Seven Minutes in Heaven(2)

“That sounds ominous,” Eugenia said, biting back yet another smile. “Where were you when Lady Hubert gave you this advice?”

“We were having a picnic by the Thames, at the bottom of our lawn,” Winnie said, answering for her son. “Did I mention that Lady Hubert is Marmaduke’s godmother and has no children of her own? We had hoped . . . but no. After today, no.”

“She gave me a sermon just like those in church except that she’s a lady,” Marmaduke said, apparently deciding to get it over with. “She said as how deceit and hippocrasty are barriers to a holy life.”

“Hypocrisy,” Eugenia said. “Do go on.”

“So I did that.”

“What?”

“Well, first I entertained her by doing the dance of the Picts. They were wild savages. They howled. Would you like to see?” He gave Eugenia a hopeful look.

She shook her head. “I shall use my imagination. Did Lady Hubert enjoy your performance?”

“She didn’t like it much,” Marmaduke conceded, “but she wasn’t too crusty. She asked me what I thought about the book of church history she had brought me for my birthday last month, and had I read the whole thing.”

“Oh dear,” Eugenia said.

“I was being honest, like she said to. I told her that I didn’t like it because it was boring and three hundred pages long. Mother was ruffled by that, but she settled down and after a while, Lady Hubert asked me what I thought of her new gown. I said that it would look better if she hadn’t eaten an entire side of beef. Father always said that about her.”

“It was not kind to repeat your father’s comment,” Eugenia said. She had discovered over the years that children learned best from simple statements of fact.

He scowled. “I was being honest and besides, after I did the warrior dance she said that my father likely passed on because he needed a rest cure.”

“That was deeply unkind,” Eugenia said with her own scowl, “and very untrue, Marmaduke. Your father was a war hero who would have done anything to stay with you and your mother.”

She glanced over at Winnie, who was flat on her back with an arm thrown over her eyes. Her husband had been a naval captain who lost his life at the Siege of Malta while serving under Rear Admiral Lord Nelson.

Marmaduke hunched up one shoulder by way of reply.

“Did you throw, push, or otherwise inveigle Lady Hubert into the Thames?” Eugenia said, feeling a wave of dislike for the lady in question.

“No! She fell in all by herself.”

“After a horned beetle that my son had about his person found its way onto her arm and ran inside her sleeve,” Winnie clarified.

“I wouldn’t have thought she could leap like that,” Marmaduke said, with an air of scientific discovery. “Being as she was large and all, but she did, and into the water she went.”

“Head first,” Winnie added hollowly.

“I wish I’d seen it,” Eugenia said, pulling the cord to summon her housemaid.

“It was funny,” Marmaduke confided, “because her clothes were all frilly pink underneath. I had to run for the footmen and two grooms as well, because the bank was slippery with mud. The butler said that it was like hauling a Hereford steer out of a mudhole.”

“That’s an extremely vulgar description,” his mother said in the weary voice of a vicar sermonizing in Latin to an audience of squabbling children.

The door opened. “Ruby,” Eugenia said, “I should like you to take Lord Pibble into the garden and throw a few buckets of water over him.”

“Mrs. Snowe!” Marmaduke said, dropping back a step, his eyes widening.

“It’s not only Fred who smells. What did you mix in the beeswax to get that color?”

“Indigo powder from my paint box.”

“It seems to be pungent, which means smelly. A good washing should get off the indigo,” Eugenia said, turning to Ruby. “I’m not sure about the beeswax.”

“I don’t want to,” Marmaduke wailed. “Mummy said that I could keep it on until bedtime.”

“Fred is looking very dry,” Eugenia said firmly. “He needs a rinsing as well.”

After four years in her position, Ruby was adept at handling unruly children. She took Marmaduke’s arm, and marched him straight out of the room.

Winnie sat up to watch him go. “He wouldn’t have gone with me, nor with Nanny either. May I borrow your housemaid?”

Eugenia sat down beside her friend. “Marmaduke needs to go to school, dear.”

“He’s my baby,” Winnie said, her eyes filling with tears again. “He merely needs a governess, Eugenia. Why won’t you give me a governess?”