“Her ladyship up to White Windows, she came, and Mrs. Hilyard, and the rector and that there long-faced sister of his—all of ‘em have been, miss. And the squire—he’ve sent his groom down to ask how you were going on.”
“The squire?”
“Mr. Coventry, I’m meaning—he as pulled you out of the water. You ought to be main grateful to him, Miss Ann, for sure.”
A faint colour stole up into Ann’s white cheeks.
“Oh, I am. You had better send back a message by the groom to that effect,” she said curtly.
Maria surveyed her with frank disapproval.
“You should take shame to yourself, speaking that way, miss,” she admonished severely. “But I expect you’m hungry-like, that’s what ‘tis. And I’ve a beautiful young chicken roasting for your lunch. You’ll feel different when you’ve got a bit of something solid inside you.”
The roast chicken, combined with a glass of champagne, certainly contributed towards producing a more cheerful outlook on life, and when, later on in the afternoon, Mrs. Hilyard called, armed with some books for the invalid, and was graciously permitted by Maria to come upstairs, Ann welcomed her with unfeigned delight.
“Well, it’s quite nice to see you alive,” smiled Cara as they kissed each other. “I really thought you were going to drown before my very eyes the other day.”
“Instead of which I’ve turned up again like a bad penny!”