"Perfect!" said Teresa. "There’s plenty here to keep him interested.” They went to fetch Gayo.
* * * *
Gayo flew from Teresa's arms into the boughs of the tree, then settled down to find out whether there was anything edible within the prickly green covering of the chestnuts.
The parrot flew wildly up and down the garden, shouting "Hello!" at the top of his voice. Then he perched in the tree and attacked one of the prickly fruits. It fell to the ground, splitting open to reveal a glossy horse-chestnut.
Gayo swooped down to investigate further. Marco joined him, interested by the curious nut and wondering whether it was edible.
While they were busy, Teresa buried her nose in a fragrant pink rose. Gayo lost interest in the hard chestnut, flew to the next rosebush, and started methodically shredding a beautiful yellow bloom. “Sea scum!” he cried joyfully.
Teresa and Marco looked round and both grabbed for him, getting in each other’s way. Marco caught a single green tail-feather, and Gayo disappeared into the house through an open window with a mournful "
¡Ay de mí
!"
"Oh no," groaned Teresa. "I should have made sure all the windows were closed."
"Listen!" said Marco.
Through the window came a series of crashes accompanied by a stream of multi-lingual vituperation.
"
Sacré nom d'un chien!"
"¡Hijo de puta!"
"Canaille! Cochon!"
"Slimy son of a sea snake!"
"I catch, I cook
cet oiseau du diable!"
"I think Gayo found the kitchens," said Marco.
Chapter 13
Jacques was packing to return to France, where good cooks were properly appreciated. Her Grace the Duchess of Stafford was laid down upon a sofa, calling for sal volatile and burnt feathers, while Amelia Carter fluttered about her helplessly. Gayo was back on his perch in the dressing room, scolding himself in a sad, soft voice.
Marco went up to the cook's chamber in the attic. He humbly apologised, blaming the whole fracas on himself. He should not have snatched at the parrot, frightening it.
Better a whole gardenful of roses be destroyed for what was a mere gardener's anger compared to the righteous wrath of a French chef? Such an insult must never happen again. It was difficult adjusting oneself to the customs of a foreign land, did not Jacques agree? Everything was so different. The parrot was homesick, he, Marco, was homesick, was it possible that Jacques was also homesick? One heard that France was a beautiful country.
Jacques broke down and wept. Of course he was homesick, all exiles must be homesick.
Le pauvre petit perroquet
, in a cold country far from his jungle, must also be homesick. Did Monsieur Marco suppose the unhappy bird would enjoy an apricot tart?
Monsieur Marco did, and went off congratulating himself heartily on having listened to Andrew's discourses on diplomacy.
He found Teresa on her knees in the drawing room. She was bathing her aunt's temples with one of her herbal concoctions, and swearing that tonight's guests would be served a good dinner if she had to cook it herself. Miss Carter clucked with dismay, scandalised at the idea of the duchess's niece in the kitchen.
"No need," said Marco. "Jacques is on his way back to the scene of the crime. I am very sorry, ma'am, it was all my fault. I was supposed to be watching Gayo."
"So was I. I ought to have known it was not safe to let him fly free," Teresa said.
"If we are all beating our breasts," said Lord John, coming in with an ill-concealed grin on his face, "I am to blame for suggesting the garden in the first place."
"Burnt feathers," murmured his mother weakly, unwilling to give up her vapours.
Lord John's grin broadened. "No, no, Mama, you cannot expect to make a burned sacrifice of the poor parrot. Doing it much too brown!" Overcome with helpless laughter at this double pun, he sank into a chair.
"Perhaps this will be sufficient?" enquired Marco with mock anxiety, drawing a single green tail-feather from his pocket before he too collapsed.
"Oh do go away both of you and leave my aunt in peace!" said Teresa, shooing them out, careful to keep her back to the duchess until she had mastered her own mirth.
"I only hope this has not given John ideas," sighed her Grace. "He was always a mischievous little boy and I do not for a moment believe he has grown out of it. Perhaps the conservatory next time, my dear, with all the doors and windows shut?"
Teresa hugged her. "You and my uncle could not be kinder if you were my own parents," she said with a catch in her voice. "Now if you are feeling more the thing, I must go and change. I am going walking with Muriel Parr at two."
The duchess sat up and straightened her cap. "Thomas asked me to add Miss Parr to my guest list. I should be sorry to think he had conceived a tendre for such an unsuitable female. He is, after all, heir to a dukedom."
"Muriel is betrothed already, aunt. I am sure Cousin Tom was only being kind to me by inviting my friend."
This reassurance must have borne less weight had the duchess known that, not twenty minutes later, her eldest son was offering to escort the two young ladies on their walk. Teresa had hoped to talk to Muriel privately about Andrew's China mission, but in the face of her friend's obvious pleasure she had not the heart to fob him off. Trailed by Annie and Kinsey, they crossed the road and entered the park.
Though Lord Danville took pains to include her, Teresa was soon unutterably bored. Her companions covered every topic of conversation approved by Lady Parr, from the weather to the preferred shade of upholstery for his lordship's new curricle. She was relieved when he asked anxiously whether Miss Parr was not growing tired, and turned their steps homeward.
As they parted, Muriel whispered to her, "How lucky you are to have so charming a cousin. And so very considerate!"
The viscount gazed after her carriage as it drove off. "As pretty-behaved as she is beautiful," he said. "I shall tell Mama that she need not doubt the wisdom of your friendship with Miss Parr. Indeed, from what I hear of a certain parrot's exploits, a certain young lady might even benefit from her acquaintance with such an admirably well-bred female."
He smiled at her, but for once she did not notice how very handsome he was. Furious, she escaped upstairs before she said something she might later regret. It was too bad, when she had been doing so well, that her own cousin should join Andrew in preferring Muriel's manners to hers.
* * * *
Despite Gayo's depredations, the duchess's dinner party went well. Teresa was brought to the attention of yet more prospective hostesses, and received promises of several invitations. She was in good spirits when Andrew called for her to ride in the park next morning, though it was a grey, mizzling day.
He complimented her on the delightful picture she presented on her bay mare. "In a proper riding habit too," he added with a teasing grin. "Though I admit there was a great deal to be said for your Costa Rican costume, and for those hardworking little horses too."
"These beauties would have a hard time of it in the jungle," she agreed as they crossed Park Lane, followed by the duke's groom. "Your chestnut is magnificent."
"Not mine," he shook his head regretfully. "I spend too much time abroad to set up my stables. He is my father's, but I have the use of him whenever I am at home."
"Tell me about your father, and the rest of your family. You have met all my multitudinous relatives and I know nothing of yours."
He complied. As they rode on through the grey morning she learned all about his widowed father, his older brother, whose tyrannical wife had much to do with his liking for travel, his three married sisters. They were all in the country at present, though they would come up to town in the spring. He spoke of his home in Warwickshire, to which he hoped to retire one day.
"But not until I have seen the rest of the world," he said, laughing. "It's days like this that make me long for North Africa," he added as it began to rain. "We must go back before you are soaked."
"I am not afraid of this sprinkling. Have you forgot the downpours we call rain at home? I have not yet had my gallop."
"Then I shall race you to the gate, for this may be no more than drizzle but you must admit the temperature is quite different from your tropical storms."
They were damp, if not soaked, when they reached the house. Teresa invited him in to dry off and have some breakfast.
"I am glad you asked," he said, "or I might have gone so far as to invite myself. I have an appointment with the duke later this morning to discuss the trial."
"My uncle has everything well in hand, I believe. Boggs, have Sir Andrew's coat dried, if you please, and show him into the breakfast room. I shall be down shortly."
She returned to find Andrew already busy with a dish of ham and eggs and muffins. Boggs seated her, and then presented her with a silver salver.
"Your post, miss."
"Mine? All those? Who can possibly be writing to me?"
"Hinvitations, I'd venture to guess, miss." He poured her coffee. "Bacon, miss?"
"Food! How can I think of food! Look, Andrew: soirées, routs, musicales, dinners!" The table was littered with papers.
"It seems you are well on the way to social success already, just as Lord Edward wished."
"What is this?" She picked up the last of the pile and broke open the seal. "From my banker. He has arranged for me to meet with half a dozen coffee brokers at the Gloster Coffee House in Piccadilly."
Andrew frowned. "A respectable coaching house, I believe, but I shall make enquiries. I shall go with you, of course, and you will take Annie. Marco had best go too. When is it to be?"
"Next week, Friday morning. I am sure I shall be safe with Marco and Annie." Why did he have to spoil such a delightful morning with his disapproving assumption of authority? "If Don Eduardo ever expected you to take responsibility for me, it ended when my uncle took me under his protection."
"Then you will request your uncle's escort, or your aunt's perhaps? No, I shall support you in this because Don Eduardo expected it of you, but the duke and duchess will be the happier for knowing nothing of your foray into the world of commerce."
A sound at the door alerted Andrew and he noticed that an expression of uneasy fascination had spread over the butler's usually impassive face. "Not a word of this to anyone, Boggs!" he hissed as Lord Danville came in.
Blank-faced again, Boggs bowed, murmured, "Certainly, sir," and went to seat the viscount.
With Andrew avoiding all mention of coffee and the law courts, and Lord Danville determined not to speak of either Gayo's misdeeds or Andrew's betrothed, conversation faltered. Neither seemed able to think of anything else. With some idea of what was on their minds, Teresa took pity on them and introduced the subject of horseflesh. To her surprise, for she thought they had little in common, they had soon arranged to visit Tattersall's together in search of a pair for his lordship's new curricle.
The duke came in, the talk turned to politics, and she left them to it.
* * * *
The next few days sped by, full of morning callers, afternoon callers, shopping, drives in the park when it was fine, and parties of one sort or another in the evenings. When the duchess was not available to chaperon her, Teresa was often squired by Lord Danville or Lord John. Since her cousins were both much sought after, she soon knew enough people to be able to rely on meeting friends wherever she went.
She even collected her own circle of chattering young ladies and admiring young men, among them Jenny Kaye, Daphne Pringle, Sir Toby and Mr Wishart. Andrew was often among the company, but Teresa soon realised that Lady Parr and Muriel moved on the fringes of society. She met them only once, at a rout accurately described by Lord John as "a devilish crush." Muriel seemed quieter and shyer than ever among Teresa's lively friends.
Lord Danville was not at the rout, and his brother stigmatised Muriel, in an undertone, as dull as ditchwater. "Not that she's not pretty enough," he added fairly. "Needs a bit of animation." He turned to flirt with Miss Pringle.
Teresa thought Muriel looked unhappy, and guessed the reason. She invited her to drive in the park the next afternoon.
In the morning, riding with Andrew, she discovered as she expected that he had told his betrothed about his mission to China.
"She dislikes the idea excessively," he said in a gloomy voice. "Of course I do not insist that she go with me. I shall not leave until February, so we might be married at once and have several months together. Then she can reside with my father, or with her mother if she prefers it, until my return. That is not unreasonable, is it? I know it is far from ideal, but many diplomats' wives must live with long separations. And think of Navy wives!"
"Poor Muriel!" Teresa murmured, disturbed by his lack of sympathy for his beloved. She found herself unable to summon up any words of consolation and they cut short their ride, out of charity with each other.
In the afternoon, disobeying her mother's every precept, Muriel burst into tears in the middle of Hyde Park. Teresa shielded her from curious eyes as best she could with her parasol, and they hurried homeward through the side streets.
"Why cannot he be satisfied with a position in the Foreign Office?" wailed Muriel.
"If you love him," said Teresa with exasperated sternness, "you should be glad that he has been offered a job so in tune with his tastes. He will not be gone forever, but if you cannot bear his absence, you must needs go with him."
She returned home in a stormy mood, unable to understand how two people in love with each other could make each other so miserable. Summoned to the drawing room to take tea with her aunt and several visitors, she sent a message that she had the headache.
* * * *