“Yes. Why do you look so surprised, Jane? I say, your eyes are as round as a plate.”
Jane burst out laughing. Wakefield gazed up at her, looking surprised himself, and she managed to say, rather breathlessly, “Oh, Wakefield, I thought you meant to introduce me to your mother the Duchess.”
“I haven’t any mother.”
Jane sobered at once. “Oh dear, I am sorry. I hope I haven’t offended you, or hurt your feelings?” she said anxiously.
“Oh no. I’m used to not having a mother. She died when I was three, you see, and I don’t remember her at all.”
“Still, I’m very sorry, Wakefield.”
“It’s all right. Would you like to give the Duchess a scratch?”
“Would—would she like that?” answered Jane cautiously.
“Oh, she loves it. Duchess!” called Wakefield, and the pig woke up with a grunt and lifted its big head to glance inquiringly their way. Wakefield picked up a large stick that lay against the base of the balustrade and waved it enticingly. “Scratch?”
The Duchess heaved herself upright and came waddling over to her side of the balustrade. Goodness, Jane thought, she must weigh three times what I do. Or more. Wakefield wielded one end of the stick to scratch at that wide, hairy pink back, and the Duchess looked so contented that Jane had to laugh again.
“Now you try, Jane.” Wakefield gave her the stick and Jane, tentatively at first, scratched the Duchess, then more firmly as she gained confidence.
“This is rather fun,” she said to Wakefield.
“Isn’t it?”
“Here now, what’s going on?” someone said roughly, and Jane froze. A sturdy middle-aged man in tweeds and with a big round red face came stamping toward them, eyeing Jane with both suspicion and hostility. Quickly Jane gave the stick back to Wakefield, feeling guilty, as if caught in some kind of horrible wrongdoing.
“Hullo, Johns. This is my friend Jane from Surmont Hall. She wanted to meet the Duchess.”
“From the Hall?” repeated Johns ominously, and Jane remembered Great-grandmother Henrietta yesterday asking the Duke, although in a noticeably ironic way, about the dispute between their pigmen. “I don’t let no people from the Hall near the Duchess.”
“Oh, Johns, don’t be redonculous,” said Wakefield. “Jane’s a good ’un.”
The Duchess gave a loud grunt, which Jane took to be a flattering show of support, but Johns only glared at her more fiercely. “I’ll thank you to step aside, miss, and that right quick.”
Jane wasn’t sure whether to cower, slink away, stand her ground, or, possibly, take the stick back from Wakefield and brandish it defensively, but then she heard pleasant crunching sounds and looked beyond Johns to see the Duke loping toward them on his long booted legs, dry winter leaves flattening beneath his boot-soles. He was wearing a long woolen greatcoat and a tall dark hat, which made him look incredibly elongated, and with him were three dogs—no, four, one was tiny—all trotting companionably more or less at his side, although to be precise the tiny one, a pug with a sweet squashed-looking face, was galloping valiantly along in a way that struck Jane as one of the most adorable things she had ever seen.
The Duke drew near, and Wakefield called out:
“Oh, Father, Johns is acting like Jane’s a spy sent over from the Hall. Do make him stop.”
“Like who’s a spy?”
“Jane,” Wakefield said. “Miss Kent here.”
“Ah. Johns, stand down. You besmirch the noble name of Hastings.”
“Besmirch, guv’nor?” said Johns, taken aback. “Well, I never.”
“Besmirch,” repeated the Duke firmly, and Jane was relieved when Johns moved aside and went to kick moodily at some bits of straw that had escaped the Duchess’ pen. The Duke went on:
“How do you do, Miss Kent?”
“Very well, thank you,” Jane said, then added punctiliously: “Your Grace.”
“Father, I brought Jane over to meet the Duchess, and she scratched her back. I say, what’s that you’ve got?”
“Blancmange.” The Duke was carrying a china bowl which he held out for Jane and Wakefield’s inspection. Inside was a molded, creamy-white confection which jiggled in a humorous, yet appetizing way, and Jane suddenly realized that she was hungry.
“How ripping,” said Wakefield. “Jane, would you like to give it to the Duchess?”
“I’d love to.”
The Duke looked at her, on his long thin face an expression of pleased surprise, as if discovering in her unsuspected depths of character. “Are you a pig person, Miss Kent?”
He said it in a way that was so clearly complimentary that Jane found herself smiling up at him. His eyes really were a striking shade of blue. They reminded her of the deep serene color of the lake which lay beyond the Duchess’ charming little house. “Maybe so. Your Grace.”
“You should call him ‘Anthony,’ Jane, as we’re all friends now. Give Jane the bowl, Father, and I’ll tell her what to do.”
The Duke passed to Jane the china bowl, and Wakefield continued:
“Do you see the trough over there, Jane, against the balustrade? Put the blancmange in it. If your aim is good, you can toss it from here, or you can go round the corner and just drop it in.”
Guessing that she would sink even further in the dubious esteem of Johns the pigman if she ending up flinging the blancmange into that nice clean straw, Jane said, “I’d better go round the corner.” She did, and carefully tilted the bowl so the blancmange could slide out and fall directly into the long rectangular trough. It cracked in half and already Wakefield was laughing.
“Isn’t blancmange funny, Jane? Father, isn’t it funny?”
“Hilarious,” agreed the Duke, and they all watched as the Duchess ambled over to the trough and sank her snout into the soft creamy confection, which soon bedecked her entire face and gave her a delightful resemblance to Father Christmas.
Jane burst out laughing again and Wakefield, giving her a glance of approval, said, “I knew you’d like it, Jane. Do you want to meet our dogs now?”
“Yes, please,” she said, and so Wakefield introduced her to the biggest one, Breen, then Joe, Sam, and Snuffles the pug, all of whom seemed equally happy to be introduced to her. “May I pick up Snuffles?” she asked Wakefield, who graciously gave his consent, and so she lifted up the tiny pug and gave a joyful laugh when it settled at once into the crook of her arm. “How sweet he is! I always wanted a dog, but my great-grandmother Kent was afraid of them. A dog bit her when she was a girl, and she never lost her fear.”
“Aunt Margaret’s cat bit me last week,” said Wakefield. “I was only trying to play with it.”
“In fairness, my boy, your qunt Margaret told you not to.”
“Yes, but Father, the poor thing always looks so millencocky, and I thought I’d try to cheer it up.”
“Do you mean melancholy?”
“Yes, that’s what I said. It wasn’t worth it, though. It absolutely sank its fangs into my hand, do you remember, Father? Aunt Margaret said she’d never heard anybody scream so loud in her life, and that I probably broke both her eardrums. Which I don’t think is true, because the other day I was trying to sneak past the drawing-room and she found me out right away. I say, is it time for luncheon? I’m starving. Jane, do you want to have luncheon with us? Cook told me there would be roast beef and macaroni today.”