The old lady stepped back and looked with head on one side at her niece
— Cicely had taken trouble for someone and it had been worth it. The gold of the full dress showed off the warmth of her skin and reflected against the gold lights in her hair. ‘And I vow you look magnificent too, child,’ she smiled back at the radiant girl, noting with satisfaction the eager expectancy in her firm young body and the tender expression in her eyes. Here were the signs she had looked for, and she wondered just how much was going on inside that proud little head, with its sweep of auburn hair and clustered curls.
Cicely smiled back at her and held out the velvet case she carried, saying that she had come in to be shown how to wear the jewels to the best advantage, and would Aunt Agatha put them on for her. She knelt down and the old lady clasped the diamonds round her neck and pinned the stars in her hair. But when it came to ear-rings and brooch Cicely laughingly demurred, with ‘Lud, I dare not wear more, for already Maria is like to scratch my eyes out seeing she’s only wearing Mamma’s second best garnets.’
‘You need no jewels to set you off,’ cried the old lady. ‘And I wonder what gentleman will agree with me on that score. Well nigh all of them, I expect.’ She decided now to tease Cicely. ‘Why there — I knew I had a bit of news. The dear Vicar has returned from Sussex. But of course you will have heard of that already.’
‘Why yes, indeed, ma’am.’ Cicely knew full well what the old Pet was after and determined to surprise her. ‘After our tedious feminine day in Hythe, I was in need of moral support, so I begged Mamma to stop the carriage and let me out, saying that I must walk or run mad. Both foolish creatures told me the wind and spray would play havoc with my hair, and that I should look a fright. But curl or no, I should have run mad had I not seen him before tonight.’ She looked boldly at the old lady and laughed. ‘There, ma’am. Now I’ve said it. Am I not a forward hussy? I saw him at the Vicarage and kissed him too. Oh, tell me what to do, for I shall never love another. And I dare not tell the family, for they do not know him as he really is.’
Cicely had not surprised Aunt Agatha one wit — but she pretended to misunderstand. Which indeed was all in the fun of the game.
‘Your Papa should know him. They were at school together.’
‘Oh, Aunt Agatha, can you imagine dear Papa really knowing anyone? But I suppose ’tis not considered the proper thing to marry one’s father’s college friend.’
‘Fiddlesticks, my love. Pay no attention to what is or what is not considered the thing. You can marry Methuselah if you’re in love with him. Doctor Syn may try to make himself out as old as Methuselah, but he has not succeeded in convincing us, and you are in love with him, aren’t you, my pet?’
Both Cicely and Aunt Agatha knew the answer to that question, but before it could be told there was a knock upon the door and Lisette entered with a message from Lady Caroline to say the dinner guests were all assembled and waiting in the Great Hall for the guest of honour, and Miss Cicely.
The two ladies looked at one another with guilty amusement; then they sped hand in hand along the Gallery towards the head of the stairs. More like two sisters than great-aunt and niece, they laughed gaily as they peeped over the bannisters before descending.
‘I vow we’ve timed our entrance to a nicety,’ whispered Aunt Agatha. ‘Yes, they’re all assembled. I see Maria is doing her best with the Major, garnets or no. Yes — I admit she’s looking well tonight, though I never did care for pink myself. And look at Doctor Syn. Why, nobody could accuse him of being Methuselah now. He looks for all the world like a racehorse waiting to be off. How elegant he is tonight. I never noticed his broad shoulders before. It is because we’re looking down on him no doubt, ’tis tiresome having always to look up. I wish I were as tall as you, child. ’Tis quite delicious keeping them in this suspense.’ The old lady chuckled.
Indeed Doctor Syn was in such suspense that he had quite forgotten to be the parson, and the fact that the old lady was looking down at him did not entirely account for this new vision of his shoulders. For subconsciously he had braced himself to meet this new disturbing element. Standing by the great fire listening with but half an ear to Lady Caroline’s prattle, he caught sight of himself in a long mirror hanging on the opposite wall, and for the first time in many years he almost hated his protective cloth. He wished that he could dress to suit his mood, and his mood being dangerous he would have been better clothed in all Clegg’s daring insolence. He longed to know what these good people would do should he be thus suddenly transformed and appear before them in his scarlet velvet — but above all he wanted her to see him in his swaggering glory, instead of this creeping, churchyard black. He almost cursed himself for his cowardice in not declaring who he was. Then suddenly his mood changed again, and flamboyance leaving him, he felt very small and humble, with but one desire, to run away and hide, lest he should disappoint her after all. Yet this was the man who had but two days before laughed in the face of the Terror and struck cold fear to Robespierre’s heart. And here he stood, all three of him, afraid of one young girl.
Above the chatter round him he became aware of voices and laughter high up in the gallery. He glanced in that direction and then laughed as well, for there they were and he knew what they were doing — peering from the fighting-tops before setting their sails for the attack — like the two naughty pirates that they were. He was no longer afraid, and as they came down the stairs demurely holding each other’s hand, his heart melted. The glorious contrast that they made — the white and silver of the fine old lady and the young girl’s golden warmth against the background of the tapestries — held him enthralled.
Half-way down the stairs Aunt Agatha whispered to Cicely behind her fan: ‘Doctor Syn is looking so handsome now that I vow I shall steal some of your dances with him, for my other two beaux will never attend. Perhaps it is as well, for I never told your dear Mamma that I’d invited them and one could hardly expected poor Tony to approve.’
Cicely whispered back: ‘Then you are the only other woman who shall dance with him tonight. Even so, ma’am, I am not sure that I shall trust you.’ She gave her aunt’s hand a squeeze as they reached the foot of the stairs. The old lady returned it like the arch conspirator she was and then was claimed by the company.
Since this was merely an informal dinner before the main body of the guests arrived, the small dining-room was used, and since it was a family gathering with the exception of his old friend Sir Henry Pembury and Major Faunce, the customary ceremony was dispensed with.
Cicely, sitting between Major Faunce and Sir Henry, wished that the Major would pay more attention to Maria and that old Sir Henry would not tell her so many anecdotes of his young days. Across the table through the branches of the silver candelabra she could see Christopher, neatly dodging her mother’s domestic barbs and concentrating his attention on Aunt Agatha, which lady directed across the table to her favourite niece a wink worthy of Mr. Mipps himself.
With the dismissal of the servants after each course the conversation became easy and natural, and unhampered by necessary caution, since the chief topic was the strange happenings in the cells that morning. Sir Antony was in fine fettle, cock-a-hoop taht he was to ride to London the next morning to visit Mr. Pitt. He became so naughtily pompous that one might have thought he had done the whole thing single-handed. He even so far forgot himself as to round on Doctor Syn and to expound to him the very theory which he himself had laid down that morning. The Vicar could not help laughing when Sir Antony, booming his arguments across the table to Sir Henry, ended up with: ‘Much as I disapprove of him I think I’m right in saying that he has struck here a blow for England.’ Having delivered this piece of borrowed oratory, he infuriated Lady Caroline still further by monopolizing the conversation and the wine, giving vivid descriptions the while of what he would or would not say to Mr. Pitt. In point of fact he knew quite well that when he eventually did see Mr. Pitt he would as usual be completely tongue-tied, so he took this glorious opportunity of airing the views he knew he would forget. He pardoned the Scarecrow a dozen times and then condemned him again, until Sir Henry, also a Justice of the Peace, cried out: ‘But you can’t condemn the rascal, Tony. Don’t you see the Crown must have him for a witness, and ex necessitate rei, if you follow me?’