LaForge had suffered greatly from the ministrations of castor oil and ipecac; he had refused to drink the potion of charcoal of his own will, and must be held down by two Marines while the dose was given; but Mr. Hill could detect no greater injury to the system. He saw nothing of improvement in the Frenchman's condition, but neither did he see a persistent decline. LaForge had fallen into restless slumber, still muttering the name of Genevieve. I must hope for the best And endeavour to turn my mind to other things—
“We were so happy to receive your daughter's visit last week, when Captain Austen brought her home from church; Catherine is most natural in her manner, and quite devoid of shyness.” She was also small and frail for her age, and her looks were not equal to her brother's; but I saw no occasion for telling the father this.
Captain Foote raised one eyebrow. “I hope Kitty did not disgrace herself by seeming too forward? She did not bring you to a blush? Her mother, you know, was not entirely what one could have wished.”
The unfortunate Nina Herries, long since fled to Calcutta with an officer of the Hussars. She had a fatal interest, it seemed, in the military orders—a fascination with uniforms that had better been outgrown in the nursery. Litde Catherine was her second child, abandoned to a new mamma and a different home; but the change had been of marked benefit.
“Kitty was everything that was delightful—and all that I was not, at her age,” I replied. “You need have no fears for the young lady, with such an example at home.”
I glanced at Mary Foote as I said this, and felt the Captain's eyes travel fondly towards his wife. She looked brilliant in pale grey satin, her dark locks piled ingeniously upon her head. In four years of marriage she had spent barely six months free of pregnancy; but the practise appeared to agree with her. She was perhaps a bit more stout than the elegant young daughter of an admiral who had first caught Foote's eye; but the Captain's second adventure in marriage had proved him a gambler of good fortune.
I could feel Frank at my back, impatient to speak to his old friend; and so I passed on, and curtseyed to Mrs. Foote. She had only time to press my hand and murmur something about “delightful… so happy …” before Frank's Mary gave a litde crow of pleasure, and was enfolded in her friend's embrace. “You must come up to the nursery and see the baby,” Mrs. Foote whispered to her, and received a giggle in return.
I made my way into the large and comfortable drawing-room of Highfield House. The villa on the outskirts of town was happily situated on rising ground, with a view of the sea from its upper storeys; it was adequate to the accommodation of seven children and occasional guests, and though quite modern in its style, looked everything that a growing family could wish. Nearly thirty people, I should judge, were already disposed about the room; a roaring fire ensured that those closest to the hearth should be roasted, while those at the farthest remove must suffer from draught I discerned Admiral Bertie, engrossed in conversation with another gentleman by the cunning French windows; his daughter, Catherine Bertie, held a silk handkerchief to her nose, which appeared decidedly enflamed. The Lances—Mr. David Lance and his wife, whom I believe to be called Mary, as every woman of my acquaintance must be, who is neither an Elizabeth nor a Catherine—were sitting in very grand style at the far end of the room, as though expecting the rest of the party to pay court. And beside them—
Beside them, in the closest conversation, stood a man I recognised from his bold dark brows and his broad shoulders. Sir Francis Farnham, last glimpsed at the theatre in French Street, on the most intimate terms with David Lance. It should not be extraordinary; Lance had once been a prosperous merchant with the Honourable East India Company, and Sir Francis was something to do with the Navy Board. The two services were thick as thieves, my brother had always said. Frank had carried gold bullion for the Company himself on at least one occasion—a venture not strictly legal, but rich in its recompense and repeated so often in naval practise as to seem mundane. The Honourable Company depended upon Navy protection for its valuable convoys