pleasant chatting with you again, Miss Barwick,” with a little duck of the head and a chilly smile that included Aunt Nora. “No doubt we shall meet again.”
“Unless Mrs. Crawford plans on taking you away from the district entirely, I expect we shall meet again in the village, Emily,” I replied, every jot as civilly, for I would not give the pair of them the satisfaction of knowing I was furious.
“Cousin John does plan to take Emily to London to visit relatives, but not in the immediate future,” the Tartar answered, with a smile of triumphant spite, and a stronger than ever whiff of onions as she opened her lips to bid us adieu.
Then they were gone, leaving Aunt Nora and me to regard each other in offended confusion. “Not even a cup of tea would she take!” Nora exclaimed, when she had recovered speech. “I cannot think what she is about. The Barwicks are every bit as good as the Gambles—an older family if it comes to that. Our ancestor, Chloe, sat in Parliament long before that woman’s ancestors knew who they were. Just because the nap is off our carpets doesn’t mean we are nobody! To refuse a cup of tea in such a pointed way!”
“I believe that was what is known as a farewell visit, Auntie. And good riddance too. The onion-breathing dragon was serving us notice we are to cast out no further lures to Miss Two-Face to join us here at Ambledown.”
“I am surprised Emily would take it so meekly, after the amount of friendship that has been between us lately.”
“You forget she has been given a monkey to replace us. We cannot hope to compete with such a lively companion. This is all Gamble’s doings, of course.”
“I had that impression.”
“Let him take her to London. The sooner the better. I don’t care if we never see her two faces again.”
“Poor Edward, he will take this hard,” she sighed dismally.
I doubt very much he had thought of her since his departure. “I suppose Gamble thinks to nab a title for her, taking her to London for a Season. He’ll have to dig into his pockets to provide a dowry, if that is his aim.”
“He must be well to grass, bringing back so many things from India. The shipping fees alone would amount to something. Mrs. Partridge will know what he is worth. The banker has a set of rooms on her second story. I shall drop by next time I am in Grasmere.”
Chapter Six
The rumours of strange doings at the Hall continued, as did the caravans bearing oriental splendours for Carnforth Hall. Mrs. Partridge rolled her eyes, gasped, and admitted that fifty thousand pounds had been transferred from a London bank to Gamble’s local account. She would not venture a guess as to what portion stayed in London, but clearly he was a Nabob—and not a chicken Nabob either.
Of the Nabob himself and his women we saw nothing till church on Sunday. We always had the black carriage dusted off for church, considering our yellow tinker’s wagon to be of insufficient grandeur and excessive frivolity for this ecclesiastical occasion. The neo-Indians came in Carnforth’s old rig, not so much grander than our own, though I must own the pair of grays hitched to it took the shine out of Dobbin and Belle. They were not Carnforth’s team, but obviously belonged to Gamble.
Emily had been redone from head to toe, stuck into a fashionable gown that was surely from London, in a shade of blue that was nearly white, just tinted, like ice. It was simply but elegantly designed, showing her figure off to better advantage than her muslin round gowns had ever done. All the accoutrements were of the finest—blue kid slippers, blue gloves, a dainty bonnet with two short curly ostrich feathers that bent forward and tickled her left cheek. Really she looked inordinately elegant and beautiful, as though she no longer belonged here in Grasmere but was ready to take London by storm. I could not imagine who had made such a chic gown for her. Certainly not our local modiste, Miss Brown,
“Unless Mrs. Crawford plans on taking you away from the district entirely, I expect we shall meet again in the village, Emily,” I replied, every jot as civilly, for I would not give the pair of them the satisfaction of knowing I was furious.
“Cousin John does plan to take Emily to London to visit relatives, but not in the immediate future,” the Tartar answered, with a smile of triumphant spite, and a stronger than ever whiff of onions as she opened her lips to bid us adieu.
Then they were gone, leaving Aunt Nora and me to regard each other in offended confusion. “Not even a cup of tea would she take!” Nora exclaimed, when she had recovered speech. “I cannot think what she is about. The Barwicks are every bit as good as the Gambles—an older family if it comes to that. Our ancestor, Chloe, sat in Parliament long before that woman’s ancestors knew who they were. Just because the nap is off our carpets doesn’t mean we are nobody! To refuse a cup of tea in such a pointed way!”
“I believe that was what is known as a farewell visit, Auntie. And good riddance too. The onion-breathing dragon was serving us notice we are to cast out no further lures to Miss Two-Face to join us here at Ambledown.”
“I am surprised Emily would take it so meekly, after the amount of friendship that has been between us lately.”
“You forget she has been given a monkey to replace us. We cannot hope to compete with such a lively companion. This is all Gamble’s doings, of course.”
“I had that impression.”
“Let him take her to London. The sooner the better. I don’t care if we never see her two faces again.”
“Poor Edward, he will take this hard,” she sighed dismally.
I doubt very much he had thought of her since his departure. “I suppose Gamble thinks to nab a title for her, taking her to London for a Season. He’ll have to dig into his pockets to provide a dowry, if that is his aim.”
“He must be well to grass, bringing back so many things from India. The shipping fees alone would amount to something. Mrs. Partridge will know what he is worth. The banker has a set of rooms on her second story. I shall drop by next time I am in Grasmere.”
Chapter Six
The rumours of strange doings at the Hall continued, as did the caravans bearing oriental splendours for Carnforth Hall. Mrs. Partridge rolled her eyes, gasped, and admitted that fifty thousand pounds had been transferred from a London bank to Gamble’s local account. She would not venture a guess as to what portion stayed in London, but clearly he was a Nabob—and not a chicken Nabob either.
Of the Nabob himself and his women we saw nothing till church on Sunday. We always had the black carriage dusted off for church, considering our yellow tinker’s wagon to be of insufficient grandeur and excessive frivolity for this ecclesiastical occasion. The neo-Indians came in Carnforth’s old rig, not so much grander than our own, though I must own the pair of grays hitched to it took the shine out of Dobbin and Belle. They were not Carnforth’s team, but obviously belonged to Gamble.
Emily had been redone from head to toe, stuck into a fashionable gown that was surely from London, in a shade of blue that was nearly white, just tinted, like ice. It was simply but elegantly designed, showing her figure off to better advantage than her muslin round gowns had ever done. All the accoutrements were of the finest—blue kid slippers, blue gloves, a dainty bonnet with two short curly ostrich feathers that bent forward and tickled her left cheek. Really she looked inordinately elegant and beautiful, as though she no longer belonged here in Grasmere but was ready to take London by storm. I could not imagine who had made such a chic gown for her. Certainly not our local modiste, Miss Brown,
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