Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [81]
“Very out of date,” Fanny whispered a trifle too loudly.
“What is?” Charlotte asked.
“Stuffed animals on your clothes,” Fanny replied. “Don’t you remember—it was all the rage a couple of years ago. My mother’s cousin had a hat with flowers with all the beetles and spiders in them.”
“You are twitting us!” Fitz said with wide eyes.
“Not at all! And I have a friend whose aunt had a gown with stuffed mice on the hem and up the outer fold of the skirt.”
“Ugh!” He was staring at her with delight. “Really?”
“I swear it.”
“How disgusting!”
“Worse than that. We have a domestic cat—” She was giggling as she said it. “She was an excellent mouser. It was a disaster.”
“A mouser,” Fitz said quickly. “Oh do tell us.”
Odelia pulled a face of distaste but Fanny was looking at Fitz and was totally unaware of her.
“Aunt Dorabella had been asked to favor us with a song, which she did with some enthusiasm. It was the Kashmiri Love Song, you know?”
“Pale hands I love,” Fitz said quickly.
“Yes, that’s right. Well she swept across the space we had cleared for her, swirling her skirts behind her, raising her hands to illustrate the song—and Pansy, the cat, shot out from under the drapes ’round the piano legs and bolted up Dorabella’s skirt after the mouse. Dorabella hit a high note very much higher than she had intended—and louder—”
Fitz was having trouble keeping his composure, and Charlotte and Emily were not even trying.
“Pansy took fright and ran down again,” Fanny went on, “with the mouse between her teeth, and a sizable piece of the skirt with it. Dorabella tripped over the rest and fell against the pianist, who shrieked and overbalanced off the stool.”
Fanny shrugged her shoulders and dissolved into giggles. “We disgraced ourselves so utterly,” she finished, “that my friend was cut out of Uncle Arthur’s will. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. I was so sorry, but if it had been my fortune at stake, I could not have helped myself. Fortunately, it would have been only two rather ordinary chairs—and Uncle Arthur lived to be ninety-three anyway! Of course I apologized profoundly, but Aunt Dorabella did not believe a word, and neither of them ever forgave us.”
“How marvelous,” Fitz said sincerely. “I’m sure it was worth it.” He looked around to each of them. “Is there a great deal more you wish to see here?”
“Not I.” Emily shook her head, still smiling, but Charlotte had a good idea she had had enough of standing for a while anyway.
“Nor I,” she agreed quickly.
“Then let us find some refreshment,” Fitz suggested. “Come, James, I shall take you all to tea, and you shall tell us what befell poor Mr. Osmar.” And he offered his arm to Fanny, who accepted it with a quick smile. James escorted Odelia, and Charlotte and Emily were left to bring up the rear.
They took both carriages, and met up again inside the hotel, where they were served a most delicious tea in a large, softly lit room with the most flattering pinks and apricots. They began with thinly sliced cucumber sandwiches on brown bread, cream cheese beaten with a few chopped chives, then smoked salmon mousse. There were white bread sandwiches with smoked ham, egg mayonnaise with mustard and cress, and finely grated cheese. When these had blunted the edge of appetite, they were served scones so fresh they were still warm, with plenty of jam and cream, then lastly cakes and exquisite French pastries, choux and puff pastries filled with whipped cream, lacelike icing and thin slices of fruit.
During all this James Hilliard entertained them with the story of Horatio Osmar, his trial and unaccountable acquittal, without mentioning the name of the magistrate, which apparently he did not know.
“What did the young woman say?” Charlotte asked.
“Nothing,” James