very busy with the teapot. Canadian to the bone, she’d never quite got over the suspicion that praise to the face might really be open disgrace. “Here, Dittany, you’d better have extra milk in your tea. Did you get any lunch?”
“My husband took me out,” Dittany replied demurely. “We wound up eating at the inn with Mum and Arethusa and the Bleinkinsop twins.”
“The—you did say twins, Dittany?”
“That’s right. Glanville and Ranville, their names are. They recognized Arethusa from her photographs, and it appears to have been the start of something relatively beautiful.”
“But how?” It was not like Mrs. MacVicar to be incoherent. She simply knew that Dittany would know that she knew what twins were under discussion. Dittany, of course, did.
“Easily enough. They sat on a couple of stools placed, as I needn’t say, back to back, with a table in front of each twin. Arethusa sat across from one and Mum across from the other. Osbert and I sat side by side at a third table so they could look at us over their shoulders when they weren’t goggling at Arethusa and Mum.”
Refreshed by the cullen skink, Mother Matilda was taking a keen interest in this unusual seating arrangement. “My stars and garters,” she observed, “you do paint a curious picture. For one fleeting moment there, I thought you must be describing a pair of Siamese twins joined at the spine.”
“We didn’t get into physiological details,” Dittany replied, “but on the visual evidence, that’s what they appear to be. I have to say I was rather surprised at first to see all those arms and legs on one person. But then when one realizes he’s actually two persons … unless they have a jointly owned torso, which is quite possible since they only wear one coat which has four sleeves and buttons both fore and aft—or aft and fore, as the case may be—I must say it gave me a fascinating new insight on the possibilities of being twins. Glanville and Ranville seem to have such a lovely time together.”
“Land’s sakes!” exclaimed Mother Matilda. “Are you by chance expecting twins yourself?”
“So Dr. Peagrim tells me, and he’s never been wrong yet,” said Dittany. “At least he claims he never has, and I expect he’d be the one to know if anybody does. He says one’s a boy and one’s a girl, so I do in fact rather hope my babies emerge one at a time with a decent interval between. You know how people talk.”
“Well, if you’re not a caution!”
Mother Matilda set her spoon in the empty bowl with a sigh that was partly of repletion and partly of regret that there wasn’t any more cullen skink to be had. “My gracious, that was good! Not to be nosy, Mrs. MacVicar, but your granny didn’t by any chance happen to be a McCorquindale?”
“Why, yes,” the sergeant’s wife replied. “That is to say, she married a McCorquindale. That was my maiden name, as a matter of fact.”
“Your folks were from around these parts, were they?”
“Oh yes. McCorquindales were among the early settlers of Scottsbeck, as you doubtless know. In fact they’re one of the reasons it came to be called Scottsbeck. There were a lot that came over from Scotland in the early days: Frazers, MacDonalds, MacLeods of whom the McCorquindales are a sept, as I again don’t suppose I have to tell you. They’ve spread out a lot, but some of the descendants are still around. I was born and grew up in Scottsbeck, but moved to Lobelia Falls as a bride and must say I’ve never wanted to leave here. So you think you and I may be related to one another?”
“How else would you have got hold of Granny’s recipe?” said Mother Matilda.
“Frankly, I’ve never had a recipe,” Mrs. Mac Vicar admitted. “I just make it the way my own grandmother did. She lived with us after Grandfather died, and did a good deal of the cooking. It seems to me I do recall her saying she’d learned from her mother-in-law, of whom she was very fond. My
“My husband took me out,” Dittany replied demurely. “We wound up eating at the inn with Mum and Arethusa and the Bleinkinsop twins.”
“The—you did say twins, Dittany?”
“That’s right. Glanville and Ranville, their names are. They recognized Arethusa from her photographs, and it appears to have been the start of something relatively beautiful.”
“But how?” It was not like Mrs. MacVicar to be incoherent. She simply knew that Dittany would know that she knew what twins were under discussion. Dittany, of course, did.
“Easily enough. They sat on a couple of stools placed, as I needn’t say, back to back, with a table in front of each twin. Arethusa sat across from one and Mum across from the other. Osbert and I sat side by side at a third table so they could look at us over their shoulders when they weren’t goggling at Arethusa and Mum.”
Refreshed by the cullen skink, Mother Matilda was taking a keen interest in this unusual seating arrangement. “My stars and garters,” she observed, “you do paint a curious picture. For one fleeting moment there, I thought you must be describing a pair of Siamese twins joined at the spine.”
“We didn’t get into physiological details,” Dittany replied, “but on the visual evidence, that’s what they appear to be. I have to say I was rather surprised at first to see all those arms and legs on one person. But then when one realizes he’s actually two persons … unless they have a jointly owned torso, which is quite possible since they only wear one coat which has four sleeves and buttons both fore and aft—or aft and fore, as the case may be—I must say it gave me a fascinating new insight on the possibilities of being twins. Glanville and Ranville seem to have such a lovely time together.”
“Land’s sakes!” exclaimed Mother Matilda. “Are you by chance expecting twins yourself?”
“So Dr. Peagrim tells me, and he’s never been wrong yet,” said Dittany. “At least he claims he never has, and I expect he’d be the one to know if anybody does. He says one’s a boy and one’s a girl, so I do in fact rather hope my babies emerge one at a time with a decent interval between. You know how people talk.”
“Well, if you’re not a caution!”
Mother Matilda set her spoon in the empty bowl with a sigh that was partly of repletion and partly of regret that there wasn’t any more cullen skink to be had. “My gracious, that was good! Not to be nosy, Mrs. MacVicar, but your granny didn’t by any chance happen to be a McCorquindale?”
“Why, yes,” the sergeant’s wife replied. “That is to say, she married a McCorquindale. That was my maiden name, as a matter of fact.”
“Your folks were from around these parts, were they?”
“Oh yes. McCorquindales were among the early settlers of Scottsbeck, as you doubtless know. In fact they’re one of the reasons it came to be called Scottsbeck. There were a lot that came over from Scotland in the early days: Frazers, MacDonalds, MacLeods of whom the McCorquindales are a sept, as I again don’t suppose I have to tell you. They’ve spread out a lot, but some of the descendants are still around. I was born and grew up in Scottsbeck, but moved to Lobelia Falls as a bride and must say I’ve never wanted to leave here. So you think you and I may be related to one another?”
“How else would you have got hold of Granny’s recipe?” said Mother Matilda.
“Frankly, I’ve never had a recipe,” Mrs. Mac Vicar admitted. “I just make it the way my own grandmother did. She lived with us after Grandfather died, and did a good deal of the cooking. It seems to me I do recall her saying she’d learned from her mother-in-law, of whom she was very fond. My
Similar Books
