take the ribbons. Jolly good sport. Hadn't a golden boy to spare myself."
"When, exactly, is this hurdle race?" Lady Filmore asked. I knew why she was curious—Harelson would be there.
"Four o'clock today on the Hove."
"I shall take you in my carriage, Stewart," she said.
"Thankee kindly." Then he turned to me. "Remember, Blue Boy's your nag. Five to one. I'll place your bet, if you like."
"I do not gamble," I reminded him.
He stayed for fifteen minutes, during which time he continued the silent argument with the wayward lock of hair, and revealed that he was wearing one of Harelson's shirts, which was too small and pulled at his arms. Lady Filmore gave him the name of a local laundress to wash his linen.
He seemed eager to avoid Lady Collifer, who I think was his aunt, but perhaps it was some other relationship. He complained of assorted noble relations. He was looking for a rich orphan, as his pockets were to let and he did not wish to acquire any more family.
Just before Lady Filmore removed him, he asked me how my parents were doing. I told him they were fine, thank you. If he had designs on this orphan's fortune, he was out in his luck.
"In Cornwall, are they?" he asked.
"Yes, as I have so many aunts and uncles and cousins in London, my parents trust me to their care."
"Pity."
Hennie sat with us, and if I have omitted her, it is because she did not take much part in the conversation, which left her free to listen with both ears.
"A fortune hunter!" she scoffed, when Grindley and Lady Filmore had left. "Lady Filmore has poor taste in gentlemen friends."
"She has eyes for no one but Lord Harelson. And he, in his own way, is as bad as Grindley. Imagine Harelson charging his friend rent, when he is supposed to be so rich."
"That's how they get rich," Hennie said. "Old Lord Stone in Cranbrook would skin a flea for the hide. They say he even sold his old clothes, and, of course, he sold the extra produce from his home garden, instead of leaving the extra for the servants."
This reminded me of the berries. I went after Luke, and found him in a little shed, counting out cardboard boxes. They were green, and would hold a quart of fruit. I asked him what had happened to the strawberries. He said Lady Grieve always gave the extra to the orphanage, and had instructed him to do likewise during her absence.
"That was before she hired the house out, Luke. For the duration of my tenancy, the fruit from this garden is mine. You will ask me before distributing it."
"You don't want to help out the poor orphans then, miss?" he said boldly.
"If I do, I shall let you know. Please pick another two quarts of berries this afternoon and take them to Mr. Dalton's cook. I have promised Lady Filmore some strawberries."
"There's no more ready to pick, miss. Tomorrow, maybe."
"I am sure you can find two more quarts, if you look."
"If you want to give them white and sour berries, or ones that the birds have got at ..."
"Never mind," I said through tight lips, and went into the house to prepare for lunch. Dessert consisted of an extremely meager serving of strawberries. I hoped the orphans enjoyed their treat. I asked Mary Day to slip out and buy two quarts of strawberries and deliver them to Dalton's cook, as Lady Filmore had seemed pleased with the offer.
This recital of my morning may sound boring, but in fact, I reveled in having visitors, and even more in the prospect of driving out with Mr. Dalton that afternoon. When you have been left to your own devices for months, any little visit or outing assumes great importance. At one point last winter, Hennie had threatened to buy a parrot, just to have a new face to talk to.
I hesitated for ten minutes over what outfit to wear, finally settling on the violet suit, the same one for which I had hoped to find an amethyst brooch at the pawn shop. The breeze from the sea could be chilly, and although Lady Filmore wore sprigged muslin, I feared Dalton might drive his open
"When, exactly, is this hurdle race?" Lady Filmore asked. I knew why she was curious—Harelson would be there.
"Four o'clock today on the Hove."
"I shall take you in my carriage, Stewart," she said.
"Thankee kindly." Then he turned to me. "Remember, Blue Boy's your nag. Five to one. I'll place your bet, if you like."
"I do not gamble," I reminded him.
He stayed for fifteen minutes, during which time he continued the silent argument with the wayward lock of hair, and revealed that he was wearing one of Harelson's shirts, which was too small and pulled at his arms. Lady Filmore gave him the name of a local laundress to wash his linen.
He seemed eager to avoid Lady Collifer, who I think was his aunt, but perhaps it was some other relationship. He complained of assorted noble relations. He was looking for a rich orphan, as his pockets were to let and he did not wish to acquire any more family.
Just before Lady Filmore removed him, he asked me how my parents were doing. I told him they were fine, thank you. If he had designs on this orphan's fortune, he was out in his luck.
"In Cornwall, are they?" he asked.
"Yes, as I have so many aunts and uncles and cousins in London, my parents trust me to their care."
"Pity."
Hennie sat with us, and if I have omitted her, it is because she did not take much part in the conversation, which left her free to listen with both ears.
"A fortune hunter!" she scoffed, when Grindley and Lady Filmore had left. "Lady Filmore has poor taste in gentlemen friends."
"She has eyes for no one but Lord Harelson. And he, in his own way, is as bad as Grindley. Imagine Harelson charging his friend rent, when he is supposed to be so rich."
"That's how they get rich," Hennie said. "Old Lord Stone in Cranbrook would skin a flea for the hide. They say he even sold his old clothes, and, of course, he sold the extra produce from his home garden, instead of leaving the extra for the servants."
This reminded me of the berries. I went after Luke, and found him in a little shed, counting out cardboard boxes. They were green, and would hold a quart of fruit. I asked him what had happened to the strawberries. He said Lady Grieve always gave the extra to the orphanage, and had instructed him to do likewise during her absence.
"That was before she hired the house out, Luke. For the duration of my tenancy, the fruit from this garden is mine. You will ask me before distributing it."
"You don't want to help out the poor orphans then, miss?" he said boldly.
"If I do, I shall let you know. Please pick another two quarts of berries this afternoon and take them to Mr. Dalton's cook. I have promised Lady Filmore some strawberries."
"There's no more ready to pick, miss. Tomorrow, maybe."
"I am sure you can find two more quarts, if you look."
"If you want to give them white and sour berries, or ones that the birds have got at ..."
"Never mind," I said through tight lips, and went into the house to prepare for lunch. Dessert consisted of an extremely meager serving of strawberries. I hoped the orphans enjoyed their treat. I asked Mary Day to slip out and buy two quarts of strawberries and deliver them to Dalton's cook, as Lady Filmore had seemed pleased with the offer.
This recital of my morning may sound boring, but in fact, I reveled in having visitors, and even more in the prospect of driving out with Mr. Dalton that afternoon. When you have been left to your own devices for months, any little visit or outing assumes great importance. At one point last winter, Hennie had threatened to buy a parrot, just to have a new face to talk to.
I hesitated for ten minutes over what outfit to wear, finally settling on the violet suit, the same one for which I had hoped to find an amethyst brooch at the pawn shop. The breeze from the sea could be chilly, and although Lady Filmore wore sprigged muslin, I feared Dalton might drive his open
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