Free Memoirs of a Hoyden by Joan Smith Page B

of being invited to remain to dinner, but I wanted to be free to move about the house. Before going to the door, however, we waited quite half an hour to make sure Kestrel wasn’t just making a brief visit. We figured that half an hour at such a time of day (i.e., nearly dinnertime) meant he was remaining to dine. At the appointed time Ronald clambered down from his mount, leaned on the branch and my arm, and I lifted the brass knocker.
    The house appeared at first glance to be dismayingly innocent. A country-style butler, well fed and wearing a black jacket, answered the door. He showed no alarm or suspicion at our plight, but with a true Christian kindness invited us into a small waiting parlor, and even offered wine. I peeped around the entrance hall and into the main saloon, but saw no sign of Kestrel or Sir Herbert.
    “Would you like me to call a doctor to look at the lad’s ankle?” the butler offered.
    We hadn’t gone so far as to actually sprain Ronald’s ankle, so this had to be talked away. We had only rubbed it, to make it red. “It isn’t primarily the ankle, really. Mr. Kidd has a weakness of constitution picked up during his travels in the Orient,” I explained vaguely. “If he could rest an hour or so, he’ll be fine.”
    “The Orient, eh?” the butler enquired with quick interest.
    It was my aim to meet the man of the house, and I hoped my reputation might fulfill that aim. “Yes, I am Miss Mathieson,” I replied, looking from the corner of my eye to see if he recognized the name.
    “From India, are you?” he asked. This told me my fame had not spread to the provinces. Oates was wise to have arranged the lecture tour.
    “No, the Orient.”
    While the butler stood smiling, there was the sound of light footfalls at the doorway, and a young lady came into the room. She appeared as innocent and provincial as the rest of the house. She was a pretty enough girl, with brown hair and dark eyes. Her gown, I suspected, was local in origin, and her coiffure nonexistent. Her hair just sat on her head, curled but not arranged.
    Ronald hopped to his feet with an alacrity that belied a sprained ankle. A sharp squeeze on the derriere caused a good, convincing wince. I noticed he looked with favor on the young provincial, and she displayed an equal interest in him. “Ronald, you’d best sit down,” I reminded him.
    I offered the girl my hand. “I am Miss Mathieson, and this is my secretary, Mr. Kidd.”
    “Miss Longville,” she replied, smiling, but not with the smile that hinted at recognition.
    “My secretary had a dizzy spell on the road beyond your place, and fell from his mount. I fear he has twisted his ankle. I hope you will excuse our encroaching manners, Miss Longville, but the only thing for these dizzy spells is a short period of lying down.”
    She turned to the butler. “You may leave us, Ruggers,” she said. As soon as the butler left, she returned her gaze to Ronald. It was a brightly curious, anticipatory look. Ronald is not the most handsome man in the world, but with a provincial I daresay he might cause a favorable impression. “What has been done with your mount and your personal things?” she enquired.
    “We left our mounts tethered out front,” he answered.
    “I’ll see to them.”
    She swept from the room, leaving us to wonder what she had in mind. Was she going to have the nags stabled? Why not ask the butler to do it? “Country manners,” I explained to Ronald.
    “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he said, smiling fondly at the door.
    “She’s not an antidote. I wonder where Kestrel is, and Sir Herbert. I think you must have a fainting spell when she returns, Ronald. If we can get you into a bed, we’ll be here for an hour at least. I hope she offers us dinner. Won’t Kestrel stare to see me sitting across from him!”
    “They’ll all stare if you plan to go to the table in that dusty traveling suit.”
    “Bother! One forgets the restrictions of English