“No! Of course not.”
“Then it is plain you’ve not told me all that happened to you that day. I’ve suspected it all along. It did not occur to me until later, but you were far too dishevelled and dirty for the story you told. And I could swear I saw blood on your gown.”
Dismayed, Delia stared at her. For a moment the stern look held. Then Lady Matterson broke into an unaccustomed tearful smile. She set an arm about Delia and pulled her into a hug.
“Keep your counsel, child. In your place, I should do the same.” Releasing her, she added, “But call on me if you need help. I am not made of china and I will not easily break.”
Grateful and moved, Delia thanked her. But she was glad Peggy chose this moment to announce dinner, for she could not take much more without ending by confessing all. Aunt Gertrude chose to speak of other matters while they ate, although it was evident from the narrow looks she cast at Delia that the discussion was not out of mind.
Since the theatre company were performing that evening there was no further opportunity for debate. Delia was glad of the distraction, though the worry of how to get word to Giff niggled at the back of her mind. By morning, she’d decided to write to the rector and the new problem arose of how to find the time and an excuse to absent herself for the purpose. If she avoided bathing, she would still have to wait with Aunt Gertrude for her turn to be dipped. She could not, dressed so informally, pretend to go to the beach and instead slip off to the library where there was provision for letter writing. Nor was there opportunity afterwards, what with the business of dressing and partaking of breakfast.
At least Lady Matterson could not quiz her again since Mrs Poynings, who was not feeling up to being dipped, was invited to join them for the meal. Mrs Tuckett served her with coffee while she waited for her hostess and Delia to finish dressing, and then Delia was obliged to listen to an account of her present ailment as the stout dame tucked into fried fish and several slices of a fresh baked loaf lavishly spread with butter.
Impatience gnawed at Delia, but at length the two elder ladies were ready and the whole party set out for the Assembly Rooms where Miss Watkinson was holding sway.
She leapt on Delia the moment she caught sight of her. “It is of no use, my dear Miss Burloyne. The whole scheme has come to naught. Would you believe it? Just when the weather is perfect for our expedition.”
A little fillip of hope thrust up in Delia’s breast. In her anxiety and preoccupation with sending to Stepleton, she’d left the wretched proposal to visit the ruins of Sandsfoot Castle out of her calculations.
“Why, what has happened, Miss Watkinson?”
“Quite a chapter of difficulties indeed. It is too bad! Two of the carriages are unfit — one with a broken trace, I believe, and Lord knows what with the other. Lady Tarporley fears she has taken a chill after her dip, and of course neither Caroline nor her devoted son will leave her. And to cap it all, Miss Leigh has turned her ankle!”
Delia with difficulty suppressed a flutter of amusement, not unmixed with a whoosh of relief. “Gracious, what a catalogue! Could we not rearrange it for another day?”
“Without doubt,” came acidly from Lady Matterson, who had listened to the complaint with growing irritation in her face. “Fuss about nothing! What matters it if the outing must be postponed?”
“But I had it all arranged,” mourned Miss Watkinson. “Who was to travel with whom and in which carriage. And the picnic hamper ready prepared. I don’t know what we are to do!”
“Deuce take it, woman, it’s only a minor setback! When you’ve had as many disappointments as I, Miss Watkinson, you may learn to take them in your stride.” With which Lady Matterson turned in the direction of the card room, exhorting Mrs Poynings to follow.
Feeling for Miss Watkinson, whose cheeks assumed a somewhat ruddy hue while her eyes snapped dangerously, Delia lowered her voice. “My aunt is a trifle twitty at present, ma’am, which at her age is not to be wondered at.”
The other’s high colour began to fade and she wafted a hand. “I have known Lady Matterson too long to be troubled, my dear Miss Burloyne.” Her tone became petulant nevertheless. “However, it is extremely frustrating when I had everything settled and it is all to do again.”
“It must be so indeed, ma’am. But perhaps you may produce the hamper here later? We might picnic on the grass outside, perhaps.”
Miss Watkinson brightened. “An excellent notion, Miss Burloyne! I will go at once and discover who would enjoy the treat.”
She marched off and was very soon to be seen trotting from one group to another, making notes in the little book she carried in her reticule.
Delia followed her aunt to the card room and found her already settling to her usual game of whist with Mrs Poynings, Lord Hadlow and Mr Warbleton. Satisfied she would be happily occupied for some time, Delia made to leave the card room and almost ran into Mr Rodber coming in, accompanied by a gentleman.
“Ah, Miss Burloyne, well met. I have the pleasant task of making our newest arrival known to our company here, so this is most opportune.”
With an inward sigh, Delia resigned herself to a further delay. “Certainly, Mr Rodber. How do you do, sir?”
She transferred her attention to the gentleman standing a little behind him and suffered a rude shock. Attired in clothes of as much quality as any other in the room, his hair neatly tied in a queue, stood a man with a clean-shaven face Delia could not mistake.
“Miss Burloyne, allow me to present to you Mr Giffard, lately of the Indian continent.”
With unholy triumph, Giff took in the effect of his sudden advent upon his flower girl. He’d hoped to surprise her, but this was beyond anything.
Her eyes flew wide, her freckles were drowned with colour and she appeared incapable of coherent speech. “What? I mean, who —? Giffard, did you say? Good heavens! How — how do you do? Or rather, welcome, sir. I’m — I’m very p-pleased to meet you.”
Unable to prevent the quirk at his lips, Giff bowed, taking the hand she had extended, clearly without intent. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Burloyne. You render Weymouth brighter than I had expected.”
Her flush deepened and she flashed him an indignant look. “Thank you! I mean — you exaggerate, sir.” She visibly pulled herself together and dropped a curtsey. “How very gallant of you, Mr Giffard.” A narrow look came as she rose again. “Do you make a long stay?”