it on a neat white card. “I hope you will be comfortable,” said Mary Thackeray, looking at Kitty nervously, in case she should start shouting again. “Your husband’s room is over in the other wing.”
Here was another mystery! Was it usual to keep husband and wife so far apart, especially on their honeymoon?
Had she heard Mrs. Thackeray downstairs, she would have understood. “Why didn’t you put the lovebirds together?” asked Jeremy Thackeray.
His wife settled herself comfortably into an armchair like a roosting pigeon. “Well, first—he’s not coming to stay until after two days, and second—have you forgotten that Mrs. Jackson’s on the guest list?”
“Well, what’s that to do with it? That’s all finished, surely,” answered her husband.
“Not a bit of it. Veronica Jackson told Harriet Croombe who told Betty Jamieson who told Alice Fairbrother who told me, that he spent his wedding night in her bed. Peter will want to be near his dear mistress. He only married that little gel for her money. Strange little thing. Kept shouting at me.”
Lord Chesworth called in at his wife’s room before he left. Kitty told him of Mrs. Thackeray’s strange conversation.
“It’s the new small talk,” he explained. “She was merely complimenting you on your tea gown, saying it was an excellent fit and asking you if it were expensive. I heard you shouting at her.”
“I thought she was a foreigner,” said poor Kitty.
Peter Chesworth groaned. “Oh, well, she’ll probably think you were playing a joke on her. The Thackerays and their friends love practical jokes. Which reminds me—have you examined your bed?”
Kitty shook her head. He crossed over and ripped back the covers. Kitty screamed as two small hedgehogs made a bid for freedom. “Poor little things,” said the Baron, “they could have suffocated. I’ll take them outside. Give me that hatbox over there. Don’t look so dismayed, Kitty. It’s only meant as a friendly joke.”
But after he had left, Kitty looked dismally at the bed, imagining what it would have been like to have thrust her feet down at night under the covers. The poor things would have been dead by then. She did not think it was funny. She thought it was senseless and cruel.
She was called at five-thirty. Charades were to be performed in the music room. Kitty felt better. She loved amateur theatricals, but hoped that she would not be asked to perform.
When she arrived at the music room, the curtains had already been drawn to create theatrical darkness. There was no time to meet the other guests. She was shown to a chair facing a small stage which had been erected at the end of the room. Shuffling and excited giggles came, from time to time, from behind the stage curtains which were finally drawn to reveal Percy Barlow-Smellie. “Our charade tonight,” he announced, “is called ‘The Taming of the Shrimp’ and you all must guess
who.
”
The curtains closed for a minute and then swung back to reveal a young man dressed as Mercutio. His tanned face had been whitened and he wore a mop of glossy black curls. Opposite him, Kate was played by Veronica Jackson who wore a drab dress and a brown wig. “Come, kiss me, Kate,” roared Mercutio. “Oh, reelly, I don’t know as I should. Is it a refeened thing to do?” simpered Kate. The audience roared with laughter as the sketch went on in the same manner. One after another they began to call, “Got it! It’s the Baron and the shopgirl.”
All Kitty’s little bit of happiness generated by her splendid country home and her new pony faded away and she sat mute, looking down at her hands like a hurt child. At last the dreadful charade came to an end and the lights went up.
There were horrified murmurs when the lights went on to reveal Kitty sitting there. She heard someone say, “It’s really too bad of Veronica. I didn’t know Lady Chesworth was going to be here.” But Veronica did, thought Kitty, as the blue eyes
Here was another mystery! Was it usual to keep husband and wife so far apart, especially on their honeymoon?
Had she heard Mrs. Thackeray downstairs, she would have understood. “Why didn’t you put the lovebirds together?” asked Jeremy Thackeray.
His wife settled herself comfortably into an armchair like a roosting pigeon. “Well, first—he’s not coming to stay until after two days, and second—have you forgotten that Mrs. Jackson’s on the guest list?”
“Well, what’s that to do with it? That’s all finished, surely,” answered her husband.
“Not a bit of it. Veronica Jackson told Harriet Croombe who told Betty Jamieson who told Alice Fairbrother who told me, that he spent his wedding night in her bed. Peter will want to be near his dear mistress. He only married that little gel for her money. Strange little thing. Kept shouting at me.”
Lord Chesworth called in at his wife’s room before he left. Kitty told him of Mrs. Thackeray’s strange conversation.
“It’s the new small talk,” he explained. “She was merely complimenting you on your tea gown, saying it was an excellent fit and asking you if it were expensive. I heard you shouting at her.”
“I thought she was a foreigner,” said poor Kitty.
Peter Chesworth groaned. “Oh, well, she’ll probably think you were playing a joke on her. The Thackerays and their friends love practical jokes. Which reminds me—have you examined your bed?”
Kitty shook her head. He crossed over and ripped back the covers. Kitty screamed as two small hedgehogs made a bid for freedom. “Poor little things,” said the Baron, “they could have suffocated. I’ll take them outside. Give me that hatbox over there. Don’t look so dismayed, Kitty. It’s only meant as a friendly joke.”
But after he had left, Kitty looked dismally at the bed, imagining what it would have been like to have thrust her feet down at night under the covers. The poor things would have been dead by then. She did not think it was funny. She thought it was senseless and cruel.
She was called at five-thirty. Charades were to be performed in the music room. Kitty felt better. She loved amateur theatricals, but hoped that she would not be asked to perform.
When she arrived at the music room, the curtains had already been drawn to create theatrical darkness. There was no time to meet the other guests. She was shown to a chair facing a small stage which had been erected at the end of the room. Shuffling and excited giggles came, from time to time, from behind the stage curtains which were finally drawn to reveal Percy Barlow-Smellie. “Our charade tonight,” he announced, “is called ‘The Taming of the Shrimp’ and you all must guess
who.
”
The curtains closed for a minute and then swung back to reveal a young man dressed as Mercutio. His tanned face had been whitened and he wore a mop of glossy black curls. Opposite him, Kate was played by Veronica Jackson who wore a drab dress and a brown wig. “Come, kiss me, Kate,” roared Mercutio. “Oh, reelly, I don’t know as I should. Is it a refeened thing to do?” simpered Kate. The audience roared with laughter as the sketch went on in the same manner. One after another they began to call, “Got it! It’s the Baron and the shopgirl.”
All Kitty’s little bit of happiness generated by her splendid country home and her new pony faded away and she sat mute, looking down at her hands like a hurt child. At last the dreadful charade came to an end and the lights went up.
There were horrified murmurs when the lights went on to reveal Kitty sitting there. She heard someone say, “It’s really too bad of Veronica. I didn’t know Lady Chesworth was going to be here.” But Veronica did, thought Kitty, as the blue eyes
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