by Carola Dunn
“Naturally. We’re the best players.”
“Tell that to Gerald,” Daisy said. “He played for his university, though I can’t remember whether he’s light or dark blue.”
“I’ve no doubt he’ll agree with me, Mrs. Fletcher. Half the varsity players are Welshmen, if not more.”
Lady Beaufort laughed. “I’ll have to ask Lord Gerald.”
At the far end of the table, Mrs. Howell said belligerently, “Well, Brin, Barker tells me we are to expect two more guests. I hope they don’t expect fish for dinner. I’ve taken it off the menu. For good.” And she glared at Lord Rydal.
“Thank you, Winifred. I’m much obliged.”
Daisy was careful not to look towards Lucy or Julia lest they all disgrace themselves again. “Alec won’t mind. His hours are so irregular we don’t go in for five-course dinners. Our cook is an expert at casseroles and things that won’t spoil keeping hot in the oven.” She suddenly realised she had laid herself open to the question of what exactly Alec did, just what she wanted to avoid. “What about Gerald, Lucy?” she asked hastily.
“The only kind of fish Gerald really enjoys,” Lucy said dryly, “is the kind that comes in batter, with chipped potatoes, wrapped in newspaper. Frightfully plebeian, but he says nothing’s better after a game of Rugby and a few beers.”
“And beer after the game,” said Pritchard, “is of course an essential part of Rugby football!”
Throughout this exchange, Rhino had stared in disbelief at Mrs. Howell. “Well! I thought you’d be grateful for a hint or two about how things are done in the best houses. But it’s obviously a waste of time trying to raise people above their natural level.”
“I should certainly never attempt it with you, Rhino,” said Lucy.
Mrs. Howell, taking not the slightest notice, continued to drink her soup.
Lady Beaufort said softly, “My dear Mr. Pritchard, I can’t express how sorry I am we ever brought the man down upon you. If the only way to induce him to leave is for us to go, we’ll take our departure tomorrow.”
“Nonsense! I won’t allow a boor to upset our arrangements. You were to stay till Monday and till Monday you shall stay. But next time I invite you, I shall send my own car to fetch you from London.”
“How kind!” She patted his hand—not the one holding the soup spoon, fortunately, as he was left-handed. “I should like to see the gardens in summer, I must admit.”
“So you shall.”
Everyone started talking about gardens. Rhino’s contribution was a rant against his head gardener, who never seemed able to supply the required vegetables for his kitchens.
“No doubt he expects French beans in February and asparagus in August,” Daisy said, but she spoke in a low voice, not wanting to reignite the embers.
Only Pritchard heard her. He responded, “Let’s hope no one brings up the subject of fishponds.”
The rest of the evening passed reasonably smoothly. In the morning Daisy got up quite early again, although Lucy wasn’t hurrying her to catch the sunlight. In fact, the sun was rising behind a haze of high, thin cloud. Rain before nightfall, she thought.
She had forgotten last night to ask Pritchard what time would be convenient for him to show her the house. She didn’t want to keep him waiting. Hence the early rising.
This time only Carlin and Armitage were down before her. They were talking about fly-fishing.
“An innocuous subject, one would think,” said Carlin.
“But to be approached with caution in this house at present,” Armitage added.
“Definitely!” Daisy agreed, helping herself to a couple of rashers of bacon and a muffin.
“Before we ventured into such deep waters, we were wondering if we ought to offer to throw the rhinoceros out. He’s big and stubborn, but between the two of us we ought to be able to manage it. What do you think, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Should we tell our esteemed host that we’re not merely willing but anxious to go big game hunting?”
Armitage grinned. “It’d make a change from angling.”
“No,” said Daisy.
“No?” Carlin was disappointed. “Expound, pray.”
“If you ask me, Mr. Pritchard is perfectly capable of routing Rhino if he chooses. If he lets him stay till Monday, which is when he’s supposed to leave, it’s for his own reasons. Better not to interfere.”
“By Jove, wheels within wheels we wot not of!” Carlin exclaimed facetiously.
“Not at all. Just better to let sleeping rhinoceroses lie,” Daisy advised.
“If only he would sleep,” Armitage sighed.
“He hasn’t come down yet,” Daisy pointed out. “Enjoy the peace and quiet while you may. Don’t let me interrupt the fishing. You must strike while the fish are biting.”
They took her at her word. She was able to add her own mite to the discussion as her brother Gervaise had occasionally condescended to take her fishing with him on the Severn in her youth, in another world. Gervaise, had he survived the trenches, would not have approved of this world where his sister consorted on the friendliest of terms with a plumber, she thought sadly.
Howell came in next. “Glad to see you’re up and about,” he said to Carlin. “What do you suppose is the earliest we can expect your lord and master to be ready to go into Swindon?”
“Eleven. At the very earliest. He has to have his after-breakfast stroll alone with his cigar and his thoughts or his digestion goes wonky. You saw him strolling up and down the terrace yesterday, remember.”
“Pity it’s not raining,” said Howell, glancing at the window.
“Believe me, you wouldn’t want to try to work with him when his digestion’s wonky. It’s a concession to work at all today. He doesn’t usually come in to the office on Saturdays, though I’m junior enough to have to put in a brief appearance. It’s a good job there’s not much left to be done. I shouldn’t think you’ll be able to keep him at it for very long, and he’ll expect at least an hour’s lunch break.”
“I don’t want to hold it over till Monday.” Howell frowned. “I have other business scheduled. If we don’t leave till eleven, I doubt we’ll be home before five.”
Carlin shrugged. “Sorry, old chap, nothing I can do about it.”
“ ‘The customer is always right,’ ” Howell said with a sigh. “I sometimes think it’s a pity Selfridge ever coined the phrase.”
“I’m supposed to be playing golf tomorrow, myself, in Essex. It’s a tournament. I was hoping to catch a train back to town tonight.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult. Swindon being a junction on the Bristol line, there are plenty of fast trains.”
“Good! I’ll pack my bag and take it with me. But first, another sausage or two. May I bring you something, Mrs. Fletcher?”
Daisy was munching a second muffin when Pritchard, Julia, and Lucy came in.
“I’m going to tour the house with you, Daisy,” said Lucy. “I have two unused plates left, and plenty of magnesium, so I’ll take a couple of photos for you if you see anything you’d like for your article.”
“You’re all finished with the grotto, are you?” Armitage asked.
“Yes. A good job I caught the sun yesterday. It looks like rain.”
“The grotto’s a bit dank in wet weather,” Pritchard conceded, “though the hermit’s lair is cosy with the fire lit.”
“I know Alec will want to see it,” said Daisy. “How about Gerald, Lucy? Do you think he’s interested?”
“I haven’t the slightest, but if so he can go with you and Alec. I’ve had enough of tramping that path. What time did you say they’re arriving?”
“Barker told me four o’clock. Good morning, Rhino.”
Rhino produced a morose grunt and waved a sort of greeting with his cigarette holder, already sending up a tendril of smoke. Without further acknowledgement of the company, he headed for the food.
“It’ll still be light enough to see the grotto in daylight, then
,” Lucy said. “Or were you going to show Alec the night spectacle?”
“Depends what the weather looks like. I wouldn’t want to tackle the path at night in the rain.”
“Just let me know if you want to go after dark,” said Pritchard, “and I’ll have the lamps lit for you.”
“I’ll do it,” Armitage volunteered. He smiled at Julia as he spoke. No doubt she would join the tour.
Pritchard got up. “I’ve one or two things to see to in my den, Mrs. Fletcher. If you wouldn’t mind, you and Lady Gerald, coming there in half an hour or so, I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Having eaten all she wanted, if not more, Daisy sat on with another cup of tea, chatting. Eventually Sir Desmond put in an appearance. Howell and Carlin watched in dismay as the Principal Deputy Secretary helped himself to a huge plateful.
Daisy heard Howell mutter to Carlin, “We’ll be lucky to finish our business before dinner! Never mind, lad, there’s a good late train.”
Unfortunately, Rhino also overheard. “Anxious to get away early, are you?” he said with a sneer. “All you bureaucrats are bone-lazy slackers. Take the taxpayer’s money and do as little work as possible.”
Carlin turned scarlet. “Sir Desmond, Mr. Howell, I’ll be in my room when you’re ready to leave,” he said with quiet dignity. “Excuse me, ladies.”
Sir Desmond turned a long, considering look on Rhino, but sat down without saying anything and began his breakfast.
It was left to Julia to utter what everyone was thinking. “Rhino, you really are irredeemably vulgar.”
Rhino stared at her with blank incomprehension. “You must be thinking of some other fellow,” he said. “My shield has more quarterings than nine out of ten peers. Hasn’t been a commoner in the family in three centuries.”
SIXTEEN
Daisy was a bit disappointed with the house. The trouble was that it was such a perfect example of its kind that there wasn’t really much to say about it. Houses with quirks and oddities were much easier to write about. With the grotto to describe and Armitage’s stories about the Appsworths, however, she reckoned she had enough for an article of reasonable length.
One noticeable difference from the general run of stately homes was the lack of family portraits and knicknacks. Pritchard told Daisy and Lucy that he had bought almost all the Appsworths’ furniture, all except the few pieces the last remaining family members chose to take with them.
“But I didn’t think it was right to keep portraits that had nothing to do with my own ancestors,” he explained.
Lucy looked a trifle self-conscious. Her own family’s rise was recent enough to provide no portraits older than Victorian. The walls of their huge entrance hall were hung with other people’s ancestors.
“As for bits and bobs of precious porcelain on every surface,” Pritchard continued, “I’d be afraid to move for fear of breaking something priceless.”
“Some of the ewers in your entrance hall must be valuable,” said Daisy.
“I daresay, but they’re tucked up safe in those niches and Winifred insists on dusting the finest herself for fear the maids might break ’em.” He laughed. “The girls are allowed to do the common china ones. Winifred keeps trying to persuade me to get rid of those, but they’re my family’s history.”
Daisy and Lucy settled on what photographs Lucy would take. Daisy helped with the flash apparatus, as usual ending up covered in whitish powder. She went to wash, then sought a place to transcribe her notes in peace.
Given the constraints of Lucy’s car, she hadn’t brought her portable typewriter, but the sooner she copied out her shorthand in longhand, the easier to remember what her erratic symbols were intended to represent. She tried the muniments room, but Julia was there with Charles Armitage. Though they insisted she was welcome to stay, she didn’t want to disturb them. The library should be free. This was not a bookish household.
In the library, lined with tier after tier of leatherbound volumes most of which appeared never to have been opened since their purchase a century or two ago, Daisy found—of all people!—Rhino and Lady Ottaline, the latter in canary yellow this morning. They were standing by a window looking out onto the gravel drive at the front. Both gave her hostile glares. She would have preferred to leave them in peace, but she couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Her bedroom had no suitable table, and she really must unscramble her notes while they were fresh in her memory.
“Don’t mind me,” she said brightly. “I have some work to do. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Fletcher,” said Lady Ottaline with equally spurious brightness. Unlike Rhino she had manners if not morals. “We were just going. You’re working on your magazine article? Sometimes I wish I had something useful to occupy my time.”
Daisy doubted a suggestion that ladies of her generation often took up charitable causes would be appreciated. Especially as, she now remembered Sir Desmond mentioning, their daughter was addicted to good works. She murmured something vague, sat down at a writing table, and opened her notebook.
They passed her on their way to the door, polluting the air with the inevitable cigarette smoke as they went. Daisy wasn’t listening, but she couldn’t help hearing Lady Ottaline saying to Rhino, “I told you, nowhere in the house is really private. That’s why we—” The closing door cut her off.
Why they what. Daisy wondered. The weather was not conducive to canoodling out of doors. Surely Lady Ottaline hadn’t had the bright idea of seeking privacy in the hermit’s lair?
Daisy quickly forgot about them, becoming absorbed in trying to decide whether she had intended one particular scribble to represent marble or marquetry. Perhaps she ought to take a refresher course in shorthand.
She finished transcribing just in time for lunch. Lady Ottaline arrived late for the meal, causing their hostess to sit throughout in tight-lipped silence, no great loss to the conversation. Afterwards, Mrs. Howell led the way through to the drawing room for coffee. She sat down and started pouring, while Armitage went to her to hand round the demitasse cups.
“There, that’s for Lady Ottaline. Black without sugar, isn’t that right Lady—. Where is Lady Ottaline?”
“I expect she went to powder her nose, Winifred.”
“Well, I do think she might have said a word to me. Some people never spare a thought for other people’s convenience. Now her coffee’s going to get cold and be wasted.”
“We can’t have that,” Pritchard said jovially. “Give it to me.”
“You like yours half milk.”
“I’ll be a martyr.”
“No need for martyrdom,” Lucy drawled. “I drink it black, no sugar. I’ll take it, Charles.”
“Lord Rydal isn’t here either,” Mrs. Howell complained. “Not that I expect better manners of him.”
Just as Lucy took her first sip, Lady Ottaline came in from the hall. Her make-up failed to hide flushed cheeks, and her eyes glittered.
“Ah, coffee! I don’t suppose, dear Mr. Pritchard, I could have a drop of brandy in mine?”
“Of course, Lady Ottaline. Anyone else fancy a drop?”
No one else did. Mrs. Howell poured coffee; Armitage took it to the Welsh dresser, where he added brandy. He handed it to Lady Ottaline, who had followed, and she drifted over to the French windows. She stood gazing out, her back to the room.
Conversation, halted by her entrance, resumed. Lady Beaufort asked Daisy about her progress with her article. Daisy was trying to explain the difficulties of writing about a perfect house without it sounding like a lecture on architecture when Barker came in to announce that Lord Gerald Bincombe and Mr. Fletcher had arrived.
Pritchard popped up. “Excellent, excellent! They’ve beaten the rain. You’ll be able to show them the grotto, Mrs. Fletcher, without having to brave the path when it’s wet.”
He hurried out to the hall. Daisy and Lucy went after him.
Daisy hadn’t seen Gerald in a few months. He was the
big, solid kind of rugger player, not the little wiry kind. Though Alec was tall and broad-shouldered, he looked barely average in size beside Gerald. He also looked considerably slimmer. Sitting in City boardrooms and consuming City lunches had added a few inches round Gerald’s waist. By now the occasional game of Rugby football was probably a ritual more honoured in the breach than the observance.
Alec, on the other hand, though he did more sitting behind desks than he would have preferred, also did a fair amount of foot-slogging when he was on a case. Not infrequently his lunchtimes were a ritual more honoured in the breach than the observance.
Once all the greetings and introductions were out of the way, Daisy said, “You’re much earlier than we expected, darling.”
“We did manage to leave a bit early. But it’s mostly because when I estimated the length of the journey, I failed to allow for Gerald’s style of driving.”
Gerald grinned. “Knew I was safe with a copper in the car. Fletcher kept his eyes peeled for peelers all the way. Would have spotted one half a mile off. Plenty of time to slow down.”
“It would have been very embarrassing to be stopped by a bobby who recognised me, even though I wasn’t at the wheel.”
Pritchard turned to Alec. “So you’re a policeman, are you, Mr. Fletcher?”
“You let the cat out of the bag, darling,” Lucy said acidly to her husband.
“My own fault,” said Alec. “Bincombe’s usually such a taciturn chap, I didn’t think to mention I prefer not to have it known. My apologies, Mr. Pritchard, if you feel I’m here under false pretences.”
“Not at all, not at all, my dear fellow. I daresay the reaction you get is a bit different, but there are times and places when I don’t mention I’m a plumber by trade. No need to tell my sister-in-law, though,” he added hastily. He offered them something to eat, but they had stopped at a pub for a bite.
“Good,” said Daisy. “I want to show you the grotto before it starts raining.”
“Give me time to catch my breath,” Alec begged.
“Coffee for the gentlemen, Barker,” Pritchard ordered.
