such admiration in their hearts that they had resented any attentions she might pay me. Now, as tho’ fearing that such unwisdom in matrimonial matters might, like an inflammation of the lungs, prove infectious through standing near her too long, they were only too pleased to leave the three of us in peace to improve our acquaintance.
“Mrs. Fredericks was telling me that Mrs. Westing has invited her to come and live here at Gudgeon Park,” explained my mother.
“We are both widows now, you see,” said Mrs. Fredericks, “and she has kindly offered me a home. Then too, there is a great deal to be done to Gudgeon. My brother had not the health or spirits to oversee the estate. I believe I can be of real assistance to Fanny—my sister-in-law, you know—and to my nephew.”
“I am sure you can,” I said. Her clever, sensible countenance and ready smile suggested that Mrs. Westing had reason to congratulate herself on procuring both a companion and a domestic drudge of a high order, with no need for wages or an afternoon off. “How delightful that we are to have another new neighbor at Gudgeon Park,” I said, with perfect sincerity, for my mother appeared quite pleased with her company and she would be a pleasant addition to our circle of friends. A long immersion in the world of commerce did not appear to have coarsened Mrs. Fredericks’s taste or weakened her intellect, and the two ladies soon were launched on a knowledgeable and detailed discussion of the latest in poetry and literature.
I left them to it, having no leisure to join in; Sir Quentin was approaching with a long string of young men craving an introduction. As I began a series of curtsies so numerous as to make me quite giddy, I had only a moment to reflect that the simple elegance of Mrs. Fredericks’s toilette was no doubt due to her sister-in-law’s anxiety that she not shame her in public. She wore no jewels, and that pretty gown was no doubt a hand-me-down. Mrs. Fredericks’s early training and natural good taste had done the rest.
The first dance was to begin, and I could spare no more attention for Mrs. Westing’s sister-in-law, however pleasant. Several of the gentlemen had managed to avoid being introduced to my stepsisters and were therefore able to ask me to dance immediately instead of having to work their way through my relatives first, so I was quite well occupied. I danced first with my most exalted admirer, the Marquis of Bumbershook. He was not the “young man” we had been promised (Lord Boring’s sister also proved to be apocryphal, and his party numbered only the original five Miss Clara had suggested), being fully five-and-forty, but nevertheless an agile and accomplished dancer and a person of some wit and great kindliness. During the moments when our attention was not required for the execution of the dance, we conversed, and I soon found myself speaking to him with the ease and comfort of long acquaintance.
“And so here I am,” he said, “come to join my young friend Boring in his new home, thinking that it would be a generous act to support him in his sad removal from the gaieties and fine society of London to the duties and dullness of the countryside, far from civilization up here in the North of England. And what do I find? A handsome house, a fine property and”—bowing—“new neighbors so superior to anything I could have expected—some of them indeed positively sparkling with intelligence, elegance and beauty.”
“Fie, sir,” I said. “I fear that ‘sparkling’ is not a term one may, with propriety, apply to my dear friends and neighbors.” Here my eyes strayed to Sir Quentin, who was engaged in loudly blowing his nose on an enormous handkerchief, quite as large as a small tablecloth, and his lady, who was equally loudly scolding him for his bad manners. The Marquis noted where my gaze had fallen and smiled, but without a hint of malice. “We are a quiet, homely set of people, my lord,” I chided him, “and we do not deserve to be made fun of, even by a marquis.”
“I should not dream of doing such a thing,” he protested. “Perhaps my eyes were dazzled by present company, but in truth I do believe that the society to be had in your village and outlying areas is most agreeable, and the countryside hereabouts is attractive, as well. Boring is far more to