“You know the names of the Barton lands?” I said.
“Why yes, I’ve known them by heart now for near two years,” she answered.
I was silent.
There seemed nothing I could say in answer.
Then,
“It’s rough walking for a woman,” I told her gruffly.
“But I have strong shoes,” she answered me.
The foot she thrust out from beneath her gown seemed to me woefully inadequate for walking, clad as it was in a black velvet slipper.
“That?” I asked.
“Of course not, something stronger,” she replied.
I could not picture her tramping about the fields, however much she saw herself.
And my plowman boots would drown her.
“Can you ride?” I asked her.
“No.”
“Can you sit upon a horse if you were led?”
“I might do that,” she answered, “but I would have to hold onto the saddle with both hands.
And isn’t there something called a pommel on which one balances?”
She put the question with great earnestness, her eyes solemn, yet once more I was certain there was laughter hidden there and she wished to draw me.
“I’m not sure,” I said stiffly, “if we have a lady’s saddle.
I’ll ask Wellington, but I have never seen one in the harness room.”
“Perhaps aunt Phoebe used to ride,” she said, “when she lost her curate.
It may have been her only consolation.”
It was useless.
Something bubbled in her voice, and I was lost.
She saw me laughing, that was the devil of it. I looked away.
“All right,” I said, “I’ll see about it in the morning.
Do you think I should ask Seecombe to search the closets and see if aunt Phoebe left a riding habit too?”
“I shan’t need a habit,” she said, “not if you lead me gently and I balance on that pommel.”
At that moment Seecombe knocked upon the door and entered, bearing in his hands a silver kettle upon a monstrous tray, likewise a silver teapot and a canister.
I had never set eyes upon the things before, and I wondered from what labyrinth in the steward’s room he had come upon them.
And for what purpose did he bring them?
My cousin Rachel saw the amazement in my eyes.
Not for the world would I hurt Seecombe, who placed his offering upon the table with great dignity, but a rising tide of something near hysteria rose in my chest, and I got up from my chair and went over to the window in pretense of looking out upon the rain.
“Tea is served, madam,” said Seecombe.
“Thank you, Seecombe,” she answered solemnly.
The dogs rose, sniffing, thrusting their noses at the tray.
They were as amazed as I.
Seecombe clicked at them with his tongue.
“Come, Don,” he said, “come on, all three of you.
I think, madam, I had better remove the dogs.
They might upset the tray.”
“Yes, Seecombe,” she said, “perhaps they might.”
Again that laughter in the voice.
I was thankful my back was turned to her.
“What about breakfast, madam?” asked Seecombe.
“Mr. Philip has his in the dining room at eight o’clock.”
“I should like mine in my room,” she said.
“Mr. Ashley used to say no woman was fit to look upon before eleven.
Will that give trouble?”
“Certainly not, madam.”