After a time, even Sabrina ran out of conversation, and a long silence fell upon the group. Mary could feel Rose growing more and more tense beside her. She also knew from experience that the longer a silence lasted, the more likely Camellia or Lily would feel compelled to break it. Desperately, she cast about for something to say, but her mind was a blank.
Finally, in a rush, Mrs. Martin said, “Are you interested in reading, Miss Bascombe?”
“Lily is,” Camellia piped up.
“Indeed?” It was hard to tell behind the spectacles, but it seemed to Mary that Mrs. Martin’s expression warmed a trifle as she turned toward Lily. “Then you must be enjoying the library at Willowmere. It is quite extensive.”
“Yes, it is,” Lily agreed, looking unaccustomedly nervous.
“What sorts of things do you like to read?”
Mary’s fingers curled into her palm until the nails were cutting into the skin. Lily would reveal her reading tastes, and this highly educated woman would make a slighting remark or give her one of those frozen-in-horror glances of which Aunt Euphronia was a master. Then Camellia—and Mary herself—would feel compelled to come to Lily’s defense, and the visit would turn into one of their usual disasters. Only this time Lady Sabrina would be dragged into it as well, after all her kindnesses to them.
“Um, novels,” Lily replied softly.
“Indeed?” Mrs. Martin’s eyebrows lifted. “How interesting. I am fond of them myself.”
“Really?” Lily perked up. “Cousin Charlotte took us to Hatchard’s—”
“Such a lovely place.” There was now definitely warmth in the older woman’s voice, and Mary felt the clutch of tension in her stomach begin to ease.
Then Lily went on, “I bought The Mask of the Corsairs by Mrs. Preston.”
As soon as she uttered the words, Lily went pink and closed her mouth. She cast an apologetic glance at Mary and quickly turned her eyes back down to her lap. Mary felt a pang at seeing Lily abashed, and a warming anger began to rise in her.
“I have not read The Mask of the Corsairs,” Mrs. Martin said, breaking the silence. “But I cannot imagine that it could be any more exciting than The Lady of Mirabella, Mrs. Preston’s second book and, in my opinion, her best.”
Lily’s head snapped up, and a brilliant smile spread across her face. “Oh, yes, I agree. It is my very favorite book. Do you like Mrs. Radcliffe, too?”#p#分页标题#e#
“Of course.” Mrs. Martin was smiling now, her cheeks tinged pink with excitement. “Perhaps you would care to see my library. It is not nearly so fine as that at Willowmere, but I have several books I think you would like.”
“Yes, thank you! I would love to see it.” Lily bounced to her feet, barely remembering her teacup in time to set it aside on a low table.
Mrs. Martin stood up, taking Lily’s arm and leading her out of the room, talking animatedly. Mary cast a surreptitious glance at Rose and Camellia, then at Lady Sabrina, all of whom wore the same expression of amazement. It was all Mary could do not to laugh.
“Well, I’m glad Miriam has found someone who likes to read those books,” Mrs. Bagnold commented. “I haven’t the faintest liking for them myself. Not much of a reader, really, but when I do read, I like something practical. The squire, of course, doesn’t hold with reading at all.”
“How is the squire?” Sabrina asked sweetly, recovering from her shock. “I haven’t seen him out riding lately.”
“His back’s been bothering him again, poor thing.” For the first time, Mrs. Bagnold’s voice softened, and she shook her head. “Pain shooting down his back. He can hardly walk, but he can hardly sit still either. Can’t bear to get up on a horse.”
“I’m so sorry. Has Dr. Berry been to see him?” Sabrina asked.
“The man’s useless. All he ever wants to do is cup him or purge him.” Mrs. Bagnold’s mouth was set in grim lines. “That’s what killed my grandfather, I’m convinced.”
Emboldened, perhaps, by Lily’s success with Mrs. Martin, Camellia said, “Maybe you could help, Mary.” She turned to the squire’s wife. “My sister is quite good with herbs and such.”
“Indeed?” Mrs. Bagnold rested her rather imperious gaze on Mary. “Is that true, young lady?”
“I—well, yes, I’ve always nursed my sisters in their illnesses. I know some folk remedies.”
To her surprise, Mrs. Bagnold nodded. “My nurse was a healer, I remember. There were those who whispered she was a witch, but that was nonsense, of course. She could always make a tea to help with your headache or stomachache.” She paused, then asked, “What would you suggest?”