An electric wave of enthusiasm passed round the room, and for a moment Judy looked almost rapturous, until I added, “They are all with my luggage, which is coming up by waggon.”
“What!” cried Mrs Skeffington-Smythe. Miss Cleeve bit her lips, and Mrs Valetta, looking wickeder than ever, closed her eyes apparently for ever. Mrs Brand was the only one who remained unmoved, but it was clear that her tanned face and a powder-puff had never made acquaintance. Judy gave a little cold laugh.
“It might have been just as well to stuff a box of poudre de riz in your pocket.”
“Dear Judy, my pockets were stuffed with the necessaries of life—tea, sugar, soap, sometimes even bits of meat; they called it biltong, but it was really nothing more or less than dried meat.”
“Disgusting!” murmured Miss Cleeve. Evidently she had never suffered the exigencies of a coach journey. She must have arrived by balloon. They glanced coldly at my battered dress-cases and hat-boxes which stood piled by the door.
“All packed to the brim with absolute necessities,” I said. “The post-cart regulations allowed one to carry exactly sixty-four pounds. Of course I carried far more, but they charged me eight pounds, six shillings, and fourpence excess. The transport-waggon people promised to have my trunks in Salisbury in four weeks’ time, and I thought if I stayed about six weeks that would give me some fresh gowns to wear here, and an outfit to return in.”
In the smile which greeted my words as I explained this to them I could not but recognise grimness as well as malice. The horsewoman proffered some gloomy information.
“Your things will take six months to get up here—if they ever arrive at all.”
“Why, what is likely to happen to them?”
She shrugged, and spoke in jerks.