“Why, my lady, are you suggesting I do not take the campaigns of the Ladies Union for the Cessation of Social Ills seriously?” Mrs. Rickard kept her face expertly neutral. “I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.”
Unrolling the pamphlet and smoothing it upon her lap, Cressida allowed herself a half-smile.
“I confess, I had higher expectations for this lecture. I expected Mr. Gillig to condemn us all for skirting the law, rather than lay the blame solely on the poor. A contentious debate would have been far more entertaining; why, I know for a fact that Mrs. Tillotson nearly beggared her husband with her gaming debts.” She glanced up, searching the crowd to make sure the lady in question was not within earshot. “Others may have forgotten, on account of it having been nearly twenty years ago, but I have not.”
Mrs. Rickard’s gaze narrowed. “Nearly twenty years ago?”
Cressida raised her brows, that most useful of gestures when gossiping, for it was conveniently both affirmative and noncommittal.
“But you must have been in the schoolroom,” Mrs. Rickard said, puzzled.
“Oh, no,” Cressida said, smiling wide enough that her cheeks dimpled. “I remember it quite well. It was the first year I was out in society.”
“I confess, I thought we were of an age,” replied a surprised Mrs. Rickard.
“How flattering,” Cressida said. “But no, not quite.”
“I suppose next you’ll inform me that you bathe in buttermilk or some other such nonsense,” Mrs. Rickard said, incredulous.
“Actually, I meant to pose a question to you. About a mutual acquaintance.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Rickard turned, interest sparking in her brown eyes. “Who?”
“Dr. Matthew Collier,” Cressida said, looking to the front of the room lest her face divulge any telltale enthusiasm. The room had nearly cleared; only a few clutches of ladies stood about, still conversing. “I’ve engaged him as a tutor of sorts for my younger son, Henry. He’s had… difficulties when it comes to gaming. Losing to his classmates at cards. That sort of thing.”
Mrs. Rickard’s eyes widened. So, Dr. Collier had kept their association to himself. For some odd reason, Cressida felt a strange sense of disappointment.
“At any rate, Henry has improved greatly with the instruction. I’m much obliged to Dr. Collier and wish to gift him something… some token to express my gratitude. However, I find myself at a loss as to his interests, his pursuits.” She paused, then added with a lighthearted chuckle, “Aside from cards, that is.”
“I see.” Mrs. Rickard glanced down to her hands, folded primly in her lap. She pursed her lips, thinking. “I know he possesses a collection of stuffed and mounted animals.”
“Hideous.”
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Rickard readily agreed. “But what else? I confess, he’s a bit of a reserved individual. He’s far more forthcoming with my husband. I do know he’s an avid reader. Classics, essays, medical journals…”
“Of course,” Cressida agreed. This wasn’t quite what she was after; every insight Mrs. Rickard offered was knowledge she already possessed.
“Perhaps a book? Something light and cheerful, to raise his spirits? He’s been a tad low lately. Low enough that even Mr. Rickard found himself compelled to comment on it.”
“A tad low? Whatever for?”
“He’s always been a bit of a romantic. Seems he was keen on a lady back in his hometown. And for decades! She waited ages for him… until this past spring, when she gave up and married someone else. Apparently did very well for herself.”
“Why did he not ask for her hand himself?” Cressida asked innocently, as if she didn’t know his excuse.
Mrs. Rickard glanced around conspiratorially, which Cressida found adorable. None of these aristocratic women cared a fig for the private matters of a middle-class doctor. Of course, if they were to set eyes upon him… Suddenly she felt an irritating stab of jealousy.
“Well, inmyestimation, it was a lack of initiative on both sides,” Mrs. Rickard said, affecting an authoritative tone she’d never used with Cressida before. But she must have done enough to win her way into the younger lady’s good graces to be shown this side of her. “Dr. Collier is kind to a fault. But to hear tell of this woman, I gather that she and the doctor were practically of a kind. It doesn’t do, like with like. One must…” She paused, then lowered her voice. “Compatibility, it seems, is not due to an excessive similarity in character, but rather, a similarity in… desires. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes,” Cressida said, with a slight smirk.But what, Dr. Collier, are your desires?
Back in the conservatory, his eyes had been so wide and serious, so intently focused on the progress of his handkerchief across her bosom.
It had taken some doing, but she seemed in the perfect position to uncover what secret pleasures the mild-mannered doctor kept hidden. And Cressida would bet a pound to a penny that she would be the one to ferret it out.
“In any case,” Mrs. Rickard said with a sigh, “I’m beginning to wonder why exactly I continue to attend these wretched meetings.”
“Have you considered taking up gardening?” Cressida asked mildly.
