She had written to the parson, and she was waiting hopefully and anxiously for an answer. If only ... Oh,if only something could be worked out. She would notneed a fortune, only enough with which to clothe herself and feed herself and keep herself warm.
“Girl!” She could tell from Mrs. Peabody’s sharp tone that it was not the first time she had spoken.“My parasol.”
Mrs. Peabody’s parasol was at her side, at the side farthest from her niece. Patricia had to lean across herto reach it. She handed it to her aunt.
“And it is to shade my complexion as it is?” Mrs. Peabody said. “Lazy girl.”
Patricia raised the parasol and handed it to her aunt.
“Really, Patricia,” Nancy said, “you can be remarkably dense. Oh, Susan, do look at the darling bonnet Lady Myron is wearing. I am positivelygreenwithenvy.”
“My dear Miss Peabody,” Mr. Bancroft said, leaning down from his horse’s back and setting one hand on the door of the barouche, “the bonnet would bewasted on you. The beholder would look into yourface and not notice the beauty of the hat at all. Yousee, it is only now that I deliberately look that I realizehow exquisitely lovely is the one you are wearing.”
“Oh, such things you say, Mr. Bancroft,” Mrs. Peabody said and laughed heartily.
Miss Peabody blushed and twirled her parasol and looked triumphantly about her to see who had heardthe compliment.
Patricia would have held her nose if she could have done so without being observed. She did not look upat the gentleman, though she had the feeling sometimes that he indulged in such extravagant flatterypartly for her amusement. She wondered if he wouldcontinue to say such things to Nancy once he wasmarried to her.
Blankets had been spread on the grass at the foot of the hill. Mrs. Peabody had seated herself in themiddle of one of them, Patricia slightly behind her,while most of the guests amused themselves in slightlymore energetic ways until tea was served.
Most of them climbed the hill in order to gaze admiringly at the prospect Mrs. Peabody had promised them from the top, though she did not go up herselfto display it to them. Mr. Bancroft led the way, Nancyon one arm, Susan on the other. A great deal of trilling laughter wafted down the hill after them. Andthen some of them strolled about the base of the hillwhile others walked the half mile to the east to lookat the Greek folly that Mr. Peabody’s father had hadbuilt years ago in the form of a temple. Still otherswandered to the west to lose themselves among thetrees that hid from view the river winding its waydown in the direction of the crescent-shaped lake.
Mr. Bancroft went with the last group, though Nancy, who had elected herself leader of the expedition to the folly, appeared somewhat chagrined. Hewalked with Lady Myron and two other couples.
Patricia sat on the blanket the whole while, opening and closing her aunt’s fan in concert with the passingclouds, fanning her aunt’s face when the sun shonefor too long, arranging a shawl about her shoulderswhen a cloud took forever to pass over, carrying messages to the footmen who brought the food, first towait awhile and then to hurry along instead of standing idle for all to see.
And then when the footmen were busy setting out the food, which had been prepared in such variety andsuch abundance that it surely would have fed the fivethousand with more than a dozen baskets of crumbsto spare, Mrs. Peabody decided that the wine shouldhave been served first. Everybody would be thirstyfrom the heat and their exertions.
“Go and help, girl,” she said impatiently to Patricia. “Make yourself useful. Go lift the wine basket fromthe wagon and take it over to Gregory. Instruct himto open the bottles immediately.”
Patricia went to make herself useful. But the wine must match the food in quantity, she thought as shetried to lift the heavy basket down from the wagon.It must weigh a ton. And it was an awkward size. Shewormed her hands beneath its outer edges and slid itto the edge of the wagon.
“Here, I’ll take that,” a hearty voice said from behind her. “It is almost as big as you are, little lady, and probably twice as heavy.”
Patricia turned her head gratefully to see Mr. Ware, Susan’s father, hurrying toward her, smiling jovially.
“Thank you,” she said, standing back as his hands replaced hers beneath the basket. But the basket wasteetering on the edge, and she withdrew her hands amoment too soon. Mr. Ware roared out a dismayedwarning, Patricia’s hands flew to her mouth, and thebasket came crashing to earth, bursting open and spilling its contents as it did so.
Perhaps one bottle alone would not have smashed since the wagon board was not particularly high offthe ground and the ground itself was carpeted withgrass. But bottles and glasses tumbled against eachother and smashed with a glorious crashing and flyingof glass and spilling of wine.
Everyone’s attention was drawn—it was such a magnificent disaster. Mr. Ware first swore and then apologized—but whether for his language or his clumsiness was not apparent—and then started to look sheepish. Patricia kept her hands pressed to her mouth for afew moments and then started to assure the gentlemanthat it was not his fault, that she had withdrawn herhands too soon.
And then Mrs. Peabody was there.
If it was really possible for anyone to turn purple in the face, Patricia thought, then her aunt had justdone so, and her bosom seemed to have swelled totwice its normal buxom size. If Patricia’s own mindhad been working coolly, she would have realized perhaps that her aunt for once in her life had forgottenher surroundings and her audience and the impressionshe was about to make on them. But it was not acool moment.
“Imbecile!” Mrs. Peabody shrieked at her niece. “You clumsy oaf! Is this the gratitude I receive foropening my home to you when my brother left youwithout a farthing to your name, and for clothing youand feeding you and treating you like my owndaughter?”
“Oh, I say, ma’am,” Mr. Ware said with an embarrassed cough, “I am afraid the fault was mine.”
Everyone else was still and silent, as if posing for a painted tableau. They had all returned from theirvarious walks.
“I saw it all,” Mrs. Peabody said. “It is good of you to be so much the gentleman, sir, but you need notprotect the lazy slut.”
“Aunt!” Patricia’s voice was hushed and shocked. There was a faint buzzing in her head.
“Silence!” Mrs. Peabody’s palm cracked across one of Patricia’s cheeks, and she turned away. “Now, whatis to be done about this? Gregory, back to the houseimmediately for more wine.”
