Fortune's Mistress by Mary Chase Comstock Page B

raised his brows at her in inquiry.
    “Curry,” the lady said succinctly.
    “ Curry?”
    She nodded mysteriously. “Consider it a form of rampion.”
     

Chapter Eight
     
    … Believe me, my dear Olivia, Marianne wrote , you must not fear my falling prey to boredom. Between the intriguing pronouncements of Old Maggie and the antics of little Falstaff, Ophelia, and Prospero, I haven’t a moment to pine for what I have left behind--except for your company, dearest one. That is not so easily replaced. Still, I must…
    “ Beg pardon, Mrs. Glencoe,” Annie interrupted.
    Marianne set her pen aside. “What is it?” she asked, smiling. “Never tell me that fat Falstaff has discovered the pantry?”
    “ Nothing so dreadful as that,” the maid returned with a smile. “It is just Dr. Venables has arrived, calling to see if you are at leisure.”
    “ If I never am anymore,” she returned, “he may blame those naughty kittens. My poor sister will have to read my letter through their little paw prints.” She smiled as she glanced at the basket where they were, for once, all curled together in repose. “The doctor seems to have made quite a favorite of you, Annie. Have you been long acquainted with him?”
    “ Ever so long, Missus. Since I was a child. He’s ever so good to me, for besides looking after my poor limb, he has even set up a dowry for me, when the time comes.” The girl’s face glowed when she spoke of the doctor. Such interest seemed unprecedented unless … no, surely he was too young to be the girl’s father. Yet what else would explain this sort of attention? Venables was kind at heart, of course, but still . . .
    “ Show him in, Annie,” she said, “but tell him plain he must check any four-legged creatures at the door!”
    When the doctor entered, he was smiling broadly, and, she noted with some dismay, bear ing yet another covered basket.
    “ What is this? Have you brought me more orphans?” she asked incredulously.
    He smiled in response, the corners of his mouth twitching in a manner which reminded her of a child bent on mischief. “It is merely a small tribute,” he answered mysteriously.
    Marianne felt her heart soar, then plunge, at this further evidence of the doctor ’s attention. At once, her emotions put her on her guard. Be careful, she told herself. You must be careful. There is no good to come of such foolish romantical notions. She glanced down at her rapidly growing middle, summoning reason. Surely a gentleman could feel no interest in one so matronly as she had become. Surely he was merely fulfilling Mrs. Waller’s prediction: her help was to be enlisted in more than the rearing of kittens. Perhaps he would ask her to sew for the poor heathens of the East, or read improving books to housebound invalids.
    “ So you have spirited the crown jewels here to Cornwall, have you?” she asked archly, lowering herself carefully into a chair.
    “ You injure me, Mrs. Glencoe,” he exclaimed. “I have brought something even more rare.”
    As she raised her eyebrows in question, he set the basket in her lap and said, “Sniff.”
    As she did so, she felt her mouth immediately begin to water. “Curry!” she cried. “Doctor, you are unfair! What sort of friend is our Mrs. Waller to reveal my secret passion?”
    “ Do not forget,” he laughed, “that the friendship between Mrs. Waller and myself holds claim to a far older acquaintance.”
    “ And what of the bond between women?” She shook her head. “What a fix I am in now!”
    She pulled the napkin from the basket. “Oh! It smells heavenly! Whatever will be my forfeit?”
    “ Do not worry, Mrs. Glencoe. It is enough to see that my poor efforts have pleased you. However, if you should feel inclined to humor me in my request, I should not take it amiss.”
    “ And what is this . . . request?” she asked, glancing longingly at the spicy dish of meat.
    “ It is merely . . .” he began. Then he frowned. “Perhaps you