’t They Ask Evans?

Chapter 9 Concerning Mr Bassington-ffrench

Frankie lost no time in setting to work. She attacked her father that same evening.

‘Father,’ she said, ‘do you know any Bassington-ffrenches?’

Lord Marchington, who was reading a political article, did not quite take in the question.

‘It’s not the French so much as the Americans,’ he said severely. ‘All this tomfoolery and conferences – wasting the nation’s time and money –’

Frankie abstracted her mind until Lord Marchington, running like a railway train along an accustomed line, came, as it were, to a halt at a station.

‘The Bassington-ffrenches,’ repeated Frankie.

‘What about ’em?’ said Lord Marchington.

Frankie didn’t know what about them. She made a statement, knowing well enough that her father enjoyed contradiction.

‘They’re a Yorkshire family, aren’t they?’

‘Nonsense – Hampshire. There’s the Shropshire branch, of course, and then there’s the Irish lot. Which are your friends?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Frankie, accepting the implication of friendship with several unknown people.

‘Not sure? What do you mean? You must be sure.’

‘People drift about so nowadays,’ said Frankie.

‘Drift – drift – that’s about all they do. In my days we asked people. Then one knew where one was – fellow said he was the Hampshire branch – very well, your grandmother married my second cousin. It made a link.’