Miss Mapp considered this. One plan would be that she should take Lucia under her wing (provided she was willing to go there), another to let it be known in Tilling (if she wasn’t) that she did not want to be called upon. That would set Tilling’s back up, for if there was one thing it hated it was anything that (in spite of widow’s weeds) might be interpreted into superiority. Though Lucia would only be two months in Tilling, Miss Mapp did not want her to be too popular on her own account, independently. She wanted… she wanted to have Lucia in her pocket, to take her by the hand and show her to Tilling, but to be in control. It all had to be thought out.

‘I’ll find out when she comes,’ she said. ‘I’ll ask her, for indeed I feel quite an old friend already.’

‘And who’s the man?’ asked Diva.

‘Dear Mr Georgie Pillson. He entertained me so charmingly when I was at Riseholme for a night or two some years ago. They are staying at the Trader’s Arms, and off again tomorrow.’

‘What? Staying there together?’ asked Diva.

Miss Mapp turned her head slightly aside as if to avoid some faint unpleasant smell.

‘Diva dear,’ she said. ‘Old friends as we are, I should be sorry to have a mind like yours. Horrid. You’ve been reading too many novels. If widow’s weeds are not a sufficient protection against such innuendoes, a baby girl in its christening-robe wouldn’t be safe.’

‘Gracious me, I made no innuendo,’ said the astonished Diva. ‘I only meant it was rather a daring thing to do. So it is. Anything more came from your mind, Elizabeth, not mine. I merely ask you not to put it on to me, and then say I’m horrid.’

Miss Mapp smiled her widest.

‘Of course I accept your apology, dear Diva,’ she said. ‘Fully, without back-thought of any kind.’

‘But I haven’t apologised and I won’t,’ cried Diva. ‘It’s for you to do that.’

To those not acquainted with the usage of the ladies of Tilling, such bitter plain-speaking might seem to denote a serious friction between old friends. But neither Elizabeth nor Diva had any such feeling: they would both have been highly surprised if an impartial listener had imagined anything so absurd. Such breezes, even if they grew far stronger than this, were no more than bracing airs that disposed to energy, or exercises to keep the mind fit. No malice.

‘Another cup of tea, dear?’ said Miss Mapp earnestly.

That was so like her, thought Diva: that was Elizabeth all over. When logic and good feeling alike had produced an irresistible case against her, she swept it all away, and asked you if you would have some more cold tea or cold mutton, or whatever it was.