by Carola Dunn
“Escob annwyl! Her face!”
“No need to go all Welsh,” said Lucy. “Her make-up’s run, that’s all.”
“Oh, well done!” Julia cried encouragingly. “Just a little farther.”
Sir Desmond and Mr. Pritchard hauled Lady Ottaline out, streaming with water and shivering convulsively. Between chattering teeth, she spat out, “My m-mink! They m-made me leave it!”
“Too heavy,” said Armitage, taking the hand Julia held out to steady him as he climbed onto the bank.
“We couldn’t have got Lady Ottaline out of there in her coat, sir,” Carlin agreed. Daisy and Lucy lugged him out. “It weighed a ton, wet.”
“So do you,” said Lucy.
“No matter,” said Sir Desmond. “I must thank you, gentlemen, for retrieving my wife. Her coat can wait until tomorrow.”
“It’ll be ruined,” Lady Ottaline wailed.
“I daresay. I told you it was unsuitable for a country weekend. Here, wrap yourself in mine.”
“I can’t walk back to the house with no shoes!”
“You couldn’t walk with shoes. Come along, you don’t think you could manage in mine, do you? And I’m not carrying you.”
“Rhino will!”
Everyone turned back to the stream. Unnoticed, Lord Rydal had arrived and stood glowering. “I most certainly will not. Get me out of here!”
Pritchard stepped forwards, but Carlin and Armitage were ahead of him. Each grabbed one of Rhino’s outstretched hands.
“On your marks . . .” said Sir Desmond, “get set . . . heave!”
For a moment it looked as if Carlin and Armitage were going to join Rhino in the water. Then they did. They landed face down and Rhino went over backwards with a tremendous splash that showered those on the bank.
Though Daisy’s coat protected most of her, the water that hit her legs and face was icy enough to make her gasp. She realised how cold Lady Ottaline must be, even with her husband’s coat over her wet things.
“Mr. Pritchard,” she said, “Lady Ottaline needs to get dry and warm, and she shouldn’t walk back to the house alone.”
“I can’t walk,” Lady Ottaline moaned.
“Bosh,” said Lucy, “it’ll warm you up.”
“My shoes are squelching,” Daisy put in hurriedly, if not quite accurately. “I’ll take them off and walk on the grass with you. It won’t be as uncomfortable as the gravel.”
“All you young ladies had better go,” said Pritchard cheerfully. “Sir Desmond, that leaves you and me to help the others out.”
“I ought to go with my wife.”
Julia scotched his escape. “Don’t worry, Sir Desmond, we’ll take good care of her.”
“We’ll send out a search party,” Lucy promised satirically, “if you don’t catch us up by the time we reach the house.”
Lady Ottaline complained constantly as she and Daisy crunched across the frosty grass. Daisy didn’t want to sound equally whiny, so she held her tongue though she was sure her toes must be getting frost-bitten. Lucy and Julia crunched along the gravel path beside them, Julia making encouraging remarks.
Halfway to the house, they met Howell returning with three menservants to the rescue. A practical man, he had brought several pairs of wellingtons.
“Rubber boots!” exclaimed Lady Ottaline. “I’ve never worn rubber boots in my life. I wouldn’t be seen dead wearing those hideous things.”
“I would,” said Daisy. “Thanks, Mr. Howell, just what I need.” She hung on to Lucy’s arm and thrust her feet into the smallest pair. “They’re better than nothing, Lady Ottaline, honestly.”
“Don’t be asinine, Lady Ottaline,” Lucy said sharply, adding with more truth than tact, “No one’s going to see you whose opinion you care a fig about. Do you want to catch pneumonia?”
“The others will need your help, I’m sure, Mr. Howell,” Julia suggested.
As soon as Howell and the servants went on, Lady Ottaline gave in. She might not care a fig for his opinion, but he was male—and she couldn’t see the figure she already cut in a man’s overcoat that could have gone round her three times, with her hair dripping in lank rats’ tails and her face streaked in clownish red, white, and black.
Clomping along with numb feet in boots two sizes too large, Daisy tottered. Lucy propped her up and supported her the rest of the way. Just behind them came Julia and Lady Ottaline, the latter complaining constantly.
“All I want,” Daisy said when they reached the terrace behind the house, “is a hot bath.”
“You won’t be the only one. I wouldn’t mind it myself.”
“At least we won’t run out of hot water, thanks to Pritchard’s Plumbing.”
“I never said plumbers aren’t a good thing in their place. Oh lord, the old biddies are waiting to hear all about it.”
Mrs. Howell and Lady Beaufort were peering out of the French windows of the drawing room.
“This is where my t-t-t-teeth start chat-t-tering uncontrollably,” said Daisy. “Can you get us past them without stopping to chat?”
“Of course, darling. In any case, we can’t go in that way dripping, in gumboots.”
“Well, find a way in quickly, or my teeth really will start chattering uncontrollably.”
“Serves you right for that nonsense about your shoes squelching!”
“I had to do something, or we’d still be standing there trying to persuade her to budge.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would, darling.” Daisy sighed. “You always were much more strong-minded than I am.”
Julia caught up with them and was pointing out a side-door when it opened and the butler appeared. Barker showed his mettle. Not turning a hair at the sight of four aristocratic ladies in varying states of disarray, he quickly ushered them in. Relieving them of wet shoes, rubber boots, and other impedimenta, he assured them that maids had been alerted, baths were being drawn, and hot drinks prepared. He would take it upon himself to make their excuses to Mrs. Howell and Lady Beaufort.
A few minutes later, Daisy was wallowing in hot water, murmuring to herself, “A butler is a lovesome thing, God wot,” and beginning to believe she might thaw out someday. Twice she turned on the hot tap with her toes, without any diminution in the blissful warmth.
“A plumber is a lovesome thing, too, God wot,” she told herself as she reluctantly heaved herself out of the water and wrapped herself in a vast towel, warm from the heated towel rail.
Beside her bed, she found a thermos flask of cocoa and a plate of Marie biscuits. Clearly she was not expected to put in an appearance downstairs if she chose not to. She chose not to, but she did want to talk to Lucy. She reached for the bell to summon a maid, intending to ask whether Lady Gerald was up and about. Just before she rang, she heard a tap on the door.
“Come in?” To her relief, Lucy appeared, elegant as ever in a silk kimono of her favourite peacock blue. “Oh, it’s you, darling. Come in and sit down. I was afraid it might be Mrs. Howell come to fuss.”
“It might have been, but I persuaded her if you didn’t come down you’d rather be left in peace.”
“Thanks!”
“She sent all sorts of anxious messages, which I can’t remember. Actually, I think she’s too busy fussing over Lady Ottaline to be frightfully concerned about lesser beings.”
“Is Lady Ottaline all right? She bore the brunt of the whole thing.”
“Sir Desmond insists she’s healthy as a horse. I doubt she’d be pleased to hear it.”
“She does rather cultivate the fragile look, though it’s very much the brittle kind of fragility. Lucy, what on earth made you say Rhino was pushed? Did you see someone give him a shove?”
“Heavens no! Nothing Alec would call evidence. It was too dark to see much, anyway, but that’s what made it seem so opportune. You can’t say he was exactly keen to jump in and help the other fellows rescue Lady O.”
“Rather the reverse.”
&
nbsp; “So there he stood balking on the edge with someone on each side who had good reason to wish him ill. And in he went.”
Daisy thought back to the scene. “Julia and Sir Desmond. He’d been pestering Julia to death, but I can’t see her resorting to such drastic means, especially as all she has to do is keep saying no. As for Sir Desmond, his wife was flirting with Rhino—strange tastes some people have!—but if anything, Rhino was trying to deter her. At least that’s what it looked like to me.”
“What you don’t know, darling, because you retired from the world, is that they’ve been having a torrid affair for months.”
“Are you serious? There really is no accounting for tastes! But that’s hearsay, of course.”
“If you mean did I see them come out of a hotel bedroom together at dawn and draw my own conclusions, no, I didn’t. But it’s not gossip I went digging for. I’m not turning into a second Great-Aunt Eva. It’s been common knowledge among people one meets everywhere.”
“Does Julia know?”
“I think not. As a matter of fact, I’ve been wondering whether I ought to put her in the picture.”
“She must have seen that there’s something between them. This evening, I mean. I should let sleeping dogs lie, if I were you. It’s not as if she’s fallen madly in love with him and you have to prevent her making a terrible mistake.”
“That’s a good point. My lips are sealed. Actually, it’d be more to the point to tell Lady Beaufort.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Catch me!” said Lucy, in a rare descent into vulgarity. “You do it.”
“Not likely! What about Sir Desmond, did he know?”
“Oh, Daisy, what does it matter? No one was hurt, and in any case, I told you, I was joking when I said Rhino was pushed. Though I must say, if I’d been close enough, I’d have been awfully tempted.”
ELEVEN
Bright sun streamed through the window of Daisy’s bedroom when Lucy flung back the curtains next morning.
“Get up. It’s a glorious day.”
“What time is it?” Daisy mumbled, screwing her eyes tight shut.
“Breakfast-time. Come on, darling, we daren’t miss a moment of this sunshine. It could be snowing by midday.”
“I can write perfectly well in snow.”
“But I can’t take photos, as you know very well. Besides, you wouldn’t want to walk along that path in snow, would you?”
“Nor in rain, come to that, which is much more likely.”
“In any case, even if it’s shining the sun will be all wrong later.”
“Right-oh, I’m on my way.”
“Fifteen minutes, or I’ll be back to fetch you,” Lucy threatened.
“Have a heart! Twenty. Now buzz off and let me get dressed in peace.”
When Daisy went down, she encountered Barker crossing the entrance hall with a silver coffee-pot on a tray.
“The breakfast parlour is that way, madam, second door on the left. May I venture to enquire as to whether madam has suffered any ill-effects from last night’s—ah—adventures?”
“Not at all, thank you, Barker. The hot bath and cocoa were just what was required. Do you know how Lady Ottaline is faring? She had the worst of it.”
“I understand her ladyship desires to remain abed this morning, madam, but Sir Desmond does not consider it necessary to send for a medical attendant.”
“Thank you, Barker.”
“Does madam prefer anything in particular for breakfast? Tea or coffee?”
“Tea, please. Indian. For the rest, I’ll take what’s going.”
“Very good, madam.”
In the breakfast parlour, Daisy found Lucy with Pritchard, Howell, and Armitage. None of the other ladies had yet put in an appearance. Pritchard bustled about seating her, helping her from the buffet.
“Will you try a little Welsh ham, Mrs. Fletcher? You’ve likely not eaten it before. We cure a leg of mutton instead of pork, you know, Wales having the most flavoursome mutton in the world. I believe you’ll find it tasty.”
“Thank you, do give me a slice.” Daisy glanced at Lucy to see if she was indulging in Welsh ham, but she was sticking to her usual coffee and toast. “You’re very patriotic, Mr. Pritchard. I’m surprised you ever left Wales to come and live in England.”
“That was my father’s doing. He started the firm in Wales, just when people were beginning to want indoor plumbing. As it grew, he found most of his sales were in England and it was more practical to have the factory here. That’s when Owen’s father, my wife’s brother-in-law, invested in the company, which made the move to Swindon possible. My da made the right choice. We’ve continued to prosper. Then Appsworth Hall came on the market just when I was thinking of leaving the day-to-day business to Owen. Glenys wanted to move out of the town, so here we are—or rather,” he said sadly, “here I am.”
“I hope your wife had a chance to enjoy living here.”
“We had a couple of good years before I lost her, thank you kindly.”
Daisy was itching to find out what had become of the Appsworth family. However, she didn’t think it proper to ask the man who had profited, however legitimately, from their misfortunes.
Absently consuming the Welsh ham, she turned her gaze on Armitage. He was said to be “taking a look at” old papers left at the Hall by the Appsworths. What his work involved and for whose benefit he was doing it had not been mentioned. He was the obvious person to ask, all the same.
Lucy was telling him about the photos she had taken of the front of the house in the evening light the day before.
“Would you be willing to sell me a print?” he asked. “I’ve taken a few snaps with my Kodak, but I’d like to have a good professional picture of the old place.”
“By all means, if they come out well after the way Rhino was chucking my stuff about.”
“Chucking your stuff about?” Howell demanded in outrage, temporarily forsaking his methodical attack on his breakfast. “Your photographic apparatus, you mean? Chucking it about? Why was he chucking it about? Did he damage anything?” Clearly the thought of machinery being abused was anathema to him.
“I don’t think so,” said Lucy, “but I can’t be sure till I develop the plates.”
“He fetched Lucy’s tripod for her,” Daisy explained, “then dropped it on top of the camera and bag of plates.”
“How on earth did he come to do anything so halfway helpful?” Armitage exclaimed.
Lucy exchanged a glance with Daisy and they both laughed.
“My car was in the middle of the drive and he couldn’t get past,” Lucy said dryly.
“Of course, force majeure. The only possible explanation.”
Pritchard said a trifle fretfully, “I don’t see why an earl can’t be as polite as the next man. If it was up to me, he’d be long gone, but Winifred won’t hear of me asking him to leave.”
“You don’t need Mother’s permission to kick him out, Uncle Brin.”
“Ah well, my boy, it’s her home, too, now, and it doesn’t do to cross a woman in her own home. It just makes everyone uncomfortable. Be thankful Lord Rydal is a late riser and won’t be here forever.”
“I am, Uncle, I am.”
Presumably Rhino would stay until the Beauforts departed, so Owen Howell’s heartfelt retort suggested that his heart was not preoccupied with passionate love for Julia. On the other hand, he was not a demonstrative man. Could his outward calm hide a passionate heart? Daisy wondered.
He had returned to his pigs-in-blankets, unconcerned or oblivious of Daisy’s scrutiny. She was still watching him when Julia came in. He looked up from the bacon-wrapped sausages to say good-morning, and his expression was definitely admiring. Still, Julia in a tweed skirt, silk blouse, and cardigan was just as ravishing as Julia in an evening frock. No man under eighty could possibly look at her without admiration. Only in this mercenary age could she have failed to find a suitor acceptable to both her mother and herself.
Though to be fair, Daisy thought with an internal sigh, one had to make allowances for the fact that so very many altogether eligible young men had died in the War.
Pritchard bustled about again to get Julia settled with her breakfast. Sir Desmond and Carlin came in and helped themselves to hearty platefuls. Howell took out his watch and checked the time with a frown. But the civil service could not be expected to keep business hours. Daisy had more than once heard Alec animadvert upon the slothful habits of bureaucrats.
Lucy, on the contrary, was all business this morning. “As soon as you’re ready, Daisy,” she said crisply. “I left my equipment in the hall.”
Daisy swallowed a last gulp of tea. “I’m right with you.”
“Would you mind if I came with you?” Armitage asked. “I’d like to see how you work, and I can be your packhorse, eh. And being well acquainted with the grotto, from a hermit’s point of view, of course, I may have helpful information.”
Lucy looked dubious, but Daisy said firmly, “We could definitely do with a packhorse. Those photographic plates weigh a ton.”
He grinned. “I’m wholly at your disposal.” As he stood up, he exchanged a glance with Julia and she smiled.
“I may drop by later,” she said, “if it won’t disturb you, Lucy.”
“Why not? I might as well invite the whole world.”
“Don’t be snappish, darling,” Daisy admonished her. “I’ll herd them out of your way if they encroach.”
“A packhorse and a sheepdog,” said Pritchard with a chuckle. “That’s the ticket.”
The walk to the grotto was very different on that bright morning. Urns on the terrace spilled cascades of aubretia with a few purple flowers already opening here and there. The gardens were sheltered to the north by the house and to the east by a high beech hedge still thick with last year’s leaves. Daffodils, narcissus, and crocuses already bloomed in great sheets of colour, mostly yellow, as if reflecting and intensifying the sunlight.
“The Victorian gas lamp standards add a delightful touch of whimsy to the landscape,” Daisy remarked, and pleased with the phrase she whipped out her notebook to write it down.