stared across at her with a kind of lazy insolence. Even Mrs. Thackeray felt things had gone a bit too far, and was relieved when dinner was announced.
Dinner was a twenty-course nightmare, studded with vulgar practical jokes. Entrées heaved as if on a stormy sea because the hostess had put inflatable bladders under the plates, bon-bons flew up in the faces of the guests with a whirring noise as their clockwork mechanisms were released by the unwrapping of the silver paper, and one young matron was the
succès fou
of the evening by having a bustle which played “God Save the King” every time she sat down.
Kitty hoped to escape when dinner was over, but there was bridge and baccarat to be played until two in the morning and then another interminable wait while the whiskey-and-sodas and chicken sandwiches were brought in.
All the time Kitty prayed for the courage to leave. But the thought of getting to her feet and making her good-nights in front of this bright, malicious crowd terrified her.
At last she reached the safety of her bedchamber and with her heart in her mouth, ripped back the bedclothes.
The bed was thankfully empty of small creatures and booby traps. It looked comfortable and the sheets smelled of lavender. Kitty tore off her clothes and plunged between the covers like a small, frightened animal burrowing into its lair.
For two hours, she lay listening to scuffling and whispering from the corridor. What on earth was going on? Perhaps they were planning some jolly jape like setting fire to her rooms. At last the rustling died away and she fell asleep, longing for the strength and company of her elegant husband.
The morning dawned dark and depressing with sheets of rain thudding down on the lawn and filling up the weedy moat.
Kitty climbed into her clothes without the courage to ring for her maid. She met Mrs. Thackeray who was crossing the hall. “You are a bit early, my dear,” she said. “It’s only ten-thirty. But you’ll find we have a new guest in the breakfast room. The Bishop of Zanzibar. Charming man.” And with that she hurried off.
Relieved to find that an important member of the clergy was part of this naughty world, Kitty opened the door. The Bishop, a surprisingly young, dusky-complexioned man, was already eating his breakfast. Kitty murmured a shy good-morning and moved to the sideboard. What a bewildering array of dishes! Where did one begin? There was enough to keep the Camden Town Pugsleys in food for a year.
There were about thirty different dishes including porridge, cream, coffee, cold drinks, Indian and Chinese tea, bacon, ham, sausages, poached and scrambled eggs, deviled kidneys, haddock, tongue, pressed beef and ham, fruit, scones, toast, marmalade, honey, and jam.
Kitty took a little scrambled egg, some toast and tea and sat down opposite the Bishop. Here was the help she needed to guide her in this bewildering social world. Kitty had been brought up Anglican to the backbone.
She heard movements upstairs and realized that the rest of the guests would soon be joining them. “My lord Bishop…” she began tentatively.
“Yes, my child,” he inquired. He seemed to have very kind, merry eyes.
“I am in need of advice and help,” said Kitty. “Perhaps—if you could spare me some of your time. I would like to talk to you in private.”
The Bishop surveyed her. “By all means, my dear. Shall we say in the library at noon? Good, good.”
The rest of the guests began to arrive so Kitty made her escape, feeling as if a little of the burden had been lifted from her heart.
As the clock in the hall struck twelve, she pushed open the door of the library and blinked at the darkness. The curtains had been drawn but she noticed the Bishop sitting by the light of one lamp burning on a table next to the fireplace.
“Come forward, my child,” he said, stretching out a gloved hand in welcome.
Kitty sat down primly on a chair facing him.
“Why don’t you begin at the
Dinner was a twenty-course nightmare, studded with vulgar practical jokes. Entrées heaved as if on a stormy sea because the hostess had put inflatable bladders under the plates, bon-bons flew up in the faces of the guests with a whirring noise as their clockwork mechanisms were released by the unwrapping of the silver paper, and one young matron was the
succès fou
of the evening by having a bustle which played “God Save the King” every time she sat down.
Kitty hoped to escape when dinner was over, but there was bridge and baccarat to be played until two in the morning and then another interminable wait while the whiskey-and-sodas and chicken sandwiches were brought in.
All the time Kitty prayed for the courage to leave. But the thought of getting to her feet and making her good-nights in front of this bright, malicious crowd terrified her.
At last she reached the safety of her bedchamber and with her heart in her mouth, ripped back the bedclothes.
The bed was thankfully empty of small creatures and booby traps. It looked comfortable and the sheets smelled of lavender. Kitty tore off her clothes and plunged between the covers like a small, frightened animal burrowing into its lair.
For two hours, she lay listening to scuffling and whispering from the corridor. What on earth was going on? Perhaps they were planning some jolly jape like setting fire to her rooms. At last the rustling died away and she fell asleep, longing for the strength and company of her elegant husband.
The morning dawned dark and depressing with sheets of rain thudding down on the lawn and filling up the weedy moat.
Kitty climbed into her clothes without the courage to ring for her maid. She met Mrs. Thackeray who was crossing the hall. “You are a bit early, my dear,” she said. “It’s only ten-thirty. But you’ll find we have a new guest in the breakfast room. The Bishop of Zanzibar. Charming man.” And with that she hurried off.
Relieved to find that an important member of the clergy was part of this naughty world, Kitty opened the door. The Bishop, a surprisingly young, dusky-complexioned man, was already eating his breakfast. Kitty murmured a shy good-morning and moved to the sideboard. What a bewildering array of dishes! Where did one begin? There was enough to keep the Camden Town Pugsleys in food for a year.
There were about thirty different dishes including porridge, cream, coffee, cold drinks, Indian and Chinese tea, bacon, ham, sausages, poached and scrambled eggs, deviled kidneys, haddock, tongue, pressed beef and ham, fruit, scones, toast, marmalade, honey, and jam.
Kitty took a little scrambled egg, some toast and tea and sat down opposite the Bishop. Here was the help she needed to guide her in this bewildering social world. Kitty had been brought up Anglican to the backbone.
She heard movements upstairs and realized that the rest of the guests would soon be joining them. “My lord Bishop…” she began tentatively.
“Yes, my child,” he inquired. He seemed to have very kind, merry eyes.
“I am in need of advice and help,” said Kitty. “Perhaps—if you could spare me some of your time. I would like to talk to you in private.”
The Bishop surveyed her. “By all means, my dear. Shall we say in the library at noon? Good, good.”
The rest of the guests began to arrive so Kitty made her escape, feeling as if a little of the burden had been lifted from her heart.
As the clock in the hall struck twelve, she pushed open the door of the library and blinked at the darkness. The curtains had been drawn but she noticed the Bishop sitting by the light of one lamp burning on a table next to the fireplace.
“Come forward, my child,” he said, stretching out a gloved hand in welcome.
Kitty sat down primly on a chair facing him.
“Why don’t you begin at the
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