“Good morning, miss, and thank ’ee kindly.”
She curtsied deferentially to the heiress of Upworthy, the future autocrat, the dispenser of wash and eyewash. Cicely hurried on.
Exhilaration was tempered by exasperation. Martha Giles forced thought upon her; she invaded peace of mind, most dear to us after storm and stress. Martha presented a composite photograph of all dependents who accept doles gratefully with a very lively sense of injury if they are withheld or curtailed. Danecourt simply swarmed with just such parasites. And a year ago Cicely would have resented angrily the use of such an ugly word. It was almost as unmentionable as fleas or . . . Even in thought a Chandos could not assign the common, loathsome name applied to pests that a toothcomb removed from the heads of dirty children!
Why was Martha such a parasite?
Why would it break her heart if her ramshackle hovel was pulled down?
VI
Cicely ascended the white, shining steps of Dr. Pawley’s house, pulled a shining brass bell-knob, and then grasped a shining brass knocker. But she didn’t knock, because she remembered that her kind old friend was ill. The trim parlourmaid opened the door. Cicely’s eyes, with keener powers of observation, dwelt for an instant upon a large, spotless mob cap. No hair from that well-covered head would fall into Dr. Pawley’s soup. This shocking incident had taken place at Danecourt, in the historic dining-room. Lord Saltaire had almost succumbed, falling into what appeared to be a cataleptic trance from which he emerged to refuse fish.
“Good morning, Ellen. How is Dr. Pawley?”
“He’s in bed, miss. Won’t you come in out of the sun?”
Cicely followed her into the drawing-room, which seemed deliciously cool. The windows had been shut to keep out the heat. Through them Cicely could see the garden sloping upward to the temple. War had respected this sanctuary. It looked as it had always looked, meticulously ordered. And the drawing-room presented the same prim demeanour. Surely the parlourmaid was mistaken. In a minute the dear old bachelor would hasten in, full of sympathy and affection, taking both her hands in his, bending down, perhaps, to kiss her forehead, the customary salute when she was a child. To distract her, he would show her some “find,” a bit of glass or porcelain, upon which he would hold forth with whimsical enthusiasm.