Silence in Court Read Free Page B

a blue eiderdown.
    She said, “How pretty! But one ought to be about sixteen.”
    If she expected any human response, she didn’t get it, either to the words or to the tentative smile which had gone with them. Nurse Brayle informed her that there was a bathroom next door, and that tea would be ready in about a quarter of an hour. As she turned to go Carey tried again. There must be something under all that starch.
    â€œI didn’t know that Cousin Honoria was ill. She didn’t say anything about it in her letters. Is she in bed all the time?”
    â€œOh, no.”
    Nurse Brayle did not interrupt her progress towards the door. As soon as she had spoken she went out and down the stair without making the very slightest sound. Carey relieved her feelings by shutting the door rather briskly.
    When she came downstairs again the door of Mrs. Maquisten’s room stood open. A young man with a crutch under his arm was just going in, whilst from behind, with flying steps, came a little creature in a green and plum-coloured uniform. Carey got the impression of something as rounded and graceful as a kitten—fluffy short hair in negligent bright curls, wide brown eyes, and carnation colour. She came up with a rush, slipped a hand inside Carey’s arm, and said, “I’m Nora Hull. We’ll both get black marks if we’re late for tea. She hates it.” And with that they were over the threshold together.
    At first glance the room seemed to be full of people. Mrs. Maquisten had left her bed, and sat in state beside the fire in a large brocaded chair. The silver wrap had been discarded for a long robe of emerald velvet trimmed with fur. The rings, the pearls, the earrings caught the light from a great crystal chandelier. The green and silver curtains had been drawn and the room closed in.
    The effect was one of light, brightness, and colour, and, over all, the dominant red of Cousin Honoria’s hair.
    The young man with the crutch had reached her chair and was standing beside her. On the other side of the hearth behind a massive tea equipage was the authentic white mouse of Mrs. Maquisten’s description—a little pale creature with hair of a washed-out flaxen and eyes of a washed-out blue. She was childishly small, but she had no look of youth. She was pouring out tea from a bulging silver teapot which looked much too heavy for her, and when Carey came up and was introduced her hand shook and some of the tea went over the edge of the tray to stain a lacy cloth.
    The large hand of Mr. Jefferson Stewart come over the slight shoulder and took hold of the teapot.
    â€œYou know, that’s much too heavy for you,” he said. “Now I’m the world’s best tea-pourer. You let me take this on.”
    Honor King said “How do you do?” to Carey in a small, distracted voice and shot a nervous glance at her Aunt Honoria. She got a sarcastic one in reply.
    â€œHe can certainly do it a great deal better than you do—that doesn’t set a very high standard.”
    Jeff Stewart was pouring tea in the grand manner.
    â€œYou know, Cousin Honoria, this is a very interesting experience for me. All those yarns about the Victorian woman being so weak and delicate that she hardly ever came out of a swoon—I’ll be in a position to go home and tell them that they’re all ballyhoo. Apart from having families of a dozen or so, which they must have had to want a teapot this size, they’d need to have real good muscle to handle it.”
    â€œYou might give a lecture on the subject,” said Honoria Maquisten drily.
    The young man with the crutch came over and took a chair by Carey.
    â€œHe’s giving one,” he said. And then, “Nobody’s introducing us, but I’m Dennis Harland.”
    Magda Brayle was handing round the cups. She gave one to Carey now.
    Dennis said, “You’ll have to take saccharine—Mrs. Deeping keeps all the