Free Carola Dunn by Mayhemand Miranda

“Mrs. Lowenstein’s English is much improved, quite enough to take over the marketing. Take her with you to the shops tomorrow, Miranda, and introduce her to the shopkeepers. Only think, today I mastered the Candle!”
    Mr. Daviot exchanged a glance with Miranda. “The Candle?” he enquired cautiously.
    “I shall show you later. Mr. Sagaranathu says one must wait two or three hours after a light meal.”
    “Oh, the Candle is one of your yoga exercises!”
    “Congratulations, Lady Wiston,” said Miranda. “I look forward to a demonstration. Had you equal success this morning, Mr. Daviot, at Tattersall’s?”
    “Nothing quite right, but I talked to a couple of fellows and got the name of a reputable tailor. I don’t aspire to Weston or Stultz! Aunt Artemis, will your sewing woman make up some shirts for me?”
    He was not at all embarrassed to discuss his new wardrobe. Miranda agreed to go with him to Grafton House on the morrow to help him choose lengths of linen for shirts and muslin for cravats, as he knew nothing of the subject.
    After luncheon, he went off to find the recommended tailor, while Miranda and Lady Wiston set out for St. Bartholomew’s.
    Lady Wiston’s carriage was a vehicle of her own devising. The double-hooded landau body was slung far above the ground on great springs between four enormous wheels. More comfortable and more stable, if less dashing, than a high-perch phaeton, it gave an amazingly smooth ride and provided its passengers with an excellent view. The chief disadvantage, the need to clamber up three steps into it, made it unlikely ever to become widely popular but naturally failed to daunt Lady Wiston.
    As the landau rumbled over the cobbles, her ladyship leaned back against the blue velvet squabs and turned to Miranda.
    “When we return home, dear,” she said, “write a note to my lawyer, if you please. Ask him to call at his earliest convenience as I wish to alter my will.”
    “Yes, ma’am. You are not feeling unwell, are you?”
    “Not at all. I have never felt better since Mr. Sagaranathu taught me to breathe properly. You really ought to learn. But as the Admiral always said, life is uncertain and one must not postpone these matters.”
    “Very wise.” She smiled, relieved.
    “I am going to make better provision for Peter. He is more in need than Sir Bernard’s nephews, though of course I should not dream of cutting them out, when every penny was their uncle’s to start with. They shall still have the greater share, only I wish Peter to have enough to make a fresh start.”
    “That seems fair enough.”
    “But I cannot wish the dear boy to suppose I have no faith in his making a fortune with his book, so pray don’t tell him, Miranda.”
    “My lips are sealed, Lady Wiston,” Miranda vowed.
    If Peter Daviot, self-confessed adventurer, learnt that his future was secured, no doubt he would give up his authorial efforts and go off adventuring again. While Miranda would naturally be indifferent to his departure, she told herself, his aunt would be sadly grieved. And it was Miranda’s business to see that nothing distressed her ladyship.
     

Chapter 7
     
    Peter met his new acquaintance from Tattersall’s at the tailor’s shop. A first lieutenant in the Royal Navy, James Bassett was in London on half pay, awaiting a commission as commander and appointment to a ship of his own.
    Under Bassett’s tutelage, Peter was measured for new clothes and came to a satisfactory agreement with the snyder. The two young men repaired to a coffee house to swap stories of their adventures in distant parts of the globe.
    Over a pot of ale, the time passed so pleasantly, Peter was dismayed to realize it was nearly six o’clock.
    “I must be on my way,” he exclaimed. “My aunt dines at seven.”
    “Staying with an aunt, are you?” said Bassett. Such trivial domestic details had not hitherto interrupted their conversation. “Thought we might take a bite together, but I daresay