Brenda almost smiled when Fanchon made use of the last words.
“Then,” she said in a gentle tone, “I have still got the money, for you—for you. I thought we could spend it best at Marshlands-on-the-Sea.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said Fanchon—“those sort of lies won’t go down any longer with us. But as you have made a sort of confession, you may dress yourself. You won’t grumble, I think, when you come downstairs and enjoy our good dinner, and after dinner I’ll have another talk with you. It is my turn to dictate terms now, and I mean to enjoy myself.”
With this last remark Fanchon marched out of the room, wrenching the door open noisily and banging it after her. Her two little sisters were waiting on the landing.
“The cat has confessed,” she said, “and so the poor little mice may play as much as they like. Not a word to dad—we’d have no fun if he knew—we can do exactly what we like with her now.”
Josephine clapped her hands. Nina enquired if the ducks and green peas and raspberry and currant tart, with unlimited cream, had been mentioned.
“Oh, yes; and we shall enjoy our dinner—poor starved creatures,” said Fanchon.
The three girls tripped downstairs. The old rectory was already full of the odorous smell of roast duck. Mr Amberley perceived it in his study. He slightly sniffed, and thought of toasted cheese. He felt pangs of hunger which, as a rule, he was not accustomed to. The girls were flying about: they seemed in high spirits.
“What a delightful day it is,” thought the rector to himself, and he shut up the musty old Josephus with a bang and decided to give an old sermon for the sixth time of hearing to his parishioners on Sunday, and not to worry any more about a new one until the hot weather was over. He even went to the length of standing by the open study window and looking across the sun-flecked garden.
Presently, he saw his daughters entering the house with trailing flowers of all sorts and descriptions in their arms. He wondered what could be up. Josephine, who had a certain knack for the arrangement of dinner tables, was laying a white cloth on the board. In the centre she placed billowy piles of green art muslin which she had bought that morning in the village—or rather, put down to the housekeeping account. Rows of sweet peas and carnations were then placed in bowls in the centre of the table and, this handiwork having been completed, Josie rushed up to her room to put on the best dress she possessed. In short, the entire place wore a festive air.