Gunpowder Plot

by Carola Dunn

  “Sorry! Sir Harold seems to think—”

  “It’s not worth the trouble of correcting him. Not that I need to write for money now, but it paid the bills before I married. And that’s another thing: Mother was just as upset by my choice of husband. Alec isn’t at all ‘suitable.’ ”

  “You mean you . . . No, I’d better not ask.” After a glance at her, Miller drove on in a thoughtful silence. A slight smile played about his lips.

  While Daisy hadn’t exactly intended to encourage him to pursue Gwen, she was not at all sorry if that was the result. She liked him and didn’t believe he was only after Gwen’s money—not that she’d have any if Sir Harold carried out his threat.

  When they reached the house, Miller handed Daisy out and she thanked him for fetching her from the bottom of the hill.

  “Not at all,” he said. “Thank you. You’ve given me considerable food for thought.”

  “If you really feel obliged to me, may I ask a favour? I was going to ask Jack or Gwen to drive me down to the meadow this evening, just for a quarter of an hour or so, to take a peek at that side of the festivities. But I expect they’ll have their hands full helping to entertain the invited guests and—”

  “Not to mention trying to keep the Gooches away from their parents!”

  “That, too.”

  “I’ll be happy to run you down, Mrs. Fletcher. I’ll make sure the car isn’t boxed in by guests’ motors, and you just tip me the wink when you’re ready to go.”

  Daisy had enough information now to plan her article, so she spent the rest of the morning at her typewriter. At lunch, Sir Harold was still in an excellent humour. He told Daisy about some Guy Fawkes disasters of the past, like the time an insecurely fastened Catherine wheel had flown from its place and rolled along a row of rockets, prematurely igniting the lot.

  After lunch, she again asked Gwen if she could lend a hand with anything.

  “You already have.” Gwen exchanged a meaningful glance with Miller, making Daisy hope her unspoken but clearly implied encouragement of the engineer would not lead to disaster. “This afternoon it’s mostly organizing the moving of furniture.”

  “I’m not volunteering for that! Neither the organizing nor the moving.”

  “Certainly not,” said Lady Tyndall, giving Daisy her faint, exhausted smile. “Why don’t you take a nap after the morning’s exertions? That’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Yes, do, Daisy,” said Gwen, seconding her mother. “Then you’ll be full of beans for the evening’s exertions.”

  “Gwen, dear, where on earth did you come by such a dreadful expression!” Lady Tyndall gave Miller a look cold enough to turn the lily pond into solid ice.

  “At school, Mother. See you later, Daisy.”

  Daisy and Lady Tyndall went slowly upstairs together. “I don’t know,” Lady Tyndall said wretchedly. “I really don’t know. Gwen is twenty-seven, and if he’s the only chance she’s going to have to marry . . . But he’s encouraging Jack to go off to Coventry—to be an engineer, of all things!—and I was so looking forward to having him home for good at last. What do you think of Mr. Miller?”

  “I like him,” said Daisy, and refused to be drawn further.

  The guy propped up by the front door to greet the Tyndalls’ guests wore a long frilly nightgown and a lace nightcap, from which the mask of a wolf peered out.

  “Gwen found the clothes when she turned out some old trunks in the loft,” Jack explained to Daisy. “The wolf in ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ used to terrify me when I was little, so I thought I’d take my revenge. There’s no law says the guy has to be a person.”

  “No, and after all, the whole thing is really for the children.”

  He grinned. “Don’t let Father hear you pronounce such blasphemy!”

  “I shan’t. Your wolf looks quite sinister in the dusk with just the oil lanterns lighting it.”

  “Electric light would spoil the effect. Here comes someone. Let’s go in, or we’ll end up exchanging greetings on the doorstep and freezing, and spoiling Jennings’s fun the one time of year he actually opens the door.”

  Headlamps approached along the drive. Jack and Daisy slipped into the house. A screen had been set up before the door in an attempt to keep some of the cold air out as guests entered. Jennings waited there, a small, bent figure in his best, slightly less rusty black.

  The invitations had stated “Dress for warmth,” and Daisy had done so, wearing a long-sleeved wool frock, lisle stockings, and walking shoes for her projected visit to the meadow. She had brought her coat downstairs. The Tyndalls were equally sensibly dressed, except Adelaide. She was once again backless and sleeveless, elegant but not at all practical. Her boys were there, too, in shorts with jerseys under their school blazers. Several other guests would be bringing children, so lemonade and cocoa were provided along with the cocktails, sherry, and whisky at a long table to one side of the hall.

  The hall had been rearranged, with small tables and groups of chairs throughout, ready for the buffet supper. A blaze in the fire-place looked cheerful, even if it did little to warm the air in the distant corners.

  Jennings appeared around the screen and announced in his creaky voice, “Mr. and Mrs. Dryden-Jones.”

  It was the only announcement Daisy heard, as his voice became totally inaudible once people started talking. She and Miller kept out of the way as the Tyndalls moved forward to welcome a swelling stream of guests. The constant opening and closing of the door chilled the air, and though the gentlemen doffed their hats of course, most people unbuttoned their coats but kept them on.

  Gwen brought over Colonel Sir Nigel Wookleigh, Chief Constable of Worcestershire. He was a very tall, very thin man, whose narrow face, fringed with old-fashioned white whiskers, made Daisy think of an Afghan hound. Not only had Sir Nigel known Daisy’s father and been colonel of her brother’s regiment; he had been extremely forbearing when Daisy dragged Alec willy-nilly and very unofficially into a kidnapping in his county. She was happy to see him but hoped he wouldn’t mention Alec’s profession.

  She averted the possibility by telling him at once that she was at Edge Manor to write an article. They talked about her writing for a minute or two. Then Jack, looking mischievous, appeared with a pretty young woman in tow who was at least two months more pregnant than Daisy.

  He introduced her as Mrs. Snelgrove, saying, “I think you ladies will find you have a great deal in common.”

  “Naughty boy!” said Mrs. Snelgrove coyly. Daisy was sure she would have tapped his arm with her fan were fans not long out of fashion.

  Miller and Sir Nigel had identical expressions of alarm at the prospect of being caught up in a conversation about babies. Taking pity on them, Daisy suggested to Mrs. Snelgrove that they should sit down. They found chairs near enough so that Daisy could hear the two men amicably discussing the future of aviation, Sir Nigel apparently undismayed by Miller’s lowly antecedents.

  All Mrs. Snelgrove wanted to talk about was whether the bangs of the fireworks would be bad for her baby-to-be. Since Daisy had no idea, this was not a fruitful topic. She was delighted when Mr. Snelgrove arrived with a drink for his wife and she was able to escape.

  The room was filling up. Daisy decided it was time she went down to the meadow. As she looked around for Miller, who had moved off, she saw the Gooches enter. She was too far away to hear what was said, but she saw Jack hurry over to smooth their entrance. He escorted them into the room, and she saw that Mr. Gooch looked worried, Mrs. Gooch determined. And she saw Sir Harold and Lady Tyndall turn to stare after them, both with identical expressions of horror.

  6

  Down in the meadow, lit by lanterns, villagers and farm folk warmed their hands on mugs of cocoa and hot mulled cider. They willingly chatted to Daisy about their part in the festivities. They told her about the grand celebrations in ’87 and ’97 for the old queen’s Jubilee and Diamond Jubilee. Children ran around playing, or stood with sparklers, drawing
glittering shapes in the air. Older boys thrust potatoes into the bottom of the great pile of wood and brush, to be retrieved later from the embers.

  Daisy watched the arrival of the guy, carried down the terrace steps by Biddle and the garden boy. Red Riding Hood’s wolf was considered a very good joke by most, though some of the older women were shocked by the brazen appearance of a nightgown in public. It was being hoisted to the top of the bonfire as Daisy and Miller left.

  Back at the house, people were buttoning their coats and winding around their necks woolly mufflers from the colourful pile supplied by the Tyndalls. In chattering groups, they drifted through the drawing room and out of the French doors onto the top terrace. Daisy saw Mr. Gooch alone and looking lost, so she joined him and they went out together. It wasn’t entirely altruistic: She had an idea for an article on the Australian visitor’s view of Britain.

  “I suppose it’s hot in Perth right now,” she said as they emerged with a shiver into the frosty air.

  “Too right. November’s late spring, so it’ll be eighty or better in the shade right now. Coolgardie’s a bit hotter, and dry, my word! The miners used camels instead of packhorses. I remember the days before the pipeline, when you paid a shilling for a gallon of water.”

  “Is that why you moved to Perth?”

  “No, the easy gold ran out and the big mining companies moved in. No room left for an independent agent, but luckily I’d made my pile by then. Ellie wanted our kids to go to school in the city. Lots of outback kids go to boarding schools, but she didn’t want to be parted from them. They’re boarding this term, while we’re away, though.”

  “How many children have you?”

  “Three boys. I miss ’em,” Gooch said simply.

  “I hope you’re enjoying your holiday here anyway. I’m afraid it’s not the best time of year to visit England.”

  “Last week was a fair cow. Hardly stopped raining and cold with it, and a wind like to cut you to the bone. This ain’t so bad, now.”

  The lights in the house behind them went out. In the sudden darkness, a million stars spangled the sky.

  “Gosh!” said Daisy. “What with rain and clouds and fog, you hardly ever see so many stars.”

  “Ah, you want to go out in the bush with your swag and—”

  A huge bang and a series of pops signalled the beginning of the show. Blue, green, and red lights shot up from the bottom terrace. Then a couple of rockets soared up to burst in a shower of gold and silver globes, which parachuted slowly down. People crowded towards the balustrade. “Women and children first!” someone said jovially. In the shuffle, Daisy lost Mr. Gooch.

  By the eerie glow of half a dozen blue fountains, she found herself near the top of the steps, beside Babs, who was hanging on to the collars of her nephews.

  “I don’t see why we can’t go down to the next terrace,” Reggie whined, to the accompaniment of various explosions from below. “Mummy would let us.”

  “Your grandfather wouldn’t. Oh, hullo, Daisy.”

  “Why can’t we have sparklers?” Adrian had his brother’s whine pat. “The village brats have sparklers.”

  “Don’t call the village children brats,” Babs said sharply.

  “Mummy does. Why can’t we have sparklers, too?”

  “There’s no room up here. Someone would get hurt.”

  “Then let us go down to the next terrace!” said Reggie self-righteously, with logic on his side.

  “If you behave yourselves now, I’ll find you some sparklers for later, when people go in.”

  The boys’ response was lost in a fusillade as glowing balls floating down from rockets sent out exploding sparks. Babs let go of them and they slipped away through the crowd.

  “I’d better provide some sparklers.” She sighed, taking an electric torch from her pocket. “I suppose the rest of the children will want them, too. Thank heaven they go up to their nannies in the schoolroom for their supper. Are you all right, Daisy? Need to sit down?”

  “No, I’m enjoying the show, thanks.”

  The balustrade was lined with children now, oohing and aahing, while adult guests moved about, talking when they could make themselves heard. The constant, ever-changing glare of rockets and Catherine wheels, Roman candles and Greek fire seldom left them in darkness for more than a moment. Clouds of smoke drifted up from the bottom terrace into the sky and the smell of gunpowder began to pervade the air.

  Alternating green and red flares made people’s faces ghastly as a woman came up to Daisy and introduced herself as Mrs. Yarborough, Adelaide’s mother-in-law. Gwen had just told her about Reggie and Adrian throwing squibs at the car and she wanted to apologize for her grandsons’ misbehaviour.

  “I’m afraid they run wild.” She sounded harassed. “Adelaide can’t control them and won’t let anyone else try to discipline them. My poor son must be turning in his grave.”

  Daisy’s commiserating murmurs were drowned by a flurry of extra-noisy explosions from below, including whistles and squeals as well as the commoner bangs, cracks, and pops. Mrs. Yarborough drifted away. As the show continued, Daisy exchanged admiring remarks with the succession of strangers who paused momentarily nearby.

  Her toes were beginning to freeze when Jack came and stood beside her. “Doing all right, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  “It’s spectacular. You and your father and Mr. Miller have done a wonderful job. I can’t wait to see the set piece.”

  “Just coming up. The next item is—Hold on! What’s that fool Biddle up to? That’s only half the rockets. I’d better go and see what’s happening.” He took a torch from his pocket and bounded down the steps.

  Daisy hoped the torch, combined with the gold sunburst and showers of silver, blue, and green sparks from the remaining rockets, would provide enough light to prevent his breaking a leg. She lost track of him as a brilliant rainbow followed the sun and showers. It faded in turn, leaving one small golden glow, which gradually grew tall and put forth branches. Green leaves appeared, followed by white blossom, then red fruit. As the tree faded, there was a round of applause.

  Down in the meadow, flames flickered around the base of the bonfire. Up on the terrace, everyone headed for the house.

  Babs and Gwen stood at the French doors, handing out sparklers to children and directing adults to the dining room, where the buffet supper was laid out. Daisy debated staying outside to watch the children, but her toes were frozen and she was famished. She stayed just long enough to see the bonfire blaze up below.

  Inside, maids were relieving people of their wraps. Daisy joined Miller and Mr. Gooch at the rear of the chattering crowd of fifty or sixty guests moving slowly into the dining room. Gooch asked the engineer about the motive power of rockets, but he hardly listened to Miller’s explanation. He seemed uneasy and kept looking about—for his wife, Daisy presumed.

  People started coming out of the dining room with piled plates. Most of them headed straight through the drawing room to the entrance hall, now warmer, with luck, as the front door had been closed for some time. The maids circulated with trays of drinks.

  Daisy and her escorts reached the dining room at last. Gwen and Addie were there, making sure everyone got what they wanted, aided, or perhaps hindered, by the tottery butler. Addie made a bee-line for Daisy.

  “Do you know where Jack is, Daisy? And hasn’t Babs sent the children up to the nursery yet?”

  Gwen came over. “It’s your children she’s entertaining. Stop fussing!”

  “I don’t live here.” Addie pouted, and it was all too obvious where her boys had learnt their whine. “I’m a guest. I shouldn’t have to help like this.”

  “For pity’s sake, you’re family!”

  “I saw the children coming in,” Daisy reported, “so Babs will be here in a minute, I’m sure. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Certainly not!” said Gwen. “You really are a guest, and we’re nearly finished anyway. Here, take a plate. What would you like—”


  Jack burst into the room. “Addie, your little beasts pinched a dozen rockets! I’ve had enough. They’re going to get a leathering they’ll remember for a long time.”

  “You always blame Reggie and Adrian for everything! They’ve been with me every moment.”

  “Oh no they haven’t,” announced Babs, coming in.

  Daisy, Miller, and Gooch edged away from what was rapidly deteriorating into a full-fledged family row. The half a dozen other guests still in the room finished filling their plates and departed in haste.

  Miller and Gooch looked as if they wanted to flee, but Daisy was far too hungry, and they were too polite to desert her. Gwen came over to them.

  “I’m so sorry.” She was very upset. “Please help yourselves and I’ll go and tell them to pipe down.”

  Miller reached for her hand. “Keep out of it,” he advised. “You’ll only make it worse, and if Sir Harold hears them, you’d be in for it with the rest. Come and have something to eat with us.”

  “He’s right, Gwen,” said Daisy. “Let them fight it out. These volau-vents look delicious. What’s in them?”

  They turned to the table. Daisy, at least, managed to concentrate on choosing among the many dishes, ignoring Jack’s and Addie’s raised voices punctuated by Babs’s acerbic comments. When those voices suddenly fell silent, however, she turned with the others.

  Lady Tyndall had come in. White-faced, exhausted, she laid her hand on Jack’s arm and said in a failing voice, “One of our guests told me you’re having words. My dears, this is no time to quarrel.”

  “Sorry, Mother,” said Babs. “I’ll go and make sure everyone has what they need.” She seized a plate, piled it indiscriminately with food, and disappeared into the drawing room.

  “Next year, Babs is jolly well going to have to play hostess in chief,” Gwen muttered. “Mother’s not strong enough.”

  “Mother, you look ill,” Jack said. “Come and sit down.” Leaning on his arm, she let him support her to a chair by the wall. She sat down and her colour improved a little.