hankie, and sighed, and then sighed again, more deeply, and pointed to a small pink bowl decorated with fruit, vines and flowers.
“My favourite. Qing Dynasty. Pretty, isn’t it? And my husband’s favourite was the Tang horse. It is very valuable, but Mr Honeychurch loved it because the conformation of the rump and the hocks reminded him of his old hunter Mazeppa.” A tiny tear trickled down her cheek.
There was a knock on the door.
“The Major,” announced Mrs Chalmers.
Major Wilton was short and round and red in the face, a tubby whirlwind of waving hands, wobbling chins, nods and beaming smiles.
“Dear Lydia!” he boomed. “How charming you look. Are you well? A little low? Let’s see if I can’t cheer you up.” Only then did he notice the Professor, Judith and me. “And visitors? What a treat. Young ladies too.” He bowed over our hands, beaming all the while. “How delightful.”
A maid came in with the tea tray, and the Major jumped up and down like a jack-in-the-box: passing the cups, offering milk or sugar or lemon, handing around the cucumber sandwiches, urging Mrs Honeychurch, Judith and me to have one of the pretty iced cakes.
“I know how partial you ladies are to sweets,” he said. He gazed adoringly at our hostess. “Sweets to the sweet, eh?”
I felt like laughing. The Major steal the horse? He’d have given Mrs Honeychurch the shirt off his back. It was plain as the nose on your face that he simply worshipped her. Besides, I already knew where the horse was. My fingers had started to itch.
I wasn’t sure what to do next.
“Professor,” I whispered, plucking at his coat sleeve, but he wasn’t paying attention, for Major Wilton had bobbed to his feet.
“I nearly forgot,” he cried. “I have something for you, dear Lydia. A surprise. I left it with Mrs Chalmers. I’ll just go and fetch it.”
“You see?” said Mrs Honeychurch after he had left the room. “I’m sure he has something on his conscience.”
“Professor …” I tried again, but the Major bounced back into the room carrying a large brown-paper parcel. He placed it gently on Mrs Honeychurch’s lap.
“Won’t you unwrap it, Lydia? Here, let me help you.”
He cut the string with his pocketknife. Inside the brown paper was tissue paper, and inside the tissue was something pink. He shook it out and held it up for her. It was a shawl, embroidered all over with wandering vines, leaves and fruits, flowers and butterflies.
“Oh, Robert. It is the exact pattern of my Qing bowl.”
“It is!” crowed the Major. “I had it made for you, Lydia. Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect.” She stood up and took the Major’s hand in hers. “Robert, so that is why you took the Qing bowl.”
He looked self-conscious. “Caught me out, did you? Well, I confess I did, Lydia, but only so the embroideress could draw out the design. I put it back the next day.”
“You have not also borrowed the Tang horse, Major?” asked the Professor.
“Goodness no. Whatever gave you that idea? Lydia?” He turned to her. “What is this all about?”
“I thought … your collection … the horse … the temptation …”
The Major sat down heavily. “So this is what you think of me. My dear, I began my collection so that you and I would have something in common. I’d have collected live snakes if you’d liked them.” He mopped his face with his handkerchief. “My dear,” he said, taking her hand. “I would not make you unhappy for all the tea in China.”
This was my chance. “I think I know where it is,” I said.
All the eyes in the room were on me, and suddenly I felt shy.
“Mrs Honeychurch, may I try to find it?”
“Of course, dear. Go wherever you like,” said Mrs Honeychurch, but really, she didn’t give two hoots for the china horse now. She was gazing at Major Wilton with stars in her eyes.
I slipped out of the room, with the Professor behind me, and nearly ran smack-bang into Mrs Chalmers.
“Mrs
“My favourite. Qing Dynasty. Pretty, isn’t it? And my husband’s favourite was the Tang horse. It is very valuable, but Mr Honeychurch loved it because the conformation of the rump and the hocks reminded him of his old hunter Mazeppa.” A tiny tear trickled down her cheek.
There was a knock on the door.
“The Major,” announced Mrs Chalmers.
Major Wilton was short and round and red in the face, a tubby whirlwind of waving hands, wobbling chins, nods and beaming smiles.
“Dear Lydia!” he boomed. “How charming you look. Are you well? A little low? Let’s see if I can’t cheer you up.” Only then did he notice the Professor, Judith and me. “And visitors? What a treat. Young ladies too.” He bowed over our hands, beaming all the while. “How delightful.”
A maid came in with the tea tray, and the Major jumped up and down like a jack-in-the-box: passing the cups, offering milk or sugar or lemon, handing around the cucumber sandwiches, urging Mrs Honeychurch, Judith and me to have one of the pretty iced cakes.
“I know how partial you ladies are to sweets,” he said. He gazed adoringly at our hostess. “Sweets to the sweet, eh?”
I felt like laughing. The Major steal the horse? He’d have given Mrs Honeychurch the shirt off his back. It was plain as the nose on your face that he simply worshipped her. Besides, I already knew where the horse was. My fingers had started to itch.
I wasn’t sure what to do next.
“Professor,” I whispered, plucking at his coat sleeve, but he wasn’t paying attention, for Major Wilton had bobbed to his feet.
“I nearly forgot,” he cried. “I have something for you, dear Lydia. A surprise. I left it with Mrs Chalmers. I’ll just go and fetch it.”
“You see?” said Mrs Honeychurch after he had left the room. “I’m sure he has something on his conscience.”
“Professor …” I tried again, but the Major bounced back into the room carrying a large brown-paper parcel. He placed it gently on Mrs Honeychurch’s lap.
“Won’t you unwrap it, Lydia? Here, let me help you.”
He cut the string with his pocketknife. Inside the brown paper was tissue paper, and inside the tissue was something pink. He shook it out and held it up for her. It was a shawl, embroidered all over with wandering vines, leaves and fruits, flowers and butterflies.
“Oh, Robert. It is the exact pattern of my Qing bowl.”
“It is!” crowed the Major. “I had it made for you, Lydia. Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect.” She stood up and took the Major’s hand in hers. “Robert, so that is why you took the Qing bowl.”
He looked self-conscious. “Caught me out, did you? Well, I confess I did, Lydia, but only so the embroideress could draw out the design. I put it back the next day.”
“You have not also borrowed the Tang horse, Major?” asked the Professor.
“Goodness no. Whatever gave you that idea? Lydia?” He turned to her. “What is this all about?”
“I thought … your collection … the horse … the temptation …”
The Major sat down heavily. “So this is what you think of me. My dear, I began my collection so that you and I would have something in common. I’d have collected live snakes if you’d liked them.” He mopped his face with his handkerchief. “My dear,” he said, taking her hand. “I would not make you unhappy for all the tea in China.”
This was my chance. “I think I know where it is,” I said.
All the eyes in the room were on me, and suddenly I felt shy.
“Mrs Honeychurch, may I try to find it?”
“Of course, dear. Go wherever you like,” said Mrs Honeychurch, but really, she didn’t give two hoots for the china horse now. She was gazing at Major Wilton with stars in her eyes.
I slipped out of the room, with the Professor behind me, and nearly ran smack-bang into Mrs Chalmers.
“Mrs
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