Journey's End

32

Journey’s End

    By the time Mr Huggins, declaring he wanted a breath of fresh air, had mounted onto the box of the carriage next to Tom Bender, somehow half the household had managed to assemble at the front door. Jésus was certainly holding Luís’s hat and cane, looking important, and might possibly have been considered to be there ex officio were it not for his master’s present garb. Luís managed to ignore him, but only just. Jorge was also present, also looking important, and holding the front door open. Ex officio—quite. Naturally little Julio and young Consuelo, carrying Tonio, were also there. The expected loud shrieks rent the air as Luís was about to follow Miss Calpurnia into the carriage.

    “I’m sorry, I think I’ll have to bring him along,” he said resignedly. “Sí, sí, Tonio.” He took him off Consuelo, and hugged him against his shoulder. “It’s all right, Consuelo, he can come. –Go and help your mother with the washing,” he added on a weak note.

    “I was going to help Manuel with the shrimping, Señor Luís!” she replied eagerly.

    ¡Dios! Manuel getting off with Consuelo they did not need! True, she must be fifteen by now, and if short, a well-developed girl, but Manuel de los Angeles was twice her age, to say nothing of his track record. And ten to one Mendoza would cut ’em off for him if he so much as looked at the girl! “No, help with the washing, please,” he said very, very firmly. Um, would one of the Juarez brothers be a better bet? Er... lesser of two evils, really. Jésus was more amenable to being bossed, true... Oh, the Hell with it! Briskly he ordered both Juarez brothers to go with her and help, and got into the carriage with his son.

    “Sí, sí, that’s better, isn’t it?” he said as the little boy realised he wasn’t being deserted by his father and the tears dried up. “See, Papa isn’t going away without you! –Did you hear that? Helping with the shrimping? Manuel de los Angeles getting off with Consuelo we do not need!” he said to his companion with feeling.

    She looked at him in dismay. “I—I’m sorry, Mr Ainsley, I don’t understand,” she faltered.

    “Well, with his track record? And he’s twice the girl’s age—more! Mendoza will never stand for it!”

    Captain Cutlass took a deep breath. “Mr Ainsley, I think you do not realise you were speaking Spanish just now,” she said firmly.

    “Er—yes, to the servants: of course.”

    “No, just now,” she said, swallowing. “To me.”

    Luís’s mouth sagged open and he went very, very red.

    “It’s quite all right!” she gasped. “You’re upset about your cousin, of course!”

    After quite some time he admitted dazedly: “I never even noticed!”

    “No, um, well, you were speaking Spanish to the servants, and to Tonio, of course, and you, um, just got in the carriage and kept on doing it,” said Calpurnia Catherine on a weak note.

    “I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “I’m getting as dotty as Harry.”

    “But what did you say? Why will Mendoza never stand for something?”

    Wincing, Luís tried to smile. “I should not have voiced the thought in any language, Miss Calpurnia, and I do beg your pardon! I—uh—I think I said that we do not need, er, Manuel to take an interest in Consuelo. Um, she’s half his age, and then...”

    “I see, it was his track record,” said Captain Cutlass calmly.

    “Mm.”

    “But if they were to marry, her parents are right here to keep an eye on him. And it would help him not to stray in the village: Sir Harry was quite worried about that. And though it is true the man has a past, it was not his fault that he believed that woman who claimed to be a widow, was it?”

    This time the wince definitely won and Luís could not even force himself to essay a smile. “Miss Calpurnia, I think I owe you one more apology for my dreadful parent. That story is not fit for a young lady’s ears.”

    “Do you mean the part about Manuel and your mother’s elderly cook?” said Captain Cutlass with a smile. “I thought it was both funny and touching.”

    “I—yes,” said Luís limply. “I’m glad. I think so, too. But my sister-in-law was  inexpressibly shocked. It was not I who told her,” he added quickly: “it was Harry.”

    She nodded. “I think she must be the daughter-in-law he meant when he said she is a very attractive woman and not without intelligence, but it is not the sort of intelligence which can dispense with the necessity for being a slave to the conventions.”

    “Mm, that’s Harry,” said Luís with a sigh. “She’s been so good to us, too: how he can be so ungrateful! She has her own household to run, and they’re up in Wiltshire, but she came down unhesitatingly when we found out how ill Inez wath.”

    “I see,” said Captain Cutlass in a tiny voice. “I—I would say he is not ungrateful, but his gratitude does not mitigate against that—that clear-sightedness that characterises him.”

    “It don’t prompt him to temper his mode of speech, neither,” he said wryly. “No, you’re right, though, Harry’s always been like that. One could say that his is the sort of temperament that does not support fools gladly, but that would be too facile.”

    “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I can sympathise with him, sir, for actually I am rather like that myself, and my relatives certainly lament the trait in me. I think that’s perhaps why Sir Harry and I got on so well.”

    “Yes. He misseth you terribly,” said Luís on a wan note, leaning his head back against the seat cushions.

    Captain Cutlass swallowed hard. “I was too hard on him, I see that now, and I’m very sorry. I didn’t make allowances for—for his age.”

    “Age and idiocy—no. So—so do you forgive him?”

    “Mm. I did tell him so, just now.”

    “Oh, good!” he said, smiling at her. “I’m so glad! If you can bear to see something of him perhaps he will calm down and there will be fewer explosions over nothings like linen that turns blue!”

    Captain Cutlass smiled weakly. “Well, in the greater scheme of things it is a nothing, but few men would care to have all their linen blue: I think you need a new washerwoman, Mr Ainsley.”

    “We do now,” he said, shuddering. “Harry shouted at her in three—no, four languages, there wath English in there as well.”

    “Mm. Um, and had you thought of a housekeeper?”

    “Thought, yes, but what English housekeeper would put up with a household of foreign eccentrics? –Masters as well as servants,” he added drily.

    “Well, um, I think you managed, at Little Lasset?” she ventured, blushing.

    “Yes, but it was a very much bigger house and most of the servants were English.”

    “Mm.” Captain Cutlass thought it over, what time Luís encouraged Tonio to sit up and take notice of the big carriage and, since he was addressing him in Spanish, the pretty lady.

    “I do know of someone who might be willing to come to you, but she has no experience as a housekeeper. However, she is a clean, hardworking person who has always run her own little household competently: she would certainly not be above helping with the heavy work, which is what you need in a house that size. And she’s very sensible: I don’t think she would be worried by your Spanish servants. Mrs Peggy Saddler: her husband, Jem Saddler, was lost at sea when John-John’s ship went down and she’s been struggling to make ends meet. Her two oldest girls are in good service in the town, now, and Bobby Saddler is working for my brother-in-law, Charles, in his orchards, but, um, she does still have three little ones at home.”

    “Three more little ones,” said Luís, smiling very much, “will not make any difference at all in our house, I do assure you, Miss Calpurnia! Will they, Tonio? –Three more little friends for you!” he said in Spanish.

   “‘Amigos’ is ‘friends’, is it?” ventured Captain Cutlass cautiously.

    “But of course! –Could you possibly ask this Mrs Saddler to call on us, Miss Calpurnia?”

    “Um, no, it’s too far,” she said, biting her lip.

    “Oh, of course, how thoughtless of me! If you will give me her direction I shall call on her.”

     Limply Captain Cutlass gave Mr Ainsley Mrs Saddler’s direction, adding that Pudding Alley was not very salubrious but he would find that Number 3 was neat as a new pin.

    “Neat as a new pin!” said Luís with laugh to his son. “Is that not a pretty expression, Tonio? Neat as a new pin! Can you say that?” he added in Spanish. “Neat as a new pin!”

    “Juanito,” replied Tonio obligingly.

    “¡Sí, sí, we’re going to rescue poor Juanito! Can you say ‘Primo Juanito’?”

    “Primo Juanito!” he chirped happily.

    “He seems to have cheered up, thank God,” said Luís to Miss Calpurnia.

    “Yes: he was very upset when you seemed to be leaving him, poor little chap. Does he always get like that?” she ventured, wondering if his father always gave in and let him come.

    Luís sighed. “It’s since his mother died. He saw a great deal of her every day and though of course he ith too little to understand, the poor little cherub knows that his madre has abandoned him.”

    Captain Cutlass’s ears rang. She stared at him blankly.

    “We have concluded that he’s afraid to lose me as well, Miss Calpurnia,” he explained; kissing Tonio’s round cheek.

    “I—yes, I—I believe that is not uncommon when a small child loses a parent to whom he is close... I’m so very sorry, Mr Ainsley,” she said faintly.

    “Thank you, Miss Calpurnia. It was some time back now, of course; I had to settle the estates in Spain and there was a lot to see to, but—” Luís broke off in dismay: Miss Calpurnia had burst into a storm of sobs.

    “I see,” he said under his breath as Tonio became agitated in sympathy. “Sí, sí, Tonio, mi querido, don’t worry; it’s all right.” He shifted the little boy into the crook of his further arm, moved up very close to Captain Cutlass, and put his arm round her. “It’s all right, now,” he said in a very low voice. “Don’t cry, mi querida.”

    “I’m—sorry!” she gasped at last, not daring to look at him.

    “No, don’t be. I feel the same—more so, I think,” said Luís, squeezing her gently. “From the very first moment of setting eyes on you, down on the quayside.”

    Captain Cutlass sniffed and gulped. “Oh,” she said faintly.

    “Take my handkerchief—it’s very blue, I’m afraid,” he murmured, passing it to her.

    “Thank you,” she said in a tiny voice. She blew her nose hard, still avoiding his glance.

    “So you had no idea that my wife had died,” said Luís slowly, a little smile hovering on his lips. “But why did you think I came back?”

    “I don’t know,” she faltered, still not looking at him. “I—I had no idea you were you—I mean that it was you who were Mr Smith’s son—I mean, he said his son had taken his wife back to her old home as she was not well, but... I supposed you came back on his account.”

    “I did explain my situation to your family,” he murmured.

    “Um, did you?” she said weakly. “They said you had called to—to apologise on Sir Harry’s behalf. And that you would be living with him at Sunny Bay. So is it true that you are going to take over Longacre Farm from Mr Matthews, then?”

    “Eventually, yes,” said Luís on a weak note.

    Captain Cutlass blew her nose again. “I thought it was some mad rumour the great-aunties had hold of—or made up, they would be more than capable of it.”

    “Er—which? My wife’s death or my taking over the farm?’

    She swallowed hard. “The farm, no-one mentioned the other. Um—I suppose I haven’t seen very much of the family these last few months: certainly not since I went to High Mallows. Well, um, it has all been rather chaotic since Pa died, and what with Ma marrying Mr Waters and Niners marrying Colonel Bredon and—and the truly stunning news that Lord Stamforth has given his permission for Little Joe to marry Rita—I never dreamed he would give up the printing business, I thought he was happy in it! And Aunty Lash always declared she disliked Commander Henderson and now she’s engaged to him! And Mr Baldaya has come back and is paying court to Muh-Mouse and we always thought he was a Buh-Bingley! And—and now it looks as if Cookie is going to marry Mr Puh-Poulter and—and I’ve been with poor Mr Piper-Fiennes and his mother—”

    “Sí. Hush,” he said, squeezing her into his side. “It has all been too much at once, mm?”

    Captain Cutlass’s jaw trembled. “Perhaps it has. –Dr Adams died, too,” she revealed abruptly.

    “Yes, I know, mi querida, damned Harry finally let on about that. I am so very sorry. He wath your closest friend, no?’”

    “Mm. It’s silly,” said Captain Cutlass, determinedly blowing her nose but still not meeting his eyes, “because he was not the sort of person who really needed friends—his work was enough for him and he lived almost entirely in his mind. But as much as that sort of personality requires a friend, I suppose we were friends. Um, after I had got to know Mr Smith—I'm sorry: Sir Harry, I mean—”

    “Call him anything you like, he has had numerous names over the years,” said Luís, sounding dry in spite of himself. “After you had got to know him?”

    “We got on well, or so it seemed to me, and after a while I—I sort of felt that perhaps I wouldn’t miss Dr Adams quite so much, as I very much enjoyed the quality of his mind.”

    “Well, yes, Harry is a highly intelligent person, though without your old friend’s scholarship. But then his innate deviousness dawned, yes?”

    “Yes, though at first I didn’t mind so much—it was hypocritical of me in the extreme, for it did not effect me, you see! But then, when it turned out he wasn’t Mr Smith after all...”

    “In short, that was another friend of a compatible mind who had abandoned you, and you felt very like little Tonio doeth now,” he said, squeezing her again. “Well, you may rest assured that I, at least, shall never abandon you, mi querida, any more than I shall ever abandon my darling Tonio! Yes, you!” he said as the tiny boy gave a happy gurgle and made a grab at his nose. “And we must learn to speak English now, Tonio, mi hijo!”

    Possibly at this juncture a maidenly young lady would have pointed out, with due confusion, that Mr Ainsley should not have his arm round her in a closed carriage—or at all—and that it was not altogether seemly for Mr Ainsley to address a young woman whom he scarcely knew in those terms, and most certainly not as “querida”, but Calpurnia Catherine Formby, alas, broke down in giggles—somewhat febrile giggles, true, but nevertheless—and gasped: “But you keeping doing it, Mr Ainsley! You did it just then!”

    Luís’s dark eyes sparkled very much but he did not admit that he had done it on purpose, that last time. After all, there was plenty of time for the two of them to get to know each other and for her to realise that though he was not the brightest Ainsley, if he was not the dullest, he had enough of both Harry and Marinela in him to love a joke, and to enjoy gently teasing those of whom he was fondest.

    “Oops!” he said with a laugh. “You will have to keep my nose to the grindstone, then! –Will you?” he added in a low voice.

    Captain Cutlass licked her lips nervously, but turned her head and looked up at him.

    “For—for always?” said Luís in a voice that shook.

    “Yes,” said Calpurnia Catherine simply.

    At that Luís crushed her against him and kissed her thoroughly, only stopping when Tonio, becoming rather squashed in the process, gave an indignant wail.

    “Oops! Squashed, as well as jealous!” said Luís with a laugh. “I think you will have to get used to the latter, Tonio,” he added in English.

    Captain Cutlass was very flushed but she agreed firmly enough: “Yes, you will, Tonio.”

    Smiling very much, Luís resettled the little boy on his knee and pointed out some seagulls to him.

    “You’re speaking Spanish again,” ventured Captain Cutlass.

    “Well yes, but just at the moment I cannot remember the word for those big white birds.”

    “Seagulls: you can’t have forgotten that!” she cried.

    “Well, yes. Somehow my mind feels confused, I cannot tell why!” he said airily. “I must beg you to reinstitute the English lessons which Harry tells me you had started. It would save what remains of his sanity—the which is not altogether a matter of indifference to me, since I have to live with it—and it would certainly save mine, not to hear him bellowing ‘Speak English! Have you forgotten everything you learned?’ every five minutes!”

    “Um, yes, I could, I suppose,” said Captain Cutlass in a confused voice.

    Luís was fully aware of her disturbance: his eyes twinkled. “How shall it be managed? For it is quite a distance to High Mallows, is it not?”

    “Yes, though Tom Bender will take the shorter route instead of going through the town. Um, well, Mrs Biggs is managing very well, now, and she has her niece, Harriet Stutt, to help her, and Mrs Piper-Fiennes is no longer—um, well, it is not true to say she is not incapacitated, and I’m afraid that’s all to the good, but she is no longer bedridden, and if she doesn’t wish to tackle the stairs Tom will carry her. I could come and stay at Camperdown with Ma and Mr Waters.”

    “That would be ideal for us, but do you like the man?” asked Luís kindly.

    Captain Cutlass blinked. “Of course! I’ve always liked him. He is a kind and generous man as well as a practical one. As a matter of fact he is not unlike Pa: the same shrewd intelligence and essentially happy nature, and rather hearty in very much the same way; I can see why Ma took him. Though it did seem a bit soon,” she admitted, biting her lip.

    “Yes, but then—though of course I have only met your mother a couple of times—I would say that she is the sort of woman who cannot do without a man at her side, no?”

    “How insightful of you!” she cried. “That is precisely what Cookie claims, and she has known Ma all her life!”

    That fashionable man-about-town, Mr Luís Ainsley, did not seem to object at all to being coupled with a cook, and merely replied tranquilly: “Did she? I am glad to hear it. And I trust your stepfather will not object to your teaching our household English?”

    “No, of course not: in fact he said to me he is of the opinion that every young woman should have a useful occupation and it’s a pity that our society don’t teach ’em as much!”

    “Good. You must go to them, then, mi querida, and trot down to visit us every day, until we can be married,” said Luís with the utmost tranquillity.

    His lady turned a fiery scarlet and growled: “If you like.”

    “I do like!” he said with a laugh, picking up her hand and kissing it. “After so very long thinking you could never be mine, I positively need to see you every day! And then, it is only sensible, you know,” he added slyly, “for it will give Tonio time to become accustomed to you.”

    To his intense amusement she nodded and agreed seriously: “Of course.”

    Luís sat back, smiling. When she said: “Look, you get a lovely view of the bay from along here,” and pointed out of her window, the which in many other women he knew, young and not so young, would have been an invitation to lean over too close as he affected to peer at the said view, his eyes twinkled and he merely admired the view, and held Tonio up to see it. After which Master Tonio decided he wanted to go on the señorita’s knee.

    So Luís handed him over and just sat back, smiling a little and saying nothing, as the two admired the view and pointed out various sights of interest to each other in two languages—two and a half, his Calpurnia was eking out her very inadequate Spanish with some horribly mangled French.

    They were jogging along the road which ran eastwards to High Mallows past Wardle Heights, and Tonio had nodded off against Miss Calpurnia’s bosom—one of the loveliest sights he had ever seen—when he murmured: “Is there anything more you can tell me of Juanito? Well, the Spaniard whom we think is Juanito—but I am sure he must be.”

    “No, um, well,” said Captain Cutlass, going very pink, “he did not strike us as, er, a very bright person,”

    “Sí, sí: I think Mr Huggins said ‘pretty dim’, no? That is poor Juanito, and I have to admit Harry has a point in claiming that Primo Julio would not be likely to let him travel alone. –I’m sorry: Julio is his older brother, and the head of the family since Tio Pedro died some years back.”

    “I see... Surely if he had let him come to England your cousin Julio would then not only have provided him with a suitable escort but also written to alert you?”

    “Indeed...” He frowned a little, stuck his head out of his window and shouted “¡Holà! Driver! Can you hurry, please?”

    Captain Cutlass looked at him with tremendous sympathy and did not say that Tom Bender was hurrying as much as he could, nor that the shouting might wake little Tonio.

    It was Juanito, of course. He took one look at Luís and threw himself into his arms with a burst of tears. It was quite some considerable time before Luís managed to get him calmed down enough to make sense of his tangled story and to explain it to the interested onlookers.

    “Primo Julio is dead, and it sounds as if the family is at sixes and sevens; that is why no-one wrote to warn us. Juanito started off with a valet and a courier, but the valet ran off when the ship docked in England—I think, with the maid of one of the other passengers, though he isn’t very clear on that point. The courier got him as far as Brighton. I think he was paid off there: Juanito didn’t fully understand what was happening but according to his account they went to a big building and the courier gave a gentleman a letter, whereupon the gentleman gave him a lot of money. I think he must have had a letter of credit, and as to the building—well, a bank, or perhaps a lawyer’s office, I would assume.”

    “Aye, that’ll be it,” agreed Nunky Ben. “So how did ’e get ’imself over to the town? Acos even without a knock on the head he don’t speak no English, do he, Mr  Ainsley?”

    “No, he doesn’t,” agreed Luís with his charming smile. “The courier seems to have felt some sort of an obligation towards him: he found a carter who was coming over to Waddington-on-Sea, and put him and his luggage on the cart.”

    “A cart!” cried Mr Proper-Fiennes indignantly. “Why didn't he hire a coach for the poor fellow, pray?”

    “I think he pocketed the difference. As far as I can make out, along the way the carter picked up ‘a bad man’ and it was he who attacked poor Juanito and stole his possessions.”

    “Ah. And left ’im for dead on the beach,” growled Mr Rattle.

    “Yes, indeed, Mr Rattle; and I can never thank you enough for coming to his rescue,” said Luís with tears in his eyes.

    “Ah,” replied Mr Rattle, looking immensely gratified. “Weren’t nothing, Mr Ainsley. Any Waddington-on-Sea feller would of done the same.”

    “Aye, aye, we are decent folks hereabouts!” said Mr Piper-Fiennes on a coy note. “But nevertheless it was very well done of you h’indeed, Mr Rattle!”

    “And so say all of us!” agreed Mrs Biggs. “Well, it’s turned out all right in the end for the poor feller. Now, ’as any of you had yer midday meal, Mr Ainsley, sir?”

    None of the party from the coach had, so with a certain amount of shouting at Harriet Stutt to stir her stumps, which most of the company recognised was but a mere form, Mrs Biggs forthwith bustled them into the dining-room, and in very short order indeed had the table laden with the best part of a giant raised pie, a juicy ham, a crusty loaf of bread and a selection of pickles, including a glass jar of what Tom Bender, hovering but not going so far as to sit down with the company, noted was “Mistress’s  pickled lilies: she’ll never know!”

    “Piccalilli, he means. It is a pickle of mixed vegetables, Mr Ainsley, usually with cucumber and cauliflower,” Captain Cutlass explained, blushing.

    “Good, I shall try it. And perhaps you could try to call me Luís, from now on?”

    Mr Piper-Fiennes looked at Miss Calpurnia’s glowing cheeks and, smiling very much, ordered Tom Bender to get himself off to the kitchen and ask Mrs Biggs to feed him there. Explaining, once the door had closed behind him: “A very good man: one cannot deny he means well, but h’obtrusive at times, y’know! Now, that’s more comfortable, is it not?” Looking expectantly at the young couple.

    “Yes, go on, Captain Cutlass, put us out of our misery,” prompted Nunky Ben.

    “Don’t be so mean, Nunky Ben!” she cried.

    “Lovey, yer set orf looking grim and barely said a word all the way over, and by the time yer get back yer all smiles, and he’s asking you to call ’im by ’is name!”

     “Yes—hush, mi querida,” said Luís with a smile as she scowled and opened her mouth. “You must all pleathe congratulate us, for Calpurnia hath agreed to be my wife!”

    “Huzza!” cried the partisan Mr Piper-Fiennes. “And heartiest congratulations to the both of you, me dears!”

    “Ah. Congratulations,” agreed Mr Rattle.

    “Thank Gawd for that, and I won’t ask how yer got her to come out of her sulks,” noted Nunky Ben.

    “No, pray do not, Mr Huggins!” agreed Luís gaily. “But will you not congratulate us, also?”

    “I’ll congratulate her, Mr Ainsley, yes. And you mind yer takes notice of him and don't start bullying ’im,” he ordered his great-niece.

    “Of course I shall not!” she cried indignantly.

    He sniffed. “I dessay. Well, I’ll wish you all the best, Mr Ainsley.”

    Luís laughed. “Thank you!”

    “And we must toast the happy couple!” cried Mr Piper-Fiennes, ringing the bell. “Er—may one tactfully h’enquire, my dear Mr Ainsley, if the poor cousin is allowed h’alco’olic refreshments?”

    “But of course, Mr Piper-Fiennes: all Spaniards drink wine from a very early age.”

    “Should he, though?” said Captain Cutlass dubiously.

    “‘Should he, though, Luís?’” he corrected.

    The company watched interestedly as Captain Cutlass’s cheeks flamed and she said in a very small voice indeed: “Should he though, Luís?”

    “Well, yes, he should, Calpurnia, my dearest, for otherwise he will feel very... Bother, I don’t think there is an adjective! Neglected?”

    “Left out?” she ventured.

    “Yes, left out, of course. English is such a Germanic language,” he sighed.

    “You can leave that out, an’ all!” ordered Nunky Ben vigorously. “There ain’t no Germans in these parts, nor there ain’t never gonna be, neither! –Don’t start telling me about the King again,” he added as his great-niece misguidedly opened her mouth. “Don’t wanna hear anything about that lot—and this feller is as bad as ’is brother—worse. Had to pack ’im orf abroad because of ’is debts, didn’t they?”

    “We are all of course confirmed Royalists in these parts,” said Captain Cutlass cordially to her betrothed.

    “Yes? With the exception of Harry, is this?’ he murmured politely.

    To the huge entertainment of the company, Captain Cutlass gulped, and then muttered: “Um, no, Sir Harry and me.” And subsided.

    After that—and after Luís had explained the betrothal to his cousin in Spanish—a bottle of burgundy was produced, Tom Bender was allowed to return to the dining-room, along with Mrs Biggs and even Miss Stutt, and the entire company with the exception only of little Tonio was provided with glasses and the toast was proposed by Mr Piper-Fiennes himself.

    “To our dear Miss Calpurnia and Mr Ainsley. Heartiest congratulations and warmest best wishes to you both, my dears! To the happy couple!”

    “I suppose one more don't make much difference in that household,” noted Mr Bungo Ainsley as, his brother’s nuptials having been celebrated in the village church of Underdene and the wedding guests having returned to a huge feast set out on the rolling lawns of Camperdown, the bridal pair were at last waved off on their honeymoon, and Sir Harry was seen to be comforting the weeping Juanito.

    “What, in Pa’s houseful of Spaniards? No!” agreed Paul Ainsley with a laugh.

    Bungo grimaced. “No, quite. But what I can’t make out is why dashed Juanito headed for England at all!”

    Paul took his arm. “Mi querido, Luís was the only person who was ever truly kind to him. I think the situation was that the family was only too glad to be shot of him, poor fellow.”

    “That sounds likely,” he agreed sourly.

    “So, it has all worked out happily in the end!” said Paul on a rallying note.

    “Well, yes, if Luís and Calpurnia don’t mind having a half-witted cousin hanging round for the rest of their days!”

    “Not that, dear fellow: worked out for our dearest Luís.”

    “Oh! Well, yes, dare say, but that damned house is little more than a cottage! He came in for an immense sum from Inez, what in God’s name has the fellow done with it?” he grumbled.

    “Put a large amount in trust for Tonio, of course.”

    “Meantime not bringing him up in a gentleman’s home!”

    Paul swallowed a sigh. “It’s the life Luís wants, Bungo.”

    “I dare say. Never saw it before, because he looks so like Madre, but he's as eccentric as damned Pa is, Paul!”

    “Nobody is that eccentric, but I take your point,” replied his eldest brother tranquilly.

    Bungo sighed.

    “At all events,” murmured Paul, “I think Luís and Calpurnia will be very happy together—they seem very well suited.”

    Mr Bungo had earlier been introduced warmly by his new sister-in-law to a voluminous female guest in an extraordinary bonnet who had turned out to be a cook. “Yes!” he retorted with feeling. “Because she’s as dashed eccentric as he is!”

    “That,” said Mrs Mountjoy with immense condescension to her cowed connection, “is of course the former Formby house.”

    “Um, yes?” murmured young Mrs Forsythe.

    “Reasonably commodious, though I flatter myself the downstairs rooms are not as well proportioned as ours.”

    “No, of course, Cousin Miranda!” agreed Mrs Forsythe quickly.

    “However, you could do worse—that is, if you wish for a lease.”

    Did this mean that they ought to want a lease, or not? “Um, Frederick said that a lease would be quite satisfactory,” she faltered.

    “That should work out very well, then.”

    Should it? Next-door to Cousin Miranda? Oh, dear! “But, um, why are the Formbys not living in it themselves?” she ventured.

    Mrs Mountjoy looked down her nose. “The Formbys, my dear Louise, are a most fortunate family indeed. The youngest girl is lately married to Lady Stamforth’s brother.”

    “Really?” she gasped, her eyes very round.

    This reaction was extremely satisfactory and Mrs Mountjoy replied graciously: “Oh, quite.” And prepared to go in for the kill. “Young Mr Formby is currently in a most fortunate situation at Stamforth Castle itself, and is shortly, in fact, to marry Lady Stamforth’s own sister.”

    This was not entirely the coup de grâce she had expected it to be: Louise Forsythe merely replied: ”I see, they have been taken up by the castle.”

    “You may certainly put it that way, Louise. Of course, the eldest sister is married to Captain Quarmby-Vine, late of the Royal Navy. They live on his considerable property to the east of the town. He is brother-in-law to John Formby, who owns Blasted Oak House, near to Lasset Place, and the Quarmby-Vines are a prominent Derbyshire family.”

    It was now very plain to Mrs Forsythe that her reaction to Cousin Miranda’s last piece of information had not been all that was desired, so she said hurriedly: “Goodness! They certainly sound a most fortunate family, Cousin Miranda!”

    “Certainly,” allowed Mrs Mountjoy. Fleetingly she considered mentioning the further Formby connections, but—no. Too many foreign names, and although Calpurnia’s papa-in-law was a baronet, the intelligence that he had masqueraded as a Mr Smith in their own street for months on end could not but convey an unfortunate impression. And by all reports, that household at Sunny Bay was more than odd, it was... ramshackle!

    So she concluded, weighty but gracious: “The Formbys are, indeed, a most fortunate family.”