Sophronia exchanged startled looks with her friends. “Well, I never!”
She immediately gathered up Bumbersnoot, for it would not do to keep Petunia waiting. She collected her luggage from the cloakroom, leaving Agatha and Dimity to see to the last of the tea.
Petunia stood looking around at the quaint town with ill-disguised hauteur. Her traveling dress, fur muff, well-trimmed bonnet, and velvet gloves screamed London.
“Petunia? I say, this is a surprise.” Sophronia plopped down her carpetbag to give her sister a polite peck on the cheek.
“Sophronia, still carting around that horrid Italian dog reticule, I see.” Petunia’s hat had ostrich and peacock feathers—for travel! Even more shocking—her sister was actually smiling.
“It has sentimental value. But Petunia, what on earth are you doing here?”
“You may well ask. Middle of nowhere. I understand why Mumsy sent you to finishing school, really I do, but why not France or Switzerland? Why Devon?”
“Expense, I suppose.”
Petunia shook her curls and tut-tutted at open mention of pecuniary matters, even among sisters. She had married well and after only one season. It was a match so advantageous, she herself could hardly believe it. True, Mr. Hisselpenny wasn’t as blue-blooded as Petunia would have liked, but he was well set up in town. From what Sophronia could gather, Petunia had proceeded to spend most of her husband’s fortune attempting to break into the upper crust, with limited success. Her doting husband catered to her every whim, including, evidently, a coach and four.
“It has done you good, I will say that.” Petunia issued a rare compliment, looking Sophronia over with an eye to her appearance and posture, as if Petunia were decades her senior.
“Thank you very kindly.” Sophronia resisted the urge to bristle. Petunia was one of those who responded better to cordial than to barley water. “I do value your good opinion, sister.”
Petunia looked smug. “Is that all you have?”
Sophronia’s baggage included only one valise and two hatboxes. And Bumbersnoot, of course. “Afraid so. Mumsy doesn’t send me many dresses anymore. Since you married, there have been none to hand down. Everything I have is worn and not worth packing.”
Petunia’s eyes lit up. “Exactly what I suspected! This is why I volunteered to collect you. You are, after all, soon to come out, and as I am now residing in town, I decided to see you properly outfitted. And I know you would like to do your Christmas shopping in London, for once.”
Ah-ha, thought Sophronia. Having spent as much as she dared on herself, and becoming bored with society, Petunia wants me for her new entertainment. Sophronia grimaced at being thought a doll, but she could not deny a thrill of excitement. Who didn’t want to go to London for the shopping? Of course, her eagerness had nothing, whatsoever, to do with the fact that Soap was currently living in London. Nothing at all.
Petunia took Sophronia’s thoughtful silence as dissent. “You don’t want to? Oh, why must you be such a bore?”
Where, in the past, Sophronia would have snarled in response, instead she applied praise. “Of course not, sister dear. It’s a delightful notion. And so kind of you to concoct it. I’m a little surprised, that is all. But I’m certainly not one to look a gift London in the mouth.” Even if it comes packaged with a meddling sister. Sophronia and Petunia had never been close, but Petunia appreciated the airs and graces finishing school had given her, and Sophronia was willing to put those airs and graces to the test in tolerating Petunia.
Petunia grinned—actually grinned!—and even blushed a little. “Well, no need to babble on. There’s more for you still to come.”
“Indeed?”
Agatha and Dimity trotted up at that juncture.
Petunia turned to them. “Which one of you is Miss Woosmoss?”
Agatha curtsied politely. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Hisselpenny.”
“Ah, yes. Well, my husband and your father are business associates, and as I was coming down to collect Sophronia, he suggested I bring you and your little companion—Dimity, is it?—along. We shall make a merry party of it all the way to London.”
Agatha and Dimity made delighted noises, and Petunia glowed at being thought the magnanimous benefactress. How is it I never knew that all she wanted was to be a gracious hostess? Sophronia was curious as to whether these were changes in her sister, or in her own perception of her sister. But Petunia did seem to genuinely enjoy herself—ordering about the coachman and ensuring the safety of the luggage as it was lifted up top.
“Now, who prefers facing? Miss Woosmoss?” Petunia had obviously been instructed by her husband to be particularly nice to Agatha. However, none of Geraldine’s girls were so foolish as to antagonize without purpose. If Petunia wanted to make a fuss over Agatha, they were happy to let her.
“Why, Mrs. Hisselpenny, what a lovely carriage. So well padded.” It was only adults and boys who threw Agatha off. Petunia, Agatha could manage.
“Did you notice the foot warmers? My dear Mr. Hisselpenny is too good to me,” gushed Petunia.
Dimity hopped in next. “Lovely.”
“Thank you.” Petunia had not yet grown so accustomed to luxury that it failed to improve her goodwill, particularly when seated in the lap of it.
It was an uneventful journey. Sophronia stuck to a policy of saying the third nice thing that came into her head, rather than the first snappish one. Agatha was pleasantly warmhearted, as only Agatha could be in the face of abject frivolity. And Dimity and Petunia filled up the space in between with chatter so unending as to make them fast friends by the end of an hour, and bosom companions in the most superficial way by the end of the first day’s drive.
Petunia’s new magnanimous nature saw them set up in the best suite of rooms at the inn and dining in rustic splendor on mock turtle soup, roast sirloin of beef with horseradish, Brussels sprouts, cabinet pudding, and Stilton cheese with celery and pulled bread.
Petunia seemed inclined to eat mainly her vegetables, turning quite green at the smell of the Stilton. This surprised Sophronia into asking if her husband belonged to a religious sect to which Petunia had converted. Why else give up cheese?
“Dear me, no.” Petunia lowered her voice, even though they had a private dining room. “I am increasing.”
That, of course, caused much squealing. For although unmarried ladies were not to know of such things, Geraldine’s girls had some training from Sister Mattie on the subject of preventative measures. After all, children were very incommodious when practicing espionage. This, Sophronia realized, opened up the perfect topic of conversation for the remainder of their journey to London. Because, of course, it had been decided that both Agatha and Dimity must, simply must, also come to town. Well, Agatha lived there, but Dimity must stay with Sophronia and the Hisselpennys. For they must all shop together.
Dimity sent a letter to her parents from the inn, convinced that they would welcome the opportunity to punt her off to London. Sophronia made certain to confirm this in private.
“They’re in the middle of a new invention. Plus, they never know what to do when only one of us is home. When it’s me and Pillover, they insist we can entertain each other. Sometimes I think that’s why they had two of us. Poor Pillover—as a baby it meant a lot of dress-up. Thank goodness I was older. Can you imagine what he might have done to me, if I were the younger? Doesn’t bear contemplating.”