Read Court of Foxes for Free Online

lady’s inheritance. ‘Indeed, indeed, my lord, there is no need,’ cried Marigelda tremulously, rolling an apprehensive eye towards the two footmen, standing stiffly one on either side of the doorway; (If James but lets his lip quiver, she thought, I am undone. Why will Mother think herself a Mrs MacCready?) ‘There is no legal question at all. It is simply the cruelty of those turned unkind, who thought it should be they who inherited.’ And the contemplation of it so much overwhelmed her, poor lady, that it became obvious that the visitor should take his leave and embarrass her no longer by witnessing so much sensibility. She revived enough to beg him to visit her again and vowed never more to dwell upon so unhappy a subject.
    It was a relief, all the same, when, hard on his departure, there arrived yet another great bunch of the familiar red roses. There had been an anxious family post mortem meanwhile, lest they should have over-reached themselves. But now all was well; and the bouquet carried the message that now accompanied all his flowers — I will love you till I die.
    They talked it over that night as usual, in the big, shabby room upstairs. Volatile, easy-going, hedonistic, they felt themselves already confirmed in their wildest hopes and never for a moment doubted that they were doing the best thing in the world for their treasure. That she should bring love or even affection into her side of the bargain need not enter into the matter. To be beautiful, gay, never wearisome or complaining, above all to be a delightful and delighted alternative to the dull marriage bed — what more need anyone in all honesty offer? There would be rich pickings for all of them — had they not loyally invested their all to bring about this charming conclusion? — and each might go or stay as best suited him. Sam, for example, had ambitions for the law, George to be a writer… For the rest… ‘You do feel, Marigold, that this arrangement can be for your happiness?’
    ‘Oh, Mother dear, don’t call me Marigold, for pity’s sake! How could you have burdened a poor child with such a name?’ said Gilda for the thousandth time. ‘It makes me feel like a cow.’ She added vaguely: ‘What arrangement?’
    ‘Well, Tregaron, of course. You do feel you could — live with him?’
    ‘I shouldn’t have to live with him,’ said Gilda. ‘Let the ladies of Tregaron, mother, sister, wife when she comes along, do that. For a day or two at a time I daresay he’d be not unendurable. He’s a prettyish little kind of a fellow with his muffs and his frills and his amber cane, all so à la mode, and I can’t say that his conversation so far enthrals me. But when he’s absent we can all foregather as usual and store up enough nonsense to tide us over till the next time.’ She stretched, luxuriously yawning. ‘Are there no little cakes left over from the visitation?’
    ‘Sealed away in a jar till the next time; they’re very expensive. So all of you, keep your hands off!’ said their mother. ‘Gilda mustn’t eat in his presence, it isn’t romantic, and his lordship hardly touches them. They may yet be made to last half a dozen visits.’
    ‘Like Bessie’s flowers. Have a care, Mother,’ said James, ‘or he may come to recognise some recurrent currant.’ He went off into fits of laughter at his own wit. ‘ “Compliments-and-thanks-milord and permit me to dust off such of the sugar cakes as the ravening wolves have left for you…” Oh, Mother, dear, those ravening wolves! I thought George and I would split asunder with the effort to preserve our long faces.’
    ‘Your poor father always said,’ said Mrs Brown complacently, ‘that I was made for the boards.’
    ‘Talking of which, need I go any longer now to that terrible theatre?’
    ‘We should miss the revenue from the flower-stall,’ said George, the accountant. ‘Besides it might look odd if you suddenly lost so great a devotion to the drama.’
    ‘And