In the business of arranging some small papers and letters, he found the sheet upon which Miss Vernon had written the receipts that she had promised to send to Sir Reginald. Reginald’s keen perception was immediately aroused by the difference between this example of Miss Vernon’s writing and the letter—there was a slight dissimilarity in the hand, and a pronounced distinction between the elevated expressions of the petition and the more sensible prose of the receipts. Some deception had been practiced, of that he was certain, and he resolved to speak to Frederica before her mother reprimanded her for a letter that she had not written.
He waited in the front hallway until he saw Frederica and Wilson turn down the avenue and then went out to meet them. He asked permission to speak to Frederica alone. Wilson withdrew with her customary discretion and Reginald waited only until she was out of earshot before he produced the letter and placed it in Frederica’s hands.
Frederica’s glance changed from one of puzzlement to deep embarrassment as she read the letter, and she immediately began to stammer something by way of explanation.
“Say nothing, Miss Vernon. I have proof that this letter is a counterfeit—I found a sample of your own hand, but not before acting upon this forgery with my usual haste. I was deceived so far as to confront your mother and plead your case.”
Frederica was in considerable distress and would have run to the house immediately had he not caught her hand. “One moment, I beg you, Miss Vernon. This letter—no doubt the mischief of your cousin, who fled to Billingshurst right after he left it at my door—has been productive only of good. Depend upon it, if the content of this letter had not so distressed your mother, she would not have been deceived by the hand and then she would never have agreed to relinquish all desire for a match between you and Sir James. I will not detain you. I know you will wish to hear this from her own lips. You will not be made unhappy any longer.”
“I will go to her at once, but I beg you, sir,” Frederica faltered, “do not think ill of my cousin. He is often so lively and teasing that those who do not know him well will take offense where he does not mean to give it.”
“If he gives you up with as good grace as you have endured his foolishness,” replied Reginald gravely, “I will think as well of him as you like.”
“I have no doubt that he shall.” Frederica found it hard to repress a smile as she said this. “I am certain that he is already very remorseful for what he has done.”
Sir James was, in fact, so far from remorse that he had managed to persuade the party at Billingshurst that Mr. and Mrs. Vernon had quite depended upon his bringing them all to dine. Mrs. Smith, whose natural high spirits and delight in showing herself off as a married woman left her quite unembarrassed at meeting her dear cousins Catherine and Reginald, immediately supported the scheme. The Parkers declined to go, on account of Mr. Parker’s having been up all the previous night nursing his favorite dog and Mrs. Parker’s conviction that if Mrs. Vernon had wanted to know her, she would have waited upon her when they first came to Billingshurst. They were not averse to encouraging their guests, however, as their company included Mrs. Vernon’s relations and Miss Vernon’s particular friend Miss Manwaring and her brother. There was only the matter of what the ladies were to wear and how they were to be conveyed to be settled, and so they all set off, with Mr. and Mrs. Smith in their curricle, Claudia Hamilton, Lewis deCourcy, and Maria and Robert Manwaring in the Parkers’ chaise-and-four, and Sir James on horseback.
This happy party appeared just before five o’clock. Lady Vernon and Frederica, who were sitting with the children, observed the party from an upper window that overlooked the avenue.
“Mama, there is my cousin—and there are two carriages with him!”
“Good heavens!” Lady Vernon cried, running to the window. “Is there no end to his mischief! He has brought them all from Billings hurst.” The children were delighted with the appearance of the party, for there had been few visitors and no excitement or diversion since they had come to Churchill.
“What will my aunt and uncle say?” Frederica exclaimed.
What Mrs. Vernon was to say was very soon heard from the upper hallway, for there was a great bustle and exclamation from Mrs. Vernon’s dressing room, and when Lady Vernon and Frederica emerged, they saw her in an animated exchange with her brother at the top of the stairs.
“What can Sir James mean! They cannot want to stay to dinner!” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon in horror. “Mr. Vernon is somewhere about the grounds, and I do not know when he is to be home, and I have got nothing but a shoulder of mutton for a family table!” Her distress was very great, and she was caught between her anger at Lady Vernon’s cousin and her desire for that lady’s opinion on how the business of unexpected visitors was to be managed.
Lady Vernon attempted to placate her sister. “My cousin thinks that every household follows the informality and liveliness of Ealing Park, but for the sake of these guests, we must endure his impertinence. Let us go down together to receive them while Mr. deCourcy sends for Mr. Vernon. Frederica can give orders to the kitchen—your table is such a superior one that it will be nothing for your cook to accommodate visitors.”
Few could have been as calm as Frederica in the face of Cook’s hysterics when informed that they would be twelve to dinner. “Twelve!” the good woman cried again and again, as though she might reduce the number by repeating it. “How am I to feed twelve people on what I have got in the larder?”
Frederica explained away all of the difficulty in a very systematic fashion, for she was inclined to undertake even a domestic problem with scientific precision. There was bouillon enough for a potage of julienne vegetables and a second of chestnut purée, which would do as well as a cream soup. The fishmonger, who kept a stew pond, had sent a supply of whitebait only that morning (Vernon having an insatiable appetite for delicacy), and Frederica repressed a smile as she determined that the portion of turbot was insufficient for twelve, so her uncle must sacrifice his private indulgence to hospitality. The haunch of mutton might be sliced and served fricando with some curried fowl, and there were peas and potatoes and cucumber and cabbage, which might be flavored with something like capers or bacon. Frederica’s tranquillity appeased the cook so that even her objections to made-over dishes (though her mistress was willing to admit them at the children’s table, or when she and Mr. Vernon dined alone) was overcome and she conceded that enough ham might be left on the bone to be turned into a bruet with the addition of some leeks, and that if something like beaudinettes with a cream sauce were made of the cold salmon and shrimp, nobody would suspect that they had been served the evening before. As for a dessert, if there was not cake and fruit enough, they might appeal to Mrs. Chapman, who would surely take pity upon them and send them something from her pantry and hothouse.
When the menu was fixed, Frederica went up to arrange her dress. Wilson urged her to change from her mourning to an evening dress of silver-gray crepe, to which Frederica was reconciled by the addition of a black sash.
The party had assembled in the saloon, and when Frederica entered, Lucy Smith jumped up at once and cried, “Ah, here you are! For shame—what would I have done if you had caught me! How miserable my dear Mr. Smith and I would have been if you had succeeded! You cannot be angry—you will shake hands in spite of it?”