Keeping the Castle - By Patrice Kindl Page 0,35

outing to the Screaming Stones had ended in near disaster and no progress at all so far as coming to a better understanding with Lord Boring, I had assumed that that understanding would not be slow in coming. I was wrong. Lord Boring continued to be all that was delightful and charming but did not again speak of wishing that I might be in a position to provide advice and guidance on a more permanent basis than might be expected from a mere neighbor.

Part of the trouble no doubt lay with his mother. She rarely called with him at the castle, and when we called upon her, her manner to me and to my mother was distant. She quickly abandoned us to the company of Mrs. Fredericks, preferring to lay out rows of cards in an endless game of patience and ignore our presence. Clearly she was not anxious to see me as her daughter-in-law. My family and lineage were quite good enough—Crawleys had married into the lower ranks of the aristocracy often enough in the past that I should not be thought unsuitable on that account. And I could not see any reason for her to dislike or disapprove of me, based upon my manners or reputation. Indeed, she had hardly been in company with me often enough to have formed a prejudice against me. It could therefore only be my fortune, or lack of it, that persuaded her to regard me with disapprobation.

But why should that be a factor? The refurbishment of Gudgeon Park was on such a lavish scale (indeed, Mrs. Fredericks was so much engaged in this work that my mother complained she rarely saw her) that I could not help but assume money was in plentiful supply. However, a large fortune is so commonly married off to a similarly large fortune that I suppose the feeling is that one cannot have too much of a good thing.

One morning both gentlemen appeared at the castle with the news that guests were soon expected at the Park.

“Mother’s friends, the Vincys,” explained Lord Boring.

“Mr., Mrs., and Miss Vincy,” added the Marquis, lifting his eyebrows at the Miss.

“Oh?” I said, on the alert, “And what sort of a young lady is Miss Vincy?”

Lord Boring’s handsome face flushed. “A devilish plain one,” he said.

The Marquis shook his head at his friend. “You are less than gallant, Boring. She is a very pleasant young lady.”

“You are right. My apologies,” said Lord Boring, and changed the subject.

Prudence, Charity, and I happened to be in Lesser Hoo purchasing a bolt of figured muslin when they arrived in the village. Fido barked as a strange coach came to a halt in the inn yard.

At first sight we concluded that it was made of solid gold. Two footmen, attired in emerald velvet with scarlet piping and powdered white wigs, dismounted from the glittering equipage and enquired the way to Gudgeon Park. Old Owens, the ostler at the inn, gawked at this splendor for a few moments, then gathered up his scattered wits and pointed out their proper route without a word. Before the coach disappeared I spotted a veiled face peering out of the window and the gleam of two curious eyes.

“Well!” said Charity. “It couldn’t have been made of gold, of course. Do you suppose it could have been gilded?”

“You couldn’t!” objected Prudence. “It would wear off. People—stable boys and so on—would scrape it off and sell it.”

“It looked like gold.” They argued about it for some time, eventually coming to an agreement that whatever the material was, it was a most vulgar and ostentatious display.

“Did you notice the shoes the footman was wearing?” asked Charity.

Prudence nodded her head slowly up and down. “I did.”

“I would do almost anything for a pair of slippers like that,” said her sister.

“I know,” agreed Prudence, and the two of them stared resentfully down the road after the coach, irritated beyond words at the fact that their own shoes were not half so finely made as a footman’s. A vulgar and ostentatious display, indeed.

We abandoned our shopping expedition and instead filled the market basket with wild blackberries we gathered by the side of the road. These provided a pretext to call at Gudgeon Park, and as we happened to espy Mama and Alexander crossing a field on our way, they joined us. When Mama, upon being seated in the drawing room, realized that the purpose of our call was to inspect newcomers who had not yet had the