confusion. "What did you do to your shirt. . . er . . . lally ?"
"I dabbled it. . . . Washed," he explained at the silence that met his words. "I washed my shirt."
"Oh, yes, of course. Well, that is good," Lydia said, as if she understood.
Ignoring her, Clarissa asked, "And what would glanthem be?"
"Why, money, of course."
"Of course it is!" both older women proclaimed, as
if annoyed with Clarissa's obvious ignorance. But she was sure they'd had no idea what glanthem was, either.
"Sink me!" Greville exclaimed with mock horror. "You shall think me cheap. I am not, you know, but Father keeps the purse strings tight. He's old, of course, and does not understand the necessity of fashion. 'Tis absolutely vital one have the proper attire, do you not think?"
When he paused expectantly, Lydia and Lady Havard promptly nodded in agreement. What else could they do should they not wish to appear old?
"Oh, yes, proper attire is vital," they murmured in unison.
Greville heaved a put-upon sigh. "Aye, but every-thing is so expensive nowadays. Why, I ordered a new pair of hockey- dockeys last week and nearly fainted when I received the bill. And have you seen the price of floggers lately?"
"Floggers?" Lady Havard squeaked. Clarissa could almost hear the woman's eyes blinking in her confusion, but she quickly covered with, "My, yes—very dear."
Clarissa cleared her throat. "I am sorry, but what are floggers and ... er ... hockey- dockeys ?"
"Floggers are whips, and hockey- dockeys are shoes," Greville explained, then went on to complain, "Only a flat would pay the price they ask for those now." He heaved a distressed sigh and shook his head mournfully. "There is never enough money for a proper outfit. If it would not fret my guts to fiddlestrings , I'd shove my trunk and scamp. Don't like the idea of having the traps after me and ending up at Tuck 'em fair, though."
"The gallows!" Lady Havard cried with triumph.
When Clarissa and Lydia turned to her in confu -
sion , Lady Havard explained proudly, "Tuck 'em fair. It's the place of execution." She frowned suddenly, trying to piece the rest of his slang together. "Would the traps be the authorities?"
"The magistrate's men," Lord Greville agreed, and Clarissa could hear the grin in his voice.
Lydia, however, wasn't grinning. There was definite horror as she gasped, "Are you saying that the magistrate is after you?"
"Nay! Sink me, I'm the Duke of Moonstruck's son!" Lord Greville sounded shocked that they would for a minute think such a thing, but Clarissa was busy contemplating the Duke of Moonstruck bit. Was that cant too? Or a nickname? For while Lord Greville was a duke, she was quite sure there was no such title as the Duke of Moonstruck.
"Yes, but you just said ..." Lady Crambray floundered.
"I said if I took to scamping they might come after me."
" Scamping ?" Lydia echoed faintly, obviously feeling rather stupid.
"Took to the highway. Became a highwayman," he explained. "Which, of course, I would not do."
"No, of course not. Well. . . this cant is rather like a puzzle, is it not?" Her stepmother didn't sound altogether happy. Clarissa guessed she didn't like feeling slow, and began to worry that she'd not be allowed to go with Greville despite his efforts if her stepmother got too annoyed. But at that moment, he suddenly flipped out his pocket watch and sat up straight.
"Sink me, my tick says it's time to go," he an-
ounced , and Clarissa suspected he'd begun to fear he'doverplayed it himself.
"Go? But you only just arrived." Despite her words, Lydia sounded relieved.
"Aye. Well, I never intended to stay long. I merely meant to stop in and ask if Lady Clarissa might accompany me on a ride through the park. I wanted to show off my upper ben and calp in a more public place, but I would not do to ride the park alone. 'Tis not fashionable, you know."
"Oh, well. . ." There was a hesitation as Lydia glanced toward Lady Havard .
Clarissa could almost hear her
"I dabbled it. . . . Washed," he explained at the silence that met his words. "I washed my shirt."
"Oh, yes, of course. Well, that is good," Lydia said, as if she understood.
Ignoring her, Clarissa asked, "And what would glanthem be?"
"Why, money, of course."
"Of course it is!" both older women proclaimed, as
if annoyed with Clarissa's obvious ignorance. But she was sure they'd had no idea what glanthem was, either.
"Sink me!" Greville exclaimed with mock horror. "You shall think me cheap. I am not, you know, but Father keeps the purse strings tight. He's old, of course, and does not understand the necessity of fashion. 'Tis absolutely vital one have the proper attire, do you not think?"
When he paused expectantly, Lydia and Lady Havard promptly nodded in agreement. What else could they do should they not wish to appear old?
"Oh, yes, proper attire is vital," they murmured in unison.
Greville heaved a put-upon sigh. "Aye, but every-thing is so expensive nowadays. Why, I ordered a new pair of hockey- dockeys last week and nearly fainted when I received the bill. And have you seen the price of floggers lately?"
"Floggers?" Lady Havard squeaked. Clarissa could almost hear the woman's eyes blinking in her confusion, but she quickly covered with, "My, yes—very dear."
Clarissa cleared her throat. "I am sorry, but what are floggers and ... er ... hockey- dockeys ?"
"Floggers are whips, and hockey- dockeys are shoes," Greville explained, then went on to complain, "Only a flat would pay the price they ask for those now." He heaved a distressed sigh and shook his head mournfully. "There is never enough money for a proper outfit. If it would not fret my guts to fiddlestrings , I'd shove my trunk and scamp. Don't like the idea of having the traps after me and ending up at Tuck 'em fair, though."
"The gallows!" Lady Havard cried with triumph.
When Clarissa and Lydia turned to her in confu -
sion , Lady Havard explained proudly, "Tuck 'em fair. It's the place of execution." She frowned suddenly, trying to piece the rest of his slang together. "Would the traps be the authorities?"
"The magistrate's men," Lord Greville agreed, and Clarissa could hear the grin in his voice.
Lydia, however, wasn't grinning. There was definite horror as she gasped, "Are you saying that the magistrate is after you?"
"Nay! Sink me, I'm the Duke of Moonstruck's son!" Lord Greville sounded shocked that they would for a minute think such a thing, but Clarissa was busy contemplating the Duke of Moonstruck bit. Was that cant too? Or a nickname? For while Lord Greville was a duke, she was quite sure there was no such title as the Duke of Moonstruck.
"Yes, but you just said ..." Lady Crambray floundered.
"I said if I took to scamping they might come after me."
" Scamping ?" Lydia echoed faintly, obviously feeling rather stupid.
"Took to the highway. Became a highwayman," he explained. "Which, of course, I would not do."
"No, of course not. Well. . . this cant is rather like a puzzle, is it not?" Her stepmother didn't sound altogether happy. Clarissa guessed she didn't like feeling slow, and began to worry that she'd not be allowed to go with Greville despite his efforts if her stepmother got too annoyed. But at that moment, he suddenly flipped out his pocket watch and sat up straight.
"Sink me, my tick says it's time to go," he an-
ounced , and Clarissa suspected he'd begun to fear he'doverplayed it himself.
"Go? But you only just arrived." Despite her words, Lydia sounded relieved.
"Aye. Well, I never intended to stay long. I merely meant to stop in and ask if Lady Clarissa might accompany me on a ride through the park. I wanted to show off my upper ben and calp in a more public place, but I would not do to ride the park alone. 'Tis not fashionable, you know."
"Oh, well. . ." There was a hesitation as Lydia glanced toward Lady Havard .
Clarissa could almost hear her
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