Cynthia Bailey Pratt by Gentlemans Folly

Author:Gentlemans Folly
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Many weary hours later Jocelyn went to bed. Between lugging tubs of tea and hills of rolls to the fire fighters, wrapping minor burns and looking in every now and then to see if Helena still slept, Jocelyn used up all of her energies. Although three hours of rest was insufficient, she felt refreshed enough to get Arnold and Granville’s breakfast when they finally returned early in the morning, after the fire had been totally extinguished.

“Three times the church roof seemed sure to catch. Once I climbed up to dump a bucket of water on it. I was the only one of the boys not too scared to climb up.” Arnold yawned as though about to swallow the table. “They couldn’t use a man ‘cause the branch wouldn’t support much weight.”

Both the boys were smoke-blackened and sweat-streaked. Granville, all pretension stripped away in a night’s valiant effort, sat drowsing in his chair. Mr. Quigg refused any food, pleading a great desire to drink away the smoke with something stronger than tea. He retired at once to his small house.

Languidly Jocelyn said, “Please wash under the pump in the backyard before you go. ... Please, Arnold. I don’t want to have to wash all the sheets tomorrow.’’

To her surprise, Granville also protested the bath. The boys were interrupted by a knocking at the back door. Jocelyn felt as if she could not face visitors after her exhausting night, but politeness drew her to her feet as the door opened.

“Jocelyn, my dear! We’ve only just heard!” Miriam Swann poked her pretty face around the jamb. Seeing Jocelyn, she swung the door open and walked in, followed by the white-clad figure of her mother-in-law. The ladies entered, good-naturedly not letting on how rare it was for them to enter any kitchen, even their own.

Granville sat upright, his reddened eyes blinking in amazement and horror. Only in his worse nightmares was he ever placed in such a position. He looked dazedly down at his burn-spotted, smoky clothes and winced. What would His Highness do? he thought. Instantly the answer came.

He stood. He bowed. “Mrs. Swann. An honor, ma’am.” From the cupboard he removed a white tablecloth and spread it elegantly over his chair. The black marks left by his hands hung over the back where they could not mar the purity of Mrs. Swann’s pristine gown. He said, “Won’t you take this chair, ma’am?”

Arnold sniggered. Jocelyn gave him a sharp look. He stood and bowed with as much grace as his brother.

Mrs. Swann, with regal appreciation of a grand gesture, seated herself on the draped chair. “Thank you, Mr. Luckem.”

She turned her eyes on Jocelyn, genuine anxiety in their depths. “Miss Burnwell, we have only just this hour heard of the catastrophe at the vicarage. The wildest rumors are flying, as you may well imagine. Pray, can you tell me what has become of dear Mr. Fain and his poor dear sister?”

Jocelyn said, “Miss Fain is upstairs . . .”

The Swanns exclaimed with joy, raising their hands.

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