Joan Smith - Delsie

“I’ll never stay awake,” Jane said, stifling a yawn. “Might be best if I have a nap and let you awaken me when they get here.”

“I have had the room across the hall from mine made up for you.”

“I wonder what Max is up to tonight. Lurking about the orchard somewhere, I expect. My, he was angry you didn’t buckle under to him. The first time anyone has said no to him since he was old enough to shave.”

“He was very angry,” she agreed with some satisfaction.

“My dear, you have no need to tell me! Pacing the room like a caged lion. It is a sure sign he is furious. Max cannot sit still when he’s mad. I gave him a good piece of my mind, gudgeon. ‘If you had any gumption you’d be standing beside Delsie with a pistol in your hand, instead of trying to frighten the wits out of her with foolish stories of atrocities committed by the smugglers,’ I told him. All nonsense, the lot of it. They are not at all vicious nowadays. They were used to be years ago. Miss Marjoram-you wouldn’t remember him, I daresay. Led quite a rapacious crew, not above killing anyone who got in their way, but it is no such a thing now. A tap on the head is the worst you may expect, and it is worth that to find out where the devil Andrew has been stashing the stuff. My cook’s husband is in on it-Darby Gibbs-but not one word could I pry out of her. They have to keep it mum, of course. Only natural. Max thinks the reason no rumors of this business have reached us is that half our own servants are in on it. I expect he is quite right. He usually is. And it would be so very convenient for Andrew, to have recruited his team so close to home. I have done everything but compose a song in honor of the gentlemen to try to get one of my servants to confess the whole to me. No luck, however. It is well enough for servants to dabble a little in the business, but it was too bad of Andrew to involve himself. Well, he never was quite the thing.”

“Do you really think deVigne will be on watch outside?” Delsie asked, finding this fact of more interest than the dame’s views on smuggling.

“He is not the spineless creature his behavior in this case might lead you to believe. Certainly he won’t miss out on the fun. He was only trying to bully you into leaving for your own safety. The men like to keep all the excitement to themselves, but we fooled them this time. Harold, now, he doesn’t care a hoot for excitement. He gets his fun from his books. You’ll never guess what he is doing tonight, while we have a visit from smugglers to look forward to. He is reading the letters of Pliny the Younger, whoever that may be. He sounds a goosecap like Harold. What must he do while Mount Vesuvius was erupting but sit in his garden reading a book. I daresay he didn’t even bother looking up to see the lava pouring down on all those people across the bay. There is no accounting for human nature.”

“Sir Harold is very bookish. Was he always so?”

“Forever. He was born with a book in his hands, as some are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. You must wonder I ever married him, or he me, for that matter. It was arranged, of course, as most marriages were in those days. It was arranged in the same way for my sister to marry Pierre. You recall I mentioned Max’s father, Pierre? A very dictator. Had he been alive, Louise would have married where she was told.”

“It might have saved a great deal of bother if her father had lived.”

“Aye, so it might. They had their eye on a marquess for her. My own papa was an earl. But Louise was always headstrong and stubborn. With Pierre dead, she got the bit in her teeth and Max could not rule her. I have a little of the same stubbornness myself. Harold didn’t fancy my coming here, but here I am, and here I mean to stay. I hope my staying works out as well as my marriage. These arranged affairs work out as well as the other in the long run. I have been happy with Harold. Well, content, which is what we usually mean when we say happy. He does not set his back up against most of the things I want to do, and when he does, I pay him no heed. A husband who can be ignored is a great blessing, Delsie. Let the youngsters prate of love as they please. Look at where it dumped Louise and Bobbie.”

Delsie cast a commiserating look on her unromantical friend. Jane was regarding her quizzically. The old lady’s eyes held a light, making her aware that this was more than a mere philosophical discussion of marriages in general. “I could never be married to a dictator like that Pierre, and Max is similar, but not quite as bad. Still, if you were his wife instead of only his brother-in-law’s widow, you’d be locked in a room at the Hall this night, doing as he said.”

“Let us hope he finds a biddable wife for himself,” Delsie answered, but her mind was elsewhere. She is hinting me away from Max! Is it possible she thinks I want to marry him? She felt a sudden spurt of dislike for kindly Lady Jane.

“Ah, well, there’s the mischief in it. Those dictators want a girl with a strong backbone, so they’ll have the pleasure of breaking her spirit. A milksop would not do for Max in the least. He’ll go on pulling crows with me and you if he marries someone with no spirit. I mean to see that doesn’t happen. I am too old to be forever at daggers drawn with him. Between the two of us, we’ll find him a proper lady with the fortitude to stand up to him.” The cunning eyes regarded Mrs. Grayshott closely, observing the little stiffening of her spine, the sparkle of anger that entered her eyes.

“I have a certain Miss Haversham in my eye,” she continued blandly. “I’ll make you acquainted with her one of these days, and you can tell me what you think.”

Delsie suddenly found herself taking an unaccountable disliking to the name Haversham, but her reply was, “I shall look forward to it, milady. I agree with you that we shall not be bothered with his overbearing ways. We must find him a full-time sparring partner.”

The dame nodded her head in satisfaction. “I’m done in,” was her next statement. “I’ll amble on up to bed, but be sure to rouse me when you hear the fellows in the orchard. I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”

Delsie sat on alone, going over the conversation. She was not surprised to learn plans were afoot to find deVigne a wife. For several years this matter had been spoken of in the village as inevitable. She wondered that Lady Jane had undertaken to speak of it to her on this particular occasion. Had she taken the idea that she had set her cap at him? Going over her own behavior, she conceded it had been perhaps too free. She had slipped too easily into a sort of intimacy with deVigne. Naturally the family would dislike to see him make such an uneven match. Her lips curved in a soft smile as she considered the scene likely to ensue if anyone attempted to hint to the Dictator where he ought to look for a wife. She did not think Miss Haversham’s chance for success very great if she counted on Lady Jane’s persuasions to do the job for her.

As the hour grew later, and as she thought her rest might well be disturbed with company, she decided to retire. She went to have a last word with the footmen, who were stationed at the kitchen window, with all lights extinguished. There were taking turns about, one resting while the other watched. At any sign of action, they were to use the Chinese gong in the dining room to arouse the ladies. They deemed the hour early enough to risk having a lamp lit while Mrs. Grayshott made them coffee to help pass the time, before going up to her room.

Sleep was slow in coming, with the excitement of an invasion to look forward to. When the hands of the clock pointed to one, she had still not closed an eye. At that hour, she went to the window and stood looking into a motionless orchard for some fifteen minutes. This vigil tired her, and she went back to bed to sleep through an uninterrupted night.