Free Miss Ryder's Memoirs by Laura Matthews Page B

then he speared another bite with his fork. “Yes, I was there both nights. We began discussing a new book David had received, and wished to continue our talk, with some reading en famille, on the following evening.”
    “I see.” Nothing in his expression encouraged me to believe him. From the time he was a small boy it has been easy enough to tell when my cousin was lying, though he never once would admit it. Lying was actually one of his few endearing qualities, I always thought. I mean, at least it indicated a little imagination. Otherwise, one would have been forced to conclude that he possessed none at all.
    Unfortunately, Cousin Bret usually lied to keep himself out of trouble. I couldn’t fathom his reasons for doing it now, but I had every intention of finding them out.
     

Chapter 6
     
    My sister spent most of her spare moments with Sir John, but her spare moments weren’t as many as she might have liked. I insisted that she not neglect her standard duties, such as arranging meals with Mrs. Cooper, and overseeing the mending of the linens, and cutting the flowers for the table, and making sure that the underhousemaids used the proper mixture of soap lees, turpentine, and pipe-clay to clean the marble.
    Oh, we neither of us were such ladies of leisure as some city folk might imagine. Mama insisted that we learn every fine point of being in charge of a domestic staff and running a large, and possibly not wholly rich, household. Why, when we were younger, she even saw to it that we learned to make cheeses and hang the meats to cure.
    Amanda was embarrassed by this sort of task. She was much more comfortable with an embroidery needle than a curd breaker. Not for the world would she have had Sir John see her go into the dairy. I had no such qualms. Coming on the said gentleman the next afternoon, and perhaps a bit disoriented by my memories of our last encounter, I chided him for walking into the house in muddy boots.
    “Now where did you learn such despicable habits, Sir John?” I demanded. “Surely your mama would not have appreciated your dirt any more than we do. Amanda will have to see that the housemaid takes special care with this floor now. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Amanda got down on her hands and knees and did it herself, just to make sure there’s not a trace left by the next time you pass this way.”
    Unfortunately, Amanda was just at that moment coming through the door from the kitchen, where she had undoubtedly been discharging some onerous duty, and she was furious with me. The color rose attractively in her cheeks and her eyes flashed with indignation. “Catherine! How can you let your tongue run away with such lies? You may be sure that Mama will hear of this.”
    Turning to Sir John, she hurriedly added, “You must not heed a word she says. Of course you shall come into the hall in muddy boots if you wish. What on earth do we have housemaids for if not to clean up after us?”
    Sir John looked down at his boots for the first time and seemed chagrined to find that they were, indeed, quite muddy. Though how they could have gotten that way, on this sunny day, I was at a loss to imagine. “I heartily apologize,” he said, offering his most charming smile to Amanda. “If I had known my boots were muddy, I would have left them outside the back door.” He made a move to remove them right then and there, but Amanda fluttered an agitated hand at him and begged him—yes, begged him—not to put himself to so much trouble.
    "For I’m sure the worst of it is off now, and you won’t leave a trail on your way to your room.” She nervously pleated a handkerchief between her long, plump fingers.
    “Or we might walk out in the garden until your boots dry, if you wished to come with me, and if your boots are not unbearably uncomfortable,” I suggested with just a note of sarcasm in my voice.
    Sir John raised a quizzical brow. “Perhaps Miss Amanda would accompany me. We wouldn’t think