Page 10 of A Much Maligned Miss
Edgar reentered the room at this point leading a grim-faced lady’s maid who looked as though she would like to shove everyone aside and take charge of her mistress. She came stock-still on catching sight of Caroline, her eyes widening considerably.
“She’s over here, Goring,” Edgar said, gesturing to the sofa. “Fainted clean away. Oh, I say,” he exclaimed. “Whatever’s happened to Mrs. Ryland? Don’t tell me, she too—?”
Goring pushed past him. “Let me tend to her,” she said fiercely, dropping to her knees at her mistress’s side.
Gervaise took a puff of his cigarette. “Did you take any medicine this evening, Miss Halperston?” he asked in a conversational tone. “To take the edge off, as it were.”
“Medicine?” Caroline looked surprised by his question.
“Yes, or perhaps merely a tonic.”
“A tonic,” she repeated blankly.
“Such as Kendal Black Drop…or Godfrey’s Cordial,” he suggested.
She laughed. “What funny names!”
“Mother Bailey’s Quieting Syrup?” he dredged up, trying to think of other opium-based tinctures widely available.
Her confusion seemed to lift. “Oh, do you mean one of those ones for women’s ailments,” she asked, lowering her tone dramatically. “Mother takes one sometimes, but I forget the name of it.” She screwed up her eyes. “Unless it’s Dalby’s something. Dalby’s Carminative, perhaps?” she hazarded. “But in any case, you can’t take a powder for what I’ve got.”
Gervaise regarded her thoughtfully. “And just what do you have, Miss Halperston?”
“A rotten core,” she answered promptly. “Just ask Mother. It rotted right through when I was ever so young, on account of my father being a…” She frowned as her vocabulary apparently failed her.
Gervaise blew out a plume of smoke. “A bad apple?” he ventured.
She looked impressed. “Well, yes, precisely. My apple did not fall far from his tree, and if she had not plucked me out of the barrel, I might have tainted my saintly brother by association.”
He could not forbear from smiling at that. “I’d rather have a bad apple then a dead bore,” he admitted.
“Really?” She looked so absurdly hopeful that Gervaise felt a surprising pang in the vicinity of his chest. Curious. She leaned forward. “Do you really like me better than Edgar?” she asked.
“Christ, yes,” he answered with perfect truth.
She clasped her hands together. “You must be the first person in the whole wide world who ever did,” she admitted wistfully and regarded him with a fond smile. “I do believe I like you after all.” She jabbed a finger in the direction of his chest. “Better than anyone. Better than Diana Hipworth,” she asserted. “Better even than Cynthia Jarrow.”
“Who the hell is Cynthia Jarrow?” Though now he came to think of it, was Diana not a name mentioned earlier at table?
“Oh, she was head girl at the school I boarded at. She won all the prizes and yet she chose me for her particular friend,” she said proudly. “Can you believe that? They both did. Well,” she amended conscientiously. “For one whole term anyway, before they found out—”
“What a nasty piece of work you really are,” he supplied.
“Yes, that,” she agreed without rancor.
“How did they find out incidentally?” he asked.
“Oh, Mama told them. Mama tells everyone sooner or later. I thought she was going to tell dear Lady Faris the other day,” she said, her happiness dimming at the recollection. “Do not tell her that I think of her in those terms. I only do that in private, you understand, I would never dare to presume to call her that to her face. And I was so devastated but then, you will never believe what happened!” She opened her eyes wide.
Her eyes did not look quite right, Gervaise thought, lifting his cigarette back to his lips. “What happened?” he asked.
They promptly filled with tears. “You will never guess, not in a month of Sundays!” Horrible expression. “That dear little boy”—she sniffed—“who has the purest soul in all the world—”
He closed his eyes. “Do not say it, I beg of you.”
“That sweet angel, Master Teddy Vance—”
“I am acquainted with him and let me tell you, his soul is neither pure nor blameless.”
