Aunt Sophie's Diamonds (21 page)

"Oh dear! I like my bishops so much. I shall have to rush this pawn to the finish line and turn it into a bishop. There! Now I'll have my bishop back, if you please."

"I'm outclassed,” he said and drank his wine to revive him. “That is the simple fact of the matter. I'm outclassed by a green girl that doesn't know the time of day."

"You'll pay for
that
piece of poor losing, Sir Hillary,” she vowed and turned her full attention to the board. “I'll have your queen within four moves, and then it is but a moment to put you in check."

"Fair speech, ma'am. We'll see about that."

"There'll be no more fair speeches from me. I leave you to the mercy of your own stupidity.” On this condemnatory phrase she clamped her jaws shut and made good her boast of relieving him of his queen, in not four moves but three.

"There—now who is a greenhorn?” she asked in gloating accents.

He stared at the board in perplexity. “Shall we continue this uneven match to its inevitable conclusion, or shall I just admit defeat and start anew?"

"We'll finish it! It is such fun when I see you can't make a single move to save your king's skin. Don't rob me of my simple pleasures."

The game was over shortly after this contretemps, and Sir Hillary firmly reassembled the pieces for another match, muttering to himself as he did so. “It's the pawns I'm not paying enough attention to. It's a mistake to underestimate the pawns."

"The mistake is in underestimating the opponent, little Hillary,” she said smugly.

"Little
Hillary!” he gasped.

"I observe
you
do not take the description as any compliment."

"I am six feet tall!"

"It was more an intellectual description,” she admitted, laughing at him.

"I will beat you at this game, Claudia Milmont, if I have to move you into the house, bag and baggage, and bolt you to your chair to do it."

"In that case, I think you must give us a fire. It is a trifle chilly in here, is it not?"

"Yes,” he said promptly with a smile. “That is,
I
am not chilly, and we won't want a footman clattering round the grate, but I shall get you a shawl."

"What are you doing with a lady's shawl in the house?” she asked, rather impertinently.

"It is one of mama's,” he replied, and shouted out the door for a footman to bring the new shawl that was on the parson's bench in the hall.

"How convenient!” Claudia remarked, thinking it odd that his mama's shawl should be so handy, when she had been dead for a number of years.

A very beautiful rose-colored shawl with a long fringe was brought in, and Sir Hillary arose to arrange it around his guest's shoulders.

"How lovely!” she said, running her fingers over the soft wool. “It looks brand new. Your mama cannot have worn it much."

"No.” He stood back to admire the effect. “She hardly wore it at all. She found it too bright after she had bought it and put it away. It is more suited to a young girl. In fact, you may as well keep it, for there is no use for it here."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not? Do you dislike it because it belonged to a person who is now dead? The fact is, mama never had it on at all."

"No, it isn't that. I wear Aunt Harriet's old blue shawl at home all the time, and she is dead, but it is not proper to take such a gift from a stranger."

"A stranger?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Upon my word, I thought we had got past being strangers a long time ago."

"Oh—acquaintance is what I meant, of course."

"Connection is the word you are grasping for, Claudia, and it is quite unexceptionable to take a small gift from a connection."

"Is it?” she asked doubtfully. “It is lovely, and I should like to have it, but I am in mourning, and it wouldn't do, being such a nice shade of rose."

"As you wish. It will make a cozy blanket for my hounds."

"Sir Hillary! You cannot mean to do that with it! It is much too fine, and brand new, too. If only I weren't in mourning..."

"You don't plan to mourn forever for an aunt you scarcely knew, I shouldn't think, but it is up to you, of course."

"It seems a terrible waste to make a dog's blanket of it,” she admitted, and from the proprietary manner in which she snuggled into it, Hillary thought she had decided to keep it.

"You should wear brighter colors—when you are out of mourning, I mean. They suit you very well,” he said, admiring her fashion.

"I would love to,” she allowed shyly, “but I have three gowns already, and they are all dull colors, so I shan't be wearing anything so bright as this for a long time."

"Is three a magic number?” he asked.

"Of course. One for best—for Sundays and so on, and one for second best—for going to the village, and one for the evenings at home. Plus a couple of gowns for working in the schoolroom, of course,” she added.

"I see,” he replied, as though she were explaining some matter of which he was totally ignorant, though he had a good idea of the number of gowns belonging to his friends.

"Your mama has more than three gowns, I think."

"Mama leads a different sort of a life from me. She is very sociable and has dozens of lovely gowns."

"A Feigning Woman, in fact?” he teased.

"Sir Hillary! Have I induced you to have a look at good Bunyan's book? Where else did you hear such a phrase?"

"Nowhere else. I have been scanning it, as you guessed, and I don't think
you
have much in common with his Feigning Woman."

"More than I like to consider. ‘Sin is very sweet to my flesh,’ as Hope says to Christian."

"Idiot!” he laughed indulgently. “What sins can you possibly have committed?"

"It is a matter of coveting,” she explained. “I
want
all the good things of the world, and I want them now, like Passion, instead of waiting for them in the next world, like Patience."

"There is nothing so demoralizing as an excess of Patience. Your friend Passion sounds much more interesting. If a little judicious coveting is your worst transgression, you are out of gunshot of the Devil. I see nothing sinful in a pretty young girl wanting a few gowns to show herself off to best advantage."

"Show herself off! You see, you do think it bad, even if you are too polite to say so."

"Not in the least. Only consider how fine God has decked out the peacock."

"Well, but He didn't deck the wren out so finely, did He?"

"No, but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if He liked the peacock better. Everyone else does. Don't strive to such a pitch of godliness that you have no human passions. No pride, covetousness, lust, anger—well, I forget the rest of ‘em but I daresay you don't."

"Gluttony, envy and sloth,” she reemed them off without a second's hesitation. “No danger, I have them all. I think grandma is right, and I'm tainted in the blood."

"Good God! What nonsense is this?"

"Or at least six of them,” she said, in a considering mood.

"Which one do you figure you're lacking?” he asked with interest.

"Not the same one as you,” she replied enigmatically.

"But how intriguing, little Claudia. Have I managed to escape one? Tell me which. I made sure I had the whole lot."

"I don't think you're a glutton,” she allowed.

"What a flattering tongue she has! And yourself?"

"It is time to begin our second game if we're to finish before Gab and Loo get back."

"We needn't finish before they get back. I would much rather consider our many vices—and our single virtue apiece, since you say we have one.
I
lack gluttony, and as to
you.
Now let me see, you have admitted shamelessly to covetousness; you are an acknowledged glutton, proud as a queen I think, beneath that humble facade you wear..."

"And the greatest sloth in the world. I hate work."

"Dear girl,” he said with a winning smile, “are we working our way around to finding your young body to be without a trace of lust?"

"Why should you think that? I am as lusty as anyone."

"I was thinking more of lustful, as it is sins we are discussing."

"What we were discussing actually was my single virtue, and the one I meant was pride. In spite of what you think of me, I am not proud in the least."

He looked unconvinced, but admitted he was happy to hear it was only pride she was lacking. “I have enough of that one for both of us. And you have been making a shambles of my pride with your mastery of this curst chess game. There, I shall be white this time, and set this little horse out here for you to steal away on me. Come along, take it before I change my mind."

She moved queen's pawn and ignored his taunting. “Sir Hillary,” she said after a moment.

"Yes, darling?"

Her eyes narrowed at this term of endearment, or possibly contempt, though it had not quite the same tone as he used to her mama. “Were you serious when you said you thought I might be Loo's abigail? You haven't spoken to mama, or she would have said something to me. Do you think it a feasible plan?"

"Would you really like the job? She is a rare handful, you know."

"I don't doubt she is, but it would be such fun. The thing is, if you are serious, you ought to say something to mama now. My holidays are half over, and once I am back in Devonshire, there will be no getting away."

"It is just a trifle early yet."

"What difference can a few days make?"

"No difference, but still I must wait a little."

"Is this just talk to amuse me? If so, it is cruel,” she said wistfully.

"Hush, Claudia. I'm thinking."

"About my position?"

''About your queen."

This callous response set Claudia's hackles up. “Talkative, of Prating Row. Did you come across him in your reading, Sir Hillary?"

"Shh!” He held up one shapely hand and quite ignored her question.

"He seems to be a pretty man. Notwithstanding his fine tongue, he is but a sorry fellow,” she quoted at him.

"Sorry.” He moved his queen sidewise at last. “Now what were you saying?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Don't sulk. You said something about a sorry fellow, so you must have been talking about me. What was it?” he asked, diverting his mind from the game.

"I was just mentioning one of Bunyan's characters.” They played on, but for Claudia the charm had gone out of the afternoon. He had no intention of making her Loo's abigail. She would go back to Devonshire in a week, and resume teaching her cousins. Luane would stay at Swallowcourt till Sir Hillary allowed Gabriel to marry her, and that would be an end to the whole thing. The game dragged on for over an hour, with Claudia winning again. Shortly after its end, Miss Bliss rejoined them.

"Are the youngsters not back yet?” she asked.

"They were going to Maldon,” Hillary explained. “In the closed carriage it will take them all afternoon. We shan't wait dinner for them. They can eat later if they don't stop along the way."

Miss Bliss nodded and looked at Claudia. “What a lovely shawl,” she said. “You didn't have that on when we came, did you?"

"No, it was a little chilly, so Sir Hillary loaned it to me."

Miss Bliss shot a quizzical glance at her host but didn't press the matter. They went in to dinner, and during the meal Sir Hillary beguiled Claudia back into a good mood. She had never really believed she would be able to live with Luane. It was all nonsense, of course, and Sir Hillary must think her a fool to have taken his little joke seriously.

After dinner, Miss Bliss suggested they be getting back to Swallowcourt. “I thought we might as well wait for Loo, and I could take you all back together,” Sir Hillary replied.

"Gabriel must have taken her home,” Claudia replied.

"I thought they would stop here. Well, it will be the curricle again then, ladies. Ready for the squeeze?"

They professed themselves ready, and when Claudia put on her pelisse, she laid the rose shawl aside and prepared to leave without it.

"You are forgetting your shawl,” Hillary reminded her.

She looked at Miss Bliss, feeling foolish to take it in front of her. “It belonged to Mrs. Thoreau,” she explained to the housekeeper.

"I've seen it on her,” Miss Bliss lied gamely.

"You are thinking of mama's mauve shawl, Blissful,” Sir Hillary intervened. “I was telling Claudia earlier that mama never wore this one, for she thought it was too bright."

"Yes, yes, I remember now, it was the mauve one I was thinking of. This would be the one you told me you had put away in a cedar chest."

"Yes,” he said curtly and ushered them out the door before Claudia should enquire how it came to be sitting in the hall.

Though she did not make the enquiry, the fact occurred to her and its being untrue discovered by the simple expedient of sniffing it. Not a single fume of cedar was discerned. She felt she had been conned into accepting a gift under false pretenses and was pleased rather than offended.

When they reached Swallowcourt, Hillary said he would check to make sure Gab and Loo were there before stabling the curricle. He was informed by the shuffling butler that there hadn't been a sign of them, and everyone was becoming worried as it was now dark.

"I'd better drive down the road and see if they've had an accident,” Hillary decided. “Will you like to come with me, Miss Milmont?"

She pointed out, “If there has been an accident, you will need all the space in your gig."

"Very true. Always thinking ahead, like a good little chess player,” he replied. “I'll be back to let you know what has happened. If that cloth-head of a Gab has broken my horses’ knees, you will want to have a bed ready for him. I'll likely beat him to a pulp."

Claudia went to her room to dispose of her rose shawl before mama should see it and ask questions. As she folded it with great care, she noticed a little white tag on the back. She saw it was the merchant's ticket, and her eyes widened to see what a shocking sum Mrs. Thoreau—or someone—had paid for it. She sniffed again—not a trace of cedar aroma, and the ticket too looked very new. She wondered whether Sir Hillary had not bought it himself for the sole purpose of giving it to her. And
if
he had,
why
had he? It was a singular mark of attention, too, that he had asked her down to play chess with him—quite enough to turn a simple girl's head, till she remembered how fond he was of the game. Yes, really he had not wanted to talk of a thing but the game, and it was only because she could play better than he that he asked her. But it was very odd about the shawl.