in the shade. It was four years since she had last seen Hugo, but he was the same as ever—autocratic, decisive, efficient. And underneath it all, very kind. The Vicarage girls all adored him, though they were very much in awe of him. As the eldest of the young generation of Percevals, Hugo had always taken his responsibilities towards them all very seriously. Deborah knew that he had counted her among those responsibilities, even though their actual connection was remote. Her mother’s sister, Elizabeth, was married to Hugo’s Uncle William, his father’s brother, and the vicar of Abbot Quincey.
Deborah’s parents’ marriage had been a difficult one, and as a child she had often spent months at Abbot Quincey, joining the games and pastimes of her Vicarage cousins and the three Perceval children from the Hall. Herself an only child, at home she had often been lonely, left to her own devices. Those months at the Vicarage had been the happiest times of her young life, and Hugo, who was quite a few years older than the rest of them, had been her hero and chief confidant.
And now Hugo still seemed to regard her as one of his flock. Apparently, even though he had just returned home himself after ten years spent among the very highest London society, the old habit refused to die. It might have wavered four years before after the disasters she had brought about during her short visit to the capital, but the old feeling seemed to have survived, after all.
Deborah was not sure whether she was glad of this or not. It had certainly helped today. She would have been at her wits’ end without Hugo’s intervention. But though she seldom allowed herself to dwell on the true state of her feelings towards Hugo Perceval, she had never regarded him with the same awe as her cousins did. They were gentle, affectionate, biddable girls and she loved them all dearly. But they would never dream of disagreeing with anything Hugo said. Deborah was by nature more critical, and recent events had forced her to be more independent. Life had not dealt as kindly with her as it had with the young Percevals. Ever since her father’s death she had had to be strong enough to make decisions for herself and her mother. She had grown used to it. And she wondered whether she might find Hugo’s calm assumption of authority a touch overbearing…
They were so different, too, she and Hugo. He set himself and everyone else a high standard of perfection in dress, conversation, manners…in anything he undertook. Nothing was left to chance in Hugo’s scheme of things. In contrast, Deborah’s own life had always been chaotic. She had always been inclined to act first and ponder on the consequences afterwards, and, obliged though she was for the many times he had rescued her, she had often found Hugo’s calm forethought and assurance irritating… She had frequently had to battle with a desire to shake that complacency.
But when he met her in London, she had been feeling very lost. She had been so grateful for his attempts to ease her passage into society, but what had she done in return? She had turned his perfect life upside down, and made him an object of ridicule to his acquaintances. No wonder he had been so angry with her…
‘That’s fixed. Now, Deborah Staunton, I want to hear your explanation!’ Hugo had come back while she had been dreaming and was sitting on the other side of the small teatable.
‘Where do you want me to begin?’
‘With Mrs Dearborne’s hat, of course! My guess is that Autolycus had a hand in it. Or do I mean a paw?’
‘You’re right, as usual. Autolycus cannot resist a nice straw hat.’
‘So I see,’ he said, eyeing the tattered straw on her own head. ‘And did Mrs Dearborne make you pay for another?’
‘I had to offer—and she accepted! It was new, of course. One of those big ones with lots of ribbon and…and feathers. It was very expensive, Hugo.’ She started to chuckle. ‘It was almost worth it just to see Autolycus running off with feathers streaming out of his mouth and Mrs Dearborne in full pursuit. She is…is quite a portly lady, and was soon out of breath. But when I caught him in the end, the hat was ruined. I must say that I think Mrs Dearborne was very severe. After all, I had taken the parrot off her hands! And—’
‘One moment. Why did you take the parrot?’
‘Well, someone had to! Mrs Dearborne didn’t want it any more and no one else would have it.’
‘And how did Mrs Dearborne, whom I am growing to dislike, come to have a parrot with such an exotic vocabulary?’
‘Her lodger, who had been a sailor, passed it on to her before he left. She thought it would be company. But then she discovered its…its…er…social disadvantages. The ladies of Maids Moreton were quite shocked by some of the things it said.’
‘I can well imagine it. Carry on.’
‘Well, even though I had helped her out with the parrot, Mrs Dearborne was very angry with Autolycus… So I paid. And that meant I didn’t have quite enough for the journey.’
‘Where was your aunt while this excitement was going on? Your father’s sister, I mean. I thought she was looking after you?’
Deborah paused for a moment. Then she said awkwardly, ‘She left. She went back to Ireland the day before yesterday.’
‘What? Leaving you to look after yourself?’ Hugo was shocked. ‘I can’t believe it!’
‘She went very suddenly. Of course, she had arranged to go back to Ireland soon, anyway. She always knew that I would eventually make my home with Aunt Elizabeth after Mama died. But why she left Maids Moreton with so little warning, I don’t know. It was very awkward. After she’d gone there was hardly any money, and I wasn’t sure if Aunt Elizabeth would be back from London after Robina’s come-out.’ Then with a lightning change of mood which was typical she said, ‘Oh, Hugo, I quite forgot to ask! Do tell me! How did Robina do? Was her début a success?’
‘You could say so. From what I observed, Cousin Robina is going to make a very good match. She’s in Brighton with the Dowager Lady Exmouth at the moment.’
‘You mean she might marry Lord Exmouth?… How wonderful! But she deserves it! She’s so pretty, and good. And I’m sure she would behave beautifully…’ For a moment Deborah looked wistful. Then she laughed and said, ‘Aunt Elizabeth will be delighted—her eldest daughter so suitably engaged! Perhaps she will let me keep Autolycus at the Vicarage, after all?’
Hugo smiled. ‘Perhaps. But I wouldn’t bet a groat on her toleration of the parrot.’ He watched Deborah’s face with amusement as her look of dismay was replaced with an expression of hopeful pleading. ‘All right! I might be able to help you. In fact I’ve thought of someone who might, just might, enjoy the parrot’s company.’
‘That would be such a relief! It’s not that I don’t like it, exactly. But I quite realise that it is not a suitable inhabitant of a Vicarage. I wouldn’t have brought it, except that I didn’t know what else to do with it. Do you really know someone, Hugo?’
‘I think so—but I won’t say any more at the moment in case it doesn’t work. Leave it with me, Deborah. I promise to find a home for it somewhere.’
‘Oh, Hugo! Thank you!’
Hugo had forgotten how Deborah Staunton’s face could light up in a way he hadn’t seen in anyone else. She was not conventionally beautiful, and certainly did not possess the sort of looks he particularly admired. His preference was for pretty blondes, with regular features, and gentle manners. Even when Deborah was looking her best—which was not the case at the moment—the combination of a mane of black hair, pale cheeks and eyes of such a dark indigo
