“But if we are swinging that will cool us off.”
“Very well. I believe the swing is in the shade.”
Ann appeared in the archway, leaned against the side of the arch, fanning herself with a palm frond fan.
“Where is everyone? I cannot find a single living soul to get me a cool drink.”
Betsy looked up at her sister. “Then get it yourself. Are you incapacitated?”
Ann frowned. “That is what our servants are for. I know nothing about the kitchen and how it works. What if I burn myself? Or get cut with a knife?”
Betsy looked at her sister with annoyance. “It is only a cold drink—you are not making a feast for twenty. I think you will survive.”
Ann continued leaning in the archway and fanning herself, lazily gazing off into space.
“Lucy, you can fetch the drink for me. And do not dawdle.”
“We are engaged, Ann,” Betsy said, not even looking at her sister.
“But it is only a stupid old puzzle. And I need a drink right now. Lucy, bring it to my room.”
Betsy turned to her sister and said, “She is not your personal servant, Ann.”
“But she should be. After all, she has to earn her keep somehow in this household. What is she but a peasant pretending to be a peacock?”
As a rule, older sisters usually had their way, and it was particularly true with Ann who reigned under the protection of the Duchess.
Betsy reached over and took hold of Lucy’s hand and pulled her away from the table and led her past Ann and toward the kitchen.
“What a princess…” Betsy exclaimed under her breath as she passed by Ann. “I swear…”
They giggled, linked arms, and found only one kitchen maid asleep in a chair by the pantry. She had not heard Lucy ringing the call bell and would surely be reprimanded if Mrs. Mead found out.
Betsy went to her and shook her awake.
“Oh, oh,” the girl said looking around the kitchen seeming not to know where she was.
“Ann has been ringing for you. She wants a cold drink. Can you take that to her in her room?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Betsy. Right away.”
And the flustered maid scurried to take care of the matter.
“What will Ann say when I do not deliver the drink,” Lucy asked apprehensively as they returned to their puzzle.
“As long as she gets her drink she will not care. She has the attention span of a fly. And do not pay any heed to what she said before about you needing to earn your keep. That is complete nonsense. You are one of us—a part of this family. At least for me, you are. And I suspect for George, as well.”
* * *
When Father paced, George knew there was trouble ahead. His father did not even look at him when George entered his father’s office and saw his mother seated prim and upright on a chair next to the desk.Double trouble, he thought.
“What?” He asked outright.
His father threw several jars of paint and a handful of brushes on top of his desk.
“And what is this all about?” he asked harshly.
George lowered his head for a moment to prepare his defense.So, this is what it is about.Then he looked up and faced his father.
