Her words were cut off by her husband’s groan. “Don’t remind me. I suppose we have to put up with the daffy Phoebe Fortescue and her even more feebleminded husband.”

“Phoebe Carter-Holmes Fortescue would not appreciate being referred to as daffy. You know how protective she is of her image.”

“To the point of being ridiculous. Whatever possessed her to marry that addle-brained colonel I’ll never know.”

Just like Madeline, Phoebe was one of Cecily’s best friends. She would not allow such disparagement, especially from her husband. “Colonel Fortescue is a kind and generous man who adores Phoebe. It’s not his fault that his mind has been somewhat… ah… disturbed by his military service in the Boer War.”

Baxter uttered a short laugh. “Disturbed? The man is a positive lunatic. How many times have we had to restrain him from attacking the grandfather clock in the foyer with his imaginary sword?”

“I have to admit, he can be tiresome at times. Phoebe, however, seems perfectly happy with him and that’s all that matters.”

“Happy? Grateful, is more like it. After all, she was thrown out onto the street after her first husband died. She and that timid son of hers. She was lucky to have someone rescue them from abject poverty.”

Cecily stirred uneasily on her chair. Madeline had once told her that Phoebe’s son, Algie, bore a rather inappropriate liking for men’s company, a fact which Cecily had not shared with her husband.

Baxter was intolerant of anything considered improper, and no doubt would avoid all contact with the man. Since Algie was the vicar of Badgers End, and conducted services at St. Bartholomew’s, Cecily was not about to risk being barred from attending the church, or being forced to worship alone.

“Perhaps so,” she said, with just a hint of reproach, “but since their marriage seems to be working very well, I see no point in berating them.” She studied her husband’s face. “You’re doing it again.”