Miss Silver remarked that entertaining was now by no means easy, to which Miss Crewe replied with the one word, “Impossible.” After which she directed her cold glance upon Mrs. Merridew.
“Since there are twenty bedrooms at Hoys, I can hardly believe that the house has been full.”
Mrs. Merridew was a large fair lady. In her youth she had had an apple-blossom prettiness. She still had the blue eyes and the rather appealing manner which had made up the youthful picture, but now everything was on a much more ample scale. The once fair hair was an untidy pepper and salt. It strayed in wisps about the neck of a faded mauve jumper and continually shed the hairpins with which she made a harassed attempt to control it. Over the jumper she wore an old black cardigan, now much too tight. At the moment she was quite flushed, since the agonized thought had presented itself that dear Maud whose companionship she was enjoying so much might think that any of the foregoing remarks, hastily thrown up as a smokescreen, could possibly refer to her delightful visit. She took up the teapot and began to pour with rather an unsteady hand as she said,
“Yes, yes-all those rooms, and hardly any staff-so difficult. I cannot say how thankful I am to have this dear little house, and my good Florrie to look after it so beautifully and to make it so easy for me to see my friends.”
She turned her large, kind smile upon Miss Silver, who returned it in a way that quite allayed her fears. The flush faded, and she was able, while putting in the milk, proffering sugar, and handing the green Rockingham cups, to pursue the theme of how thankful she had been to hand over Dalling Grange and retire to the modest comfort of the White Cottage. It was only when Miss Crewe accepted one of Florrie’s scones in an affronted manner that she realized that the diversion was not a happy one, since everyone knew that whatever happened to the country, to herself, or to her nieces, Lydia always had been and always would be determined to hold on to Crewe House. The flush mounted, and once more she said what she had not intended to say.
“Poor Muriel-I really did feel sorry for her-such a disappointment. But I expect she has told you all about it.”
Lydia Crewe held out her cup.
“I have no doubt she would have done if I had happened to see her. She never could keep anything to herself, and I don’t suppose she ever will. You have quite drowned me with milk- I only like a few drops… Yes, tea right up to the brim-I have a perfectly steady hand. Well, what is Muriel disappointed about now?”
“Her brooch,” said Mrs. Merridew-“the one with the large diamonds which was left her by the godmother who died a year or two ago. Quite handsome, you know, but rather heavy. You remember, she showed it to us. And it wasn’t the sort of thing you could wear very much, but she said she always looked upon it as a nest egg. Not being one of the family things and coming to her like that, she said she wouldn’t mind selling it if she ever wanted the money. Well, the other day she took it up to town to have it valued, and, do you know, the stones are not diamonds at all-they are only paste.”
Miss Silver said, “Dear me!”
No one took any notice. She therefore continued to sip her tea from the cup with the apple-green border and to listen to the conversation of the other two ladies.
Miss Crewe, it appeared, had no sympathy for the disappointed Lady Muriel.
“People should not sell their family jewels. I consider it a breach of trust.”
“But this was not-”
Lydia Crewe broke in with impatience.
“Of course it was! Muriel’s godmother was Harriet Hornby, no more than a second cousin twice removed. She had no business to try and sell the brooch. If she had not done so, nobody would ever have known that it was paste.” She gave a short grim laugh. “If the truth were told, I fancy a good many people’s family jewels would turn out to be paste nowadays. They can’t afford to insure them, and they can’t afford the death duties. And as long as nobody knows, they can pocket the value and keep up appearances just as well on a sham. But as a rule they have enough sense to hold their tongues. Muriel Street can’t even do that-she didn’t get called the Babbling Brook for nothing when she was a girl. And you needn’t sit there wondering if you ought to have told me, Marian, for I daresay half the county knows by now.” She took another scone and continued with a wintry smile. “Felicia Melbury had better sense. I don’t suppose any of us ever guessed that her necklace with the big square rubies was just a copy, but that’s all it turned out to be. I must say it amuses me to look back and remember the nerve with which she used to display it and tell us that her grandmother wore it at Queen Victoria ’s coronation. And no one would have known anything about it to this day if Freddy Melbury hadn’t gone round confiding in all and sundry and saying he couldn’t imagine what she had done with the money.”
Mrs. Merridew, who was doing her best to turn the conversation in some direction which would include Miss Silver, found herself unable to stem the steady flow of Miss Crewe’s strictures upon the behaviour of most of their mutual friends. She seemed to know everyone in the county, and to have very little that was good to say about any of them. Mrs. Merridew need not really have troubled herself, since her old schoolfellow was able to listen with some interest, and had no disposition to feel slighted. The tea was of the strength she preferred, Florrie’s scones were almost equal to those of her own devoted Emma, and there was a kind of tea biscuit just touched with a meringue mixture which was new to her and most agreeable to the taste. Really good recipes were not easy to come by. The fortunate owner cherished them and was not always willing to part, but in this case dear Marian was so perfectly amiable-She allowed herself to entertain the modest hope of being able to present Emma with what would be a decided addition to her repertory.
Tea being over and the tray removed by Florrie, she produced a flowered chintz bag and, took out of it a pair of grey needles from which depended about two inches of knitting in a cheerful shade of cherry red. When presently Miss Crewe, fastening a derogatory look upon this employment, enquired what she was making, Miss Silver proceeded to furnish her with quite a detailed account of her niece Ethel Burkett and her family.
“She has three boys of school age, and they grow so quickly that it is almost impossible to keep them in clothes. A good deal of my time is necessarily taken up with their stockings and socks, so it is a pleasant change to be able to turn to something pretty for the only girl, little Josephine-and I suppose I shall have to stop calling her that soon, for she will be six next birthday. I have just made her a twin set, and I thought this bright wool would make her a really charming hood and scarf. The spring winds are so treacherous. Do you knit, may I ask?”
Miss Crewe’s “No” did not trouble itself to be polite, and Mrs. Merridew, colouring, interposed with the first thing that came into her head.
“That nice-looking man who is staying at the Holly Tree, Mr. Lester-is he an old friend of yours, Lydia?”
Miss Crewe’s eyebrows had a natural arch. Thirty years ago they had been very effective in conjunction with a pair of fine grey eyes. The lids were puckered now, and the eyes had sunk. They looked coldly as she said,
“My dear Marian!”
“Oh, isn’t he?”
In her most disdainful voice Miss Crewe said,
“Is he giving out that he is? If so-”
“Oh, no-of course not! I haven’t really had any talk with him, but he was most polite when I dropped one of my parcels yesterday getting off the Melbury bus-such nice manners, and such a pleasant voice. And after hearing from Mrs. Stubbs that he was a nephew of old Dr. Lester’s and seeing him about with Rosamond-”
She had blundered on, but at this point she could no longer be unaware that she was saying quite the wrong thing. It was not really possible for Lydia Crewe to draw herself up-her back was already as straight as a ramrod-but she did manage somehow to produce an effect of added rigidity.