Read Online Henrietta by M.C. Beaton - Free Book Online

Henrietta went on, “But do remember, dear brother, it is
my
fortune and I shall dissipate it in any way I please.”
    “Of course, my dear, of course,” said Henry soothingly. “But I am sure, for all your wealth, you will not forget the poor of your old parish. They are always in sore need of money.”
    Henrietta shrewdly decided that Henry’s tailor was in sore need of money but wisely held her tongue. Instead she turned to Mr. Symes. “Since you have more to do with the poor of the parish than my brother, Mr. Symes, I shall give you a draft on my bank and you may use the money as you think fit.”
    Henry gave an almost audible moan. Once his curate had his hands on the money then he, Henry, would most assuredly never see a penny of it. Mr. Symes cheerfully did far more than his share of work but helping the poor was his one great enthusiasm. “If I take any of it, he would probably report me to the Bishop,” thought Henry, giving his meek curate a venomous look.
    “Of course, dear brother, I am quite prepared to keep you in funds. I realize you have certain pressing bills,” said his sister.
    Henry stared at her in amazement and gratitude. “Well, now, I call that very generous of you, Henrietta. Very generous indeed!”
    “In return,” she went on as if he had not spoken. “I expect you to leave me to enjoy my Season. I think your friends, the Beldings, will be formidable enough opposition as it is.”
    “Of course, of course,” said Henry placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. “In fact I shall visit you often in order to escort you on occasion. I am said to be a very pretty dancer,” he added complacently.
    His sister thanked him in a faint voice and patiently waited for him to take his leave. But to her surprise, her brother sat down and began to regale her with tales of various parish events. To her even greater surprise, these were often very witty. She felt more in charity with him than she had ever felt before and after a pleasant half an hour, it was with a certain reluctance that she watched him leave.
    She turned to Miss Mattie to discuss the astonishing visit but found that her friend was sitting bolt upright on the sofa with a rapt expression on her face. “Do attend to me Mattie. Was not Henry in surprising good form?”
    Miss Mattie came slowly back from some faraway country of the mind and focused on Henrietta. “He is a saint. I can see him riding to some Crusade on his charger. I shall wait and weep of course, but how proud I shall be.”
    Henrietta patiently took her friend’s hand in her own. “What has come over you, Mattie? Henry was surprising cordial but he is always too much of this world of society to
ever
be considered a saint.”
    “I was talking of Mr. Symes,” sighed Miss Mattie. “Did you notice his noble forehead? Did you note the tinge of passion in his voice when he was conveying to me Mrs. Church’s recipe for tansey-pudding?”
    “I am afraid I was not attending. Why, Mattie! You are in love with the curate!”
    Miss Mattie nodded and trailed from the room with her hand to her brow. Then she swept round on the threshold with a gesture worthy of Mrs. Siddons and declaimed, “I shall carry my secret to the grave and should they cut open my heart, engraved on it will be…. ‘John Symes.’”
    After she had gone, Henrietta sat down at a pretty escritoire, sharpened her quill and prepared to go over the household accounts. She could only hope that Miss Mattie’s passion for the curate would modify her style of dress.
    Mattie’s behavior had been embarrassing and infuriating. Henrietta bit her lip in vexation. She really
must
tell Mattie not to behave so. But… but Mattie would cry and would really be crushed. “I will just have to make the best of things,” sighed Henrietta.
    But Henrietta wished heartily with a certain guilt that she did not “have to make this best of things…”
    By evening, Henrietta felt exhausted with the emotional strain of waiting