EXCERPT:
Mrs. Thorpe
sobered. "My lord, I have no wish to ruin this wonderful day, but you must
not persist in this familiarity. No other relationship is possible. I assure
you I am perfectly adamant, for your sake and for the sake of Gomersall."
She forced a smile. "But I have not had so lighthearted a time since I
cannot remember when! And for that, I do say 'thank you', my very good
friend."
She gave him both
her hands; he took them for only a moment, though it seemed to her he would
have liked to have held them for longer; and then, saying nothing, he returned
to the tilbury and drove back to the Hall.
He was met at the door by Badger, who
approached him with the disdainful look that Lord Newsam was convinced he
reserved exclusively for him.
"My lord,
Lady Newsam and Miss Newsam desire your presence in my lady's parlour with the
utmost celerity," he announced in the pompous tone that always irritated
Lord Newsam.
"All
right," said Lord Newsam briefly, and went upstairs. "Did you want
me, Mama?" he asked mildly as he entered. He observed that Lady Newsam
appeared to be in a state of prostration, lying on the couch while Amelia
offered her occasional sniffs at the vinaigrette and fanned her face.
"Granville!
At last!" his mother exclaimed feebly. "Amelia will tell you what has
occurred!"
The memory of the
pleasurable day he had spent away from Gomersall only exacerbated Lord Newsam's
vexation at being confronted by difficulties the instant he returned.
"Great heavens, not another domestic crisis!" he exclaimed
uncharitably.
"I am so
sorry, Granville, I am afraid it is!" said Amelia regretfully. "It is
"Let him go,
then!" said Lord Newsam shortly.
Lady Newsam gave a
piteous moan. Amelia said, "Nobody has ever suited Mama half so well! He
knows just how to please her!"
"Let Badger
try to persuade him, then!" said her brother.
Amelia shook her
head. "He considers Badger his inferior," she informed him
discouragingly. "Granville, you are the court of last resort! Do, please,
try!" she implored.
Lord Newsam
acceded with an ill grace and ordered the cook to attend him in his office. Not
long afterwards, Philippe entered, a weedy individual with an air of offended
self-consequence.
"I understand
that you have given notice," said Lord Newsam indifferently.
"Oui! I 'ave
been insult' more zan 'uman can bear!" Philippe averred. "I leave at
ze week end!"
"All
right," said Lord Newsam.
The cook stared at
him, dumfounded. "I am leave'!" he reiterated.
"You need not
wait until the weekend; you may go now," Lord Newsam offered helpfully.
"I shall get the cook in from the Dower House."
"What! A mere
wooman in ze Gomersall kitchen!" exclaimed Philippe in horror. "Zis
cannot be!"
"Well, we
must eat," Lord Newsam pointed out practically. "And I am not
particular about my food, in any case."
"But Madame!
She will wizzer away!"
"Not at all;
she will learn to do without the dainties you provide: that is all." Lord
Newsam remained unmoved.
"Non! You are
torture' your own muzzer! She tell me all ze time 'ow she love my cooking! You
'ave no feeling, milor'!"
"Granted, I
have no sympathy for her delicate palate!" agreed Lord Newsam. "But
it is you who have no feeling, deserting my mother over some silly
nonsense!"
"Silly
nonsense! When Miss Charlotte, she come ask' question – where I get zis? 'ow I
make zat? – I am not good enough? I am good enough for Madame but not good
enough for Mademoiselle?" explained Philippe indignantly. "Is zis 'ow
I am treat'?"
"Has it not
occurred to you that she was not criticising, she was asking to learn? And
asking the greatest expert she knew? And for this you wish to give
notice?" Lord Newsam made a shooing
motion. "Go, then, if you cannot even understand the greatest compliment
of all!"
The cook stood
silent. He was not accustomed to thinking further than the week's menus, and
this complex philosophical point came close to evading him. At length, however,
he grasped the issue. "She wish me to teach 'er?" he asked, his eyes
lighting. "Ze noble Mademoiselle a student of Philippe? Ciel! Why she not
say before? But of course!"
Lord Newsam held
up a finger. "Only one day a week! She has many other duties!" He could visualise the cook demanding
"Ah,
oui!" responded the cook, only a little disappointed. "One day a
week, I teach Mademoiselle to cook comme
des anges!" He departed borne
upon clouds of imagined glory.
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