“I was yelling,” he said softly.
“Yes, you were yelling in church. That is not acceptable behavior. Do you understand?”
He nodded, and Stella watched him pick himself up off the floor. His coat was dusty and his eyes were rimmed red, but he was standing, which was more than Stella had been able to accomplish.
“I’m sorry, Father Bilson,” Bobby said to the vicar, who stood, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I accept your apology, young man. All of us have moments of weakness that we must fight against,” said Father Bilson.
“Now, will you tell me why you were throwing a tantrum?” asked Mrs. Symonds.
“He was—”
“Robin, that question was not for you,” said Mrs. Symonds, not even glancing at her son where he stood next to her.
“I’m hungry, and my jacket itches, and I’m hot and—”
Mrs. Symonds held up a hand. “I think that I have a good idea of the situation. I’m afraid you must put up with all of these inconveniences until we are home. Can you be a brave boy and do that?”
Another nod.
“Good, then go with your aunt, and she’ll see that everything is sorted out,” said Mrs. Symonds.
As her employer straightened, Stella gritted her teeth and murmured a thank-you.
“There’s no reason to thank me,” said Mrs. Symonds.
“You made him stop crying,” she said.
Mrs. Symonds offered her a little smile. “It isn’t a matter of stopping a child crying. Often it’s a question of listening to what it is that they want. If they are hungry, tell them that they will be fed. If they are hot, let them know that they will soon be somewhere cool. Bobby is a smart boy. He understands these things, but he is only five.”
“I’ll see to it that he doesn’t disturb the wedding breakfast,” said Stella.
Mrs. Symonds waved a hand. “He’ll be even more bored there than he was here. Send him to play with Robin. They can amuse each other.”
Stella hesitated but nodded. She had a wedding breakfast to finish, and it wouldn’t do to argue with a kindness on today of all days.
? DIANA ?
When Diana first met Cynthia Symonds, she had been convinced that her future sister-in-law was perfect. Although not particularly pretty, Murray’s petite, delicate sister had pale blond hair and peaches-and-cream skin that never seemed to blemish. Cynthia could speak eloquently in four languages with anyone from a duke to a diplomat. She was remarkably well-read, and she could ride to hounds without letting the veneer of calm slip from her face. She went to church, but not too often. She flirted, but only a little. She was just as a lady should be.
Perhaps that was why it had been so satisfying when cracks began to show in Cynthia’s facade. It had started when Cynthia and Murray’s mother ran off to Africa with the man who was now her husband with hardly a goodbye to her own children. This forfeited Murray’s mother’s right to Highbury House. Diana had witnessed the moment Cynthia heard that the family property would pass to Murray and seen the flicker of jealousy flash over her sister-in-law’s eyes.
Then, one day at a party, Diana had realized that Cynthia had been out for quite a few Seasons, and the number of times Cynthia found herself partnered to dance had shrunk. An engagement to a baron’s son in 1936 never materialized. Then, in the spring of 1939, the National Service Act passed, and the young men who’d once flirted with the only Symonds daughter left for officers’ commissions.
Cynthia had changed after that. As the nation entered war, her purpose in life seemed to transform overnight from marriage to the war effort. She’d become almost dictatorial in her passion, hardened in her determination to win the war from Highbury House. That, and Diana’s own stubbornness about the transformation of her home, had sparked much of their discord.
Now, however, Diana sat studying her sister-in-law, who wore a lazy smile on her face thanks to the champagne coupe in her hand and the wedding breakfast they’d just enjoyed.
“Do you know, I’d forgotten what this tasted like,” said Cynthia, raising her glass.
“You mentioned,” said Diana.
“It tastes like happiness,” Cynthia said.
It, Diana realized, was quite possible that Cynthia was drunk before the four o’clock hour.
“That’s Bollinger for you.” She’d opened up the wine cellars again today, a move that had made Mrs. Dibble look positively queasy. But what was a wedding without something to toast with? Miss Adderton had done her best with the food, but there was no changing the fact that rationing was still on. It felt good to air out the well-stocked wine cellar for a celebration.