The Frost Fair by Elizabeth Mansfield Page A

dismissed the footman. “Mrs. Rhys or one of the housemaids will unpack your things, ma’am,” he said, turning to the door.
    â€œIs that why you ventured out? Just to fetch our baggage? ” Meg asked in surprised ingratitude.
    He threw her a quizzical glance over his shoulder. “I know how unhappy you ladies can be when separated from your combs, your silks, your lotions and your laces,” he said disdainfully.
    â€œWe ladies,” she retorted with asperity, “are not such frippery creatures as you suppose. I, for one, could have managed perfectly well without—”
    â€œOh, Meg, dearest, just look at what Mrs. Rhys has found for you!” Isabel clarioned from the corridor, prancing in eagerly and holding aloft a colorful Chinese kimono of rustling silk. “Oh, Sir Geoffrey … I didn’t see you there.”
    â€œI was just leaving, Mrs. Underwood,” he said, giving Meg a leer of scornful triumph. “I know you ladies would like to be private to deal with your fripperies.” And with a last mocking look at Meg, he sauntered from the room.
    â€œI hope I didn’t drive him away,” Isabel murmured, looking from Meg to the corridor where Geoffrey was disappearing down the hall.
    â€œIf you did, I’m quite delighted. The odious man cannot open his mouth without giving offense.”
    Isabel blinked. “Offense? What offense?”
    â€œThe wretch didn’t even ask how my ankle did. Blasted rudesby!”
    Isabel peered at her niece, perplexed, but tactfully decided not to probe the matter further. “Here, put this on. I think Lady Carrier is on her way to call on you.”
    In another moment, Lady Carrier knocked at the door and entered with a great rustle of skirts. She was followed in by her two daughters who took places at each of the two bedposts at the foot of the bed while their mother settled herself into the bedside chair. “You do look better this morning, your ladyship,” Lady Carrier said effusively, “although I shall not feel easy in my mind about your condition until Dr. Fraser had looked at you.”
    â€œWill you ask Dr. Fraser to look at me, too, Mama, when he comes?” Sybil asked plaintively. “I’m feeling quite queasy today.”
    â€œYou always feel queasy,” Trixie said to her sister unkindly.
    â€œOf course, Sybil, dear. The doctor shall certainly have a look at you,” their mother said, ignoring Trixie’s comment. “My poor Sybil has a very delicate constitution,” she confided to her two guests.
    â€œThat’s not what Geoffrey and Dr. Fraser think,” Trixie said maliciously.
    â€œBe still, Beatrix,” her mother scolded. “Robust gentlemen like Geoffrey and Dr. Fraser don’t always recognize the problems of delicate natures such as Sybil’s. Not that you need have any qualms, Lady Margaret, about Dr. Fraser’s qualifications. He is very knowing and efficient. Of course, he hasn’t the manners or the subtlety of the best London medical men—for he can be unbelievably brusque and churlish at times—but he’s a sound practitioner. Very sound. Geoffrey believes his talents are as great an any doctor he’s met, and though I can’t go that far, I can assure you that you’ll come to no harm in his hands.”
    â€œThank you, Lady Carrier. I find your recommendation most … er … reassuring. But I wish, ma’am, that you’d call me Meg. Lady Margaret is much too distant and formal a manner of address from someone who has so generously welcomed into her home a pair of troublesome intruders.”
    â€œOh, my dear, not troublesome at all! Not at all! In truth, Lady Meg (which is what I will call you to honor your request for informality, but we must use our titles, you know, for I wish the girls always to have respect for one’s position in the world), but to return to what I was saying, in