incidentally, where is Anne?”

    “Anne is where I said she might be, and GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!” screamed Rose, suddenly turning scarlet. “I never heard of such a thing! You spend twenty-five years doing nothing for your daughters—NOTHING!—and then do your best to ruin any chances they might have been given through nothing you did?”

    “That’s redundant,” he said loftily.

    “GET OUT!” she screamed.

    Shrugging, Mr Buffitt wandered out.

    “I’ll kill him!” cried Rose, bursting into violent tears.

    Alice came calmly to put an arm round her and guide her back to her chair. “Make some tea, Peg, dear,” she said calmly over the sobs.

    Peg was still very flushed. “He did it on purpose,” she said tightly.

    “To ensure that Mr Beresford would not offer? Of course he did.”

    “I cannot—believe—it!” hiccoughed Rose. “Not—even—of—him!”

    “I can,” said Damian Buffitt’s second daughter firmly.

    Peg went over to the door. “So can I. I shall never believe another thing he says to me. Shall I make enough tea for three?”

    “Yes, lovely,” said Alice calmly. “Hush, Ma. Oh—and Peg; do not mention to Pa that box of tea from Great-Aunt Portwinkle.”

    “No, for it would be just like him to throw it away for pure spite!” said Peg bitterly, going out.

    Exactly. But Alice did not say so, merely soothed her mother until the sobs had died down, then assuring her that neither she nor Aunt Sissy believed for a moment that Mr Beresford was indifferent to Peg, nor she to him.

    “But why did she come home, then, instead of letting Cousin B. take her to Cumberland?” lamented Rose.

    Alice’s calm grey eyes twinkled just a little. “Well, very largely cold feet, Ma?” She pressed a handkerchief into her mother’s hand.

    Rose blew her nose hard. “Of course,” she said thoughtfully.

    “I am sure you will be glad to hear that Aunt Beresford has kindly asked us both to town for another Season, next year,” added Alice serenely.

    “What?” she gasped. “When was this?”

    “Only about a week ago, Ma, so we thought we could tell you in person.”

    “Of course,” said Rose dazedly. “She really does like Peg, then?”

    “Yes. You know, they are very alike in many ways, though Peg’s is a much sweeter temperament,” she said thoughtfully.

    Rose nodded hard. “That is just what I have always thought!”

    “Mm. Though not every man wishes to marry a copy of his mother,” she murmured.

    Rose tucked the handkerchief up her sleeve. Her eyes began to twinkle. “Well, no: there must be exceptions to every rule, one supposes!”

    At this the proper Alice Buffitt broke down in a horrible fit of the sniggers, so Rose concluded with some relief that she had not wholly gone over to the Portwinkle side, after all, and that letting her go to the old hag had not been the horrid mistake that, in the chilly watches of the night during the past six years she had sometimes thought it must be.

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