rank of General in the old system of his father having purchased a commission for him, and then his turn for promotion having come fortunately soon. A single escapade of extraordinary valour in the Ashanti wars had brought him to the favourable notice of his superiors. He was not a naturally belligerent man; in fact, he was not unlike Freddie Dagliesh himself – good natured, rather shy, something of a bumbler except in his particular enthusiasms. For Freddie it was his garden, a thing of extraordinary beauty with flowers and trees from all over the world. For Bertie Welch-Smith it was mechanical inventions.
“You need to cultivate your taste more,” Violet said earnestly.
“What?” Bertie was already thinking of something else.
“Cultivate your taste,” she repeated slowly, as if he were foolish rather than merely inattentive. “The French are the most cultured nation on earth, you know.” She turned to Pamela. “They really know how to live well. We have a great deal to learn from them.”
Freddie stiffened and looked at Pamela in desperation.
“I think living well is rather a matter of personal preference,” Pamela said, with a smile. “Fortunately we do not all like the same things.”
“But we could learn to!” Violet urged, leaning forward across the table. The lights of the chandeliers winked in the crystal and the silver. The last of the dishes had been cleared away. Stockwell came in with the port. The ladies did not retire, since there were only four people present altogether. They took a little Madeira instead and remained.
“Do tell Freddie and Pamela about our stay in France, Bertie,” Violet commanded. “I am sure they would be most interested.”
Bertie frowned. “I had rather thought of going for a stroll. Take Freddie to see my new machine, what?”
“Later, if you must,” she dismissed his plea. “It is a harmless enough occupation, I suppose, but there is absolutely no requirement for such a thing, you know. There are valets and bootboys to polish one’s shoes, should they require it. Which brings something to mind.” She barely paused for breath, her Madeira ignored. “Do tell Freddie how you found poor Harrison and employed him. A French valet is a wonderful thing to have, Pamela; and a French lady’s maid is even better. I cannot tell you the number and variety of skills that girl has.” And she proceeded to tell her, detail after detail.
Bertie attempted to interrupt but it was doubtful in Pamela’s mind if Violet even heard him. Her enthusiasm waxed strong, and Bertie’s eyes took on a faraway look, although Pamela guessed they were really no greater distance than the stable, and his beloved machine.
“So very modern,” Violet gushed. “We really are old-fashioned here.” Her hands gesticulated, describing some facet of French culture, her face intent.
“I say!” Freddie protested. “That’s hardly fair. We are the best inventors in the world!”
She was not to be deterred. “Perhaps we used to be,” she swept on. “But the French are now … endlessly inventive … and really useful things …”
Bertie opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked vaguely crushed.
“You should tell them about finding Harrison,” Violet glanced at him, then back to Freddie. “And French menservants are excellent too, not just capable of one skill, like ours, but of all manner of things. Bertie never ceases to sing Harrison’s praises.”
“Harrison is English!” Bertie said with umbrage. “Dammit Violet, he is as English as steak and kidney pudding!”
“But trained in France!” she retorted instantly. “That makes all the difference. His mind is French.”
“Balderdash!” He was growing pink in the face. “He speaks the language, because he spent time there. That was where we found him. But he was more than happy to return home again with us … his home. He made that very plain, at least to me.”
“I never heard him say that!”
Pamela hid a smile behind her napkin, pretending to sneeze.
“You don’t listen” Bertie muttered.
“What did you say?” Violet looked at him sharply.
“He said you don’t—” Freddie began.
Pamela kicked him under the table. He winced and opened his eyes very wide.
Pamela smiled charmingly. “He said he won’t miss it,” she lied without blinking. “I presume he meant that Harrison won’t miss France, when he has been with you for a while. After all, you have adopted so many French ways, haven’t you? And you have a French maid yourself, so he can always speak the language, if he chooses.”
Violet looked confounded for a moment. She knew something had passed her by, but she was not quite