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Although Frances and Maria, greatly excited by the increased numbers, peppered Mrs. Dere with additional questions and remarks, and Mrs. Barstow asked what Iffley Cottage might contribute to the food or decorations, Sarah said nothing.

She continued with the work in her lap, countenance serene but mind busy.

And just as Horace Langworthy’s thoughts had gone swift as horses that morning, so too did hers.

It was good, very good, that the children’s ball would be crowded.

More people would mean a greater variety of partners, and a greater variety of partners would mean fewer chances of being paired with Mr. Langworthy.

Better yet, it being a children’s ball, Sarah would be free to approach all the children and ask them to stand up with her, which meant she might even escape dancing with the man altogether, unless he made an effort to snap her up.

Would he?

Most likely he would.

Because, for whatever reason, pique or pride, ennui or entertainment of time, above all activities Mr. Langworthy delighted in nettling her.

Feeling the needle prick as she drew it through the muslin in her hands, she hastily put the wounded fingertip to her tongue, lest any blood fall upon the cloth.

Yes—he delighted in nettling her. And if Sarah were to give any appearance of avoiding him at the ball, it doubtless would only make him the more determined.

Therefore that scheme must be abandoned.

She would neither seek him nor flee him.

If a child was at hand, she would ask the child to dance, but if not, she would not run after one only to escape Langworthy.

Moreover, her original plan, of pretending his words had no power to rankle, had failed thus far.

Completely.

She knew it and so did he. And each time he succeeded in vexing her, he gained even more the whip hand.

She must try another method.

“…At the very least I hope the children will gain new friends,” Mrs. Markham Dere was saying. “When the time comes for university or entering more widely in society, friends prove invaluable.”

Frances heaved a sigh. “Mrs. Lane and Mrs. Chauncey didn’t mention having any older granddaughters, did they? Sarah and Maria are all very well, but I wouldn’t mind making a friend my age.”

“Have patience, my dear,” their patroness smiled upon her. “I may not be your age, but I am your staunch friend and will do what I can when it comes time for you to take a larger share in the world.”

“When will that be, I wonder?” Frances might have rapped back, had Mrs. Dere indeed been her age (or had she not considered her more of a benefactress than friend). But knowing on what side her bread was buttered, Frances refrained, and the call soon came to a close.

Mrs. Dere’s words had given Sarah a new idea, however.

And one which made her rather eager to see Mr. Langworthy again than otherwise.

For supposing she were to befriend him? If he could be persuaded to consider her a friend, would he not then leave off his constant picking at her?

He did not appear to spend time picking at Dr. Rearden, for instance, nor at any of the boys in his charge.

And if Sarah could make a friend of him, would that not equally satisfy the pique or pride or ennui or need for entertainment which at present drove him to act as he did?

Yes. It might.

It must .

“Would anyone like to go for a walk before dinner?” Sarah suggested some time later. Her new plan made her restless, and she could only think she must see Mr. Langworthy as soon as she could, to put it into practice.

Frances made a face. “But it’s raining!”

Maria likewise shook her head. “Didn’t you hear Mama promise Mrs. Dere a jelly for the ball? I want to help her and Reed make the trial one.”

“We may as well take advantage of the cold weather,” Mrs. Barstow agreed. “We can see how it keeps overnight in the shed. Mrs. Glasse in her Art of Cookery has a receipt for a ‘French Flummery’ I would like to try.”

“Oh, Mama,” protested Maria, “mightn’t we put a little of it aside in a glass to eat with our tea this evening?”

Laughing, Mrs. Barstow yielded. “You assume it will be worth eating, dearest. But better we learn now, than I bring a disaster to the children’s ball to set beside the other sweets. You won’t mind walking alone, will you Sarah? Take the umbrella and no one will trouble you.”

No one would trouble her, but neither could she pay a call at the rectory by herself. Still, perhaps Mr. Langworthy might take it into his head to go for a walk, and a serendipitous meeting would be the best beginning.

If Mr. Langworthy had any such thought, however, he sensibly did not act upon it, for it was wet and slippery out of doors, with just enough wind that Sarah’s umbrella threatened to turn inside out more than once.

She made a circle of the village, keeping away from the muddy meadows and fields and creeping the length of Church Lane, but there was no sign of him.

Indeed, the only person Sarah met was Mrs. Lamb, who spied her passing the Tree Inn and darted out to greet her, a newspaper held over her head.

“Good day to you, Mrs. Sebastian. Imagine you taking a walk on a day such as this! Why don’t you step inside for a cup of tea? I can tell you the news about the footmen and Mr. Langworthy’s letter.”

All unknowingly, Mrs. Lamb had said the magic word, and, mumbling something about warming herself by the inn fire for a minute, Sarah followed her within.

As soon as Mrs. Lamb ushered her into the coziest parlor and shouted for Harry to bring a cup of tea, the hostess drew up a chair beside Sarah’s, fairly quivering with eagerness.

“What a treat, Mrs. Sebastian! I so rarely see any of you Iffley Cottage ladies by yourselves, and when I do, my hands are full and there is no time for a comfortable coze. But with this rain—!”

Sarah knew she need not prompt her hostess; Mrs. Lamb could be depended on to divulge whatever she had to share, but she still had to bite her lip lest she ask, “What was that letter you mentioned?”

Mrs. Lamb considered the letter of secondary importance, unfortunately, for she began with, “I suspect you know about Mrs. Markham Dere wanting a couple more footmen because Mrs. Robson came from Perryfield while her mistress was calling upon you Barstows.”

“Yes, she did say—”

“And wouldn’t you know it, but Mrs. Robson had no better sense than to tell me this when that dratted Harry was loitering about, so of course after she goes he straight off tells me he wants to be one of the footmen, and he can do it because Mr. Langworthy has been showing him servants’ tasks.

As if blacking the sailor’s boots and brushing his coats and polishing his tinware would be any preparation for donning livery and waiting upon the baron and his niece at Perryfield! ”

“I could do it!” came a bellow, the parlor door banging open to reveal Harry, Sarah’s tea spilling from the cup he carried.

“Mr. Langworthy said I do a good job for him, and Mrs. Robson said they want two or three fellows, and I don’t see why I can’t be one of them, if you don’t go crying me down to her. ”

“Look at you, boy, and the mess you’re making!

Give me that—” Mrs. Lamb snatched the tea from him and presented it with a grimace to Sarah without even pausing in her scolding “—And wipe this up. Mrs. Robson said nothing about wanting any shabby little footboys, so you just put that out of your mind.”

Harry glowered at his employer as he dashed at the floor with a rag, and then he jumped to his feet and stamped away, slamming the door after him.

“Lordy Lordy,” groaned Mrs. Lamb, applying two fingers to her temples. “He’ll be the death of me, you mark my words.”

“ Will there be any difficulty in finding Mrs. Dere additional footmen, do you think?” asked Sarah.

“Oh, I do hope not. Mrs. Robson sent a message to her cousin at the Angel Inn, to see if he knows of anyone, but with the Hilary term under way I suppose they’re already using everyone they know of. But I’ll close the inn and serve ’em myself before I let the likes of Harry Barbary run wild there.”

“I suppose Mr. Langworthy must…think more highly of him than you do,” suggested Sarah.

“Pah! What’s that to do with it? I can promise you Mrs. Markham Dere holds to higher standards than a navy lieutenant, though he seems a pleasant man.

It don’t matter anyhow because he got a letter from his uncle, and Harry said he looked right stern about it.

Wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Mr. Langworthy had to quit Iffley even before the ball took place.

Poor folk are ever at the beck and call of those with money,” she sighed.

“Ay, it’s the way of the world. Oh, but I forgot he was a special friend of your husband’s, wasn’t he?

Still, there’s no denying he’s yet to rise as high as he probably hopes to—what—wait—must you go so soon, Mrs. Sebastian? ”

“I had better,” said Sarah, setting her cup down and reaching for her umbrella. “They will wonder what became of me. Thank you, though. Could you please add this to the Iffley Cottage account, Mrs. Lamb?”

“Add it to the account? This?” sputtered the good lady. “There’s no charge for this cup, Mrs. Sebastian. This was a friendly visit. My compliments to your family—oh! How quickly you young people zip about. Good-bye! Good-bye!”