as she was to help organise the Sunday school picnic, and as she had promised to attend Mr Evington’s ball, was a relief.
She followed the drive for a short way but then, instead of making her way back to the Lodge, she took one of the gravel paths that snaked through the grounds and followed it until she was almost at their edge. She had promised to visit Mrs Murgatroyd and let that worthy matron know how she had got on, and the way she was taking was the quickest route. Cutting across the grass she slipped through a gap in the railings and joined the road.
She had just done so when the sound of a familiar voice rang out in greeting.
‘What ho! Cicely!’
Cicely turned and smiled. Lord Chuffington, dressed in a natty outfit of narrow trousers with a sharp crease down the front, a white shirt with high starched collar, and a brightly-coloured blazer, was hailing her from the other end of the lane.
‘What ho!’ he said again as he ambled towards her, removing his straw boater as he did so. ‘Jolly day, what?’
‘Very jolly,’ said Cicely, smiling at his fashionable slang. Lord Chuffington - Chuff Chuff to his friends - was an amiable young man whose family lived at Parmiston Manor, the manor house in the neighbouring village.
‘Going into Little Oakleigh?’ he asked, smiling brightly.
‘Yes.’
‘Walk along with you, if you’ve no objection,’ said Lord Chuffington, falling into step beside her. ‘I say, Cicely, you’re looking dashed pretty today.’
‘Thank you,’ smiled Cicely.
‘Dashed pretty hat,’ said Lord Chuffington. ‘Feathers and what-not. Deuced pretty.’ He gave a grin then began to hum tunelessly, ‘Dum de dum de dum de dum.’
‘How is your mother?’ asked Cicely. She knew from long experience that when talking to Lord Chuffington it was necessary to help the conversation along a little.
‘The mater? Sound as a bell,’ he said, giving her another grin.
There was a silence.
‘And your father?’ asked Cicely politely.
‘The pater? Fit as a fiddle.’
Cicely kept the conversation going by talking of village matters, but Lord Chuffington seemed distracted. He hummed and hawed and at last said, ‘Look here, Cicely old thing, when you’re tired of this bother with the Lodge, how about coming over to Chuffington Manor and living with me?’
‘Living with you?’ she asked, startled.
‘Yes. You know. Lord and Lady Chuffington. Just the ticket. Any number of coves wanting to ask you, of course. Just thought I’d get my oar in first. You know, early bird catches the worm and all that.’
He paused expectantly.
‘So, how about it then?’ he asked.
‘How about what?’ asked Cicely, in something of a fog.
‘You and me. Read the banns. Joyful celebrations. A good time was had by all.’
‘The banns?’ asked Cicely in astonishment.
‘Got to do it sometime,’ said Lord Chuffington affably.
‘Do what?’ asked Cicely, wondering whether he could be proposing to her but thinking that even Chuff Chuff would have made things a little clearer if that had been the case.
‘Hm? Oh! Do what? Well, you know . . . ’
‘No, I don’t know,’ said Cicely in exasperation, wishing he would explain.
‘Man and wife. All that sort of thing. Orange blossom. Bridesmaids.’ He smiled cheerfully.
‘Chuff Chuff, are you asking me to marry you?’ she asked with a sigh, realising a direct question was the only way to find out for sure.
‘Looks that way,’ he said.
‘Oh, Chuff Chuff, it’s very sweet of you but I can’t marry you,’ said Cicely.
‘Not to worry,’ he said, not in the least put out. ‘Knew you wouldn’t say "yes" first time of asking. The mater said so, and the mater knows. Keep it for later then,’ he said with an amiable smile.
‘Chuff Chuff, I won’t be able to marry you later either,’ Cicely said, kindly but firmly.
‘Pish,’ said Lord Chuffington good-naturedly. ‘Ladies always say that.’
‘No, really, I do assure you -’ She broke off to wish old Mr Johnson a “Good afternoon”, then continued, ‘I can’t possibly marry you.’
They had by now almost reached Mrs Murgatroyd’s house. The door opened and Mrs Murgatroyd herself appeared, sailing out to the gate.
‘Cicely, I couldn’t wait,’ she said as she greeted Cicely. ‘Do tell me how you got on. Oh,’ she said, noticing Lord Chuffington. ‘Chuffington. What are you doing here?’
Lord Chuffington’s eyes glazed over at the sight of her. Mrs Murgatroyd was a forceful woman, and she made him go weak at the knees. ‘Oh, well, just . . well, you know . . . ’ he said vaguely, sauntering on the spot and looking like