Carola Dunn Read Online Free Page B

Church?”
    “The Church of England? Sometimes, but she likes to try a different place of worship every Sunday. She says each sect is quite convinced it possesses the only truth, and since they cannot all be right, it behooves every individual—”
    “Yes, yes, I see her point. But what’s all this about visiting prisons?”
    “Lady Wiston believes one ought to see conditions for oneself so as best to direct how one’s alms are employed. Besides, she thoroughly enjoys delivering little comforts to the unfortunates confined in such places, and we make the acquaintance, as she told you, of the most fascinating people.”
    “But to invite them to call upon her!” Mr. Daviot said feebly.
    Miranda stopped and turned to face him. “Your aunt happens to be remarkably lively and interested in the world about her,” she asserted, “unlike all too many old ladies whose only concern is their ailments. She gives many people a good deal of harmless pleasure, and injures no one.”
    “Not even you? I’d have thought a well-brought-up young lady must find it trying to be obliged by her position to assist in such activities.”
    “Not even me.”
    “You don’t find shopping for household necessities demeaning? Is that not commonly regarded as part of a housekeeper’s duties?”
    “Yes, but Mrs. Lowenstein speaks very little English. She is a refugee from Poland, you see, where Jews are much persecuted.”
    “I suppose you met her when you attended a Synagogue!”
    “As a matter of fact, yes.” Miranda regarded his stunned face with amusement. “Though she communicates very well with the maids—indeed, no one could complain of their slacking at their work—dealing with shopkeepers is beyond her at present, while I don’t mind in the least.”
    “You are an exceptional woman, Miss Carmichael.”
     “Not I. Did you not say yourself that you conceived all hired companions to be grey, mousy creatures? I was well on the way to becoming just another such until Lady Wiston engaged me. I can never be sufficiently grateful.”
    “You grey and mousy?” He shook his head with a smile. “Inconceivable. Well, you defend Aunt Artemis so ably that I have not another word to say on the subject. In fact, I confess I begin to look forward to this afternoon’s outlandish at-home.”
    Chuckling, Miranda pointed out, “After living among Iroquois Indians for several years, you are unlikely to find the occasion excessively outlandish.”
    “Touché! Say rather that I anticipate no little amusement from meeting my aunt’s acquaintance.”
    His smile really was alarmingly attractive, Miranda reflected as they continued on their way. She was going to have to make an effort to remain on her guard.
    * * * *
    As hostess, Aunt Artemis wore a gown for once, in a dazzling vermilion sarcenet which made her look, Peter thought, like a plump, cheerful robin redbreast. He wondered whether her companion had had to persuade her to abandon her comfortable trousers for the nonce.
    “Is Mudge safely shut up?” she asked.
    “Yes, Lady Wiston, at a large cost in comfits for bribery.”
    “He does enjoy them so, as I trust our visitors will enjoy this spread.” Aunt Artemis regarded the laden table with a contented sigh. “Plum cake, seed cake, bread-and-butter, currant tarts and Bakewell tarts, Shrewsbury biscuits, macaroons—excellent. I’m sure you are right, dear, about the bowl of cherries. So difficult even in the best company to deal politely with the stones.”
    “Very wise, Miss Carmichael,” Peter agreed gravely. “One cannot wish to force one’s guests to choose between swallowing the stones and spitting them into the fireplace.”
    Miss Carmichael appeared to be trying not to smile at his bald statement of the possible alternatives. “It seems sensible not to face people with that quandary,” she said.
    As Lady Wiston trotted through to the drawing room to take her place behind the tea-table, Peter continued in a low voice,