Parfit Knight by Stella Riley Page A

mistress, the noble Lord Marquis would do very
nicely. And, from Lawson downwards, they all entertained the
expectation that Amberley would offer marriage.
    From stunned
disbelief at their presumption, Saunders passed to sardonic
amusement for what was likely to prove a forlorn hope and finally
to a nagging concern that the Marquis was getting in a good deal
deeper than he either intended or realised. This last caused the
valet to subject his master to a discreet surveillance which
finally served to convince him of three things; that Amberley and,
as far as he could tell, Mistress Vernon were blissfully unaware of
the fond hopes surrounding them; that his lordship, uncommunicative
as ever, gave every appearance of knowing exactly what he as about;
and, most significant of all, that – despite all this – a subtle
change had come over him during the last few days.
    Saunders was
unable to put his finger on just what that change was, but it
somehow suggested that the household’s hope might perhaps be less
forlorn than he’d previously supposed. It was a novel situation,
fraught with possibility and he settled back to await the end-game
with interest.
    There was, in
fact, one inmate of Oakleigh Manor who was not reconciled to his
lordship’s presence. Contemptuous of mankind in general and
outraged in particular by those members of it who were rivals for
his mistress’ attention, Broody sat on his perch and eyed the
Marquis with growing malevolence.
    At first he
sulked, silent, hunched and glowering; then he took to turning his
back on the room and giving vent to an occasional muttered squawk;
and finally he started to talk. With verve, élan and
distressing clarity, he uttered every possible combination from his
mixed fund of dockside and Anglo-Saxon invective. And the Marquis,
bombarded by expressions he hadn’t heard since his army days and
others he’d rarely heard at all, listened in shocked fascination
before succumbing, typically, to laughter.
    ‘That bird,’ he
told Rosalind, ‘could out-curse the devil. It’s totally unfitted
for life in a genteel establishment and will undoubtedly come to a
sticky end. I hope.’
    Having
exhausted both himself and his repertoire, Broody retired into
undefeated silence while he devised new tactics. He discovered them
when his enemy was alone and seated conveniently close by. Broody
seized a sun-flower seed and spat; it was a hit and he squawked his
satisfaction. His lordship calmly retrieved the seed and continued
to read without turning his head. Broody was annoyed. He spat
another seed and then another. Lord Amberley slowly closed his book
and turned round.
    There was a
pregnant pause while parrot and Marquis surveyed each other
measuringly and then the Marquis – who by his own admission had
been badly brought-up – picked up a seed and returned it with
casual accuracy.
    Broody jumped.
‘Wark!’
    ‘Quite,’
replied his lordship. ‘My point, I think.’
    Broody waited,
cautious but interested and, when the second seed was flicked his
way, he side-stepped it neatly and put his head on one side.
    ‘Bugger!’ he
said. And then, hopefully, ‘Clear for action?’
    And the
Marquis, recognising that he had apparently made a major breach,
laughed and shied the remaining seed. It was quite reprehensible
and he knew it – for there was no telling who the wretched bird
might choose to spit at next. But if it reduced the deluge of
gutter-vernacular to a trickle, then it had to be considered an
improvement.
    *
    For five days
the snow lay heavy and unmoving; then, as January merged into
February, a sudden thaw set in bringing sporadic showers of rain.
Saunders told the Marquis that Chard was fit to travel, if not to
drive, and then waited for him to speak of leaving. Amberley
expressed his pleasure at Chard’s good progress and asked for his
coat. Then he slipped the customary emerald on to his left hand,
shook out his ruffles and walked serenely away to dine with
Mistress