Sheer Folly (15 page)

 

In spite
of Pritchard's half-joking words, Daisy noticed that on the way back to the house he kept casting anxious glances at the stream. Nothing untoward was visible. When they reached the house, Barker informed them that the Swindon party had returned and everyone had gone up to dress for dinner.

“Including Lady Ottaline?” Pritchard asked.

“Certainly, sir. I myself saw Lady Ottaline go upstairs with Sir Desmond.” The butler addressed his employer in indulgent, slightly condescending, almost fatherly tones, although he looked twenty years younger than Pritchard. Daisy realised she'd heard him speak the same way before.

“As though he used to work for an irascible duke,” she said later to Lucy, when she went to her room to see if she was ready to go down. “And Pritchard is much pleasanter to work for, besides paying much better, but nonetheless the duke was infinitely superior.”

“For heaven's sake, Daisy, of course he was. If he exists outside your imagination. What a lot of rot you talk! What does it matter?”

“I was thinking I might interview Barker for my Servant Problem article.”

“You've been working on that for three years.”

“You never know, I might finish it before servants go the way of the dinosaurs. Are you ready at last? Let's go. That frock is much more suitable than last night's.”

“Well, I can't compete with Julia, whatever I wear, and to try to outshine Lady Ottaline would be pathetic.”

“The poor thing's rather pathetic all round, isn't she?”

“Darling, if I ever get like that, you will stop me, won't you?” Lucy studied her face in the looking glass. “I'm not too old and too
married
to care about fashion, am I? Like all those frightful fat matrons who buy the latest frock from Paris straight off the mannequin, expecting to look like her?”

“It'll be a few years yet, darling, and no one could call you fat. I'll tell you when the moment comes, but I expect you won't want to hear. Come on. A single dab of powder more would be gilding the lily.”

Everyone except Lady Ottaline was already in the drawing room. Howell gave Daisy a glass of Cinzano and soda and she glanced around.

Sir Desmond, bland and sleek as ever, was talking to Pritchard. Lady Beaufort had captured Armitage and Carlin and was listening to the former with an assessing look in her eye. Rhino shared a sofa with Julia—how could she have been so careless as to sit down on an otherwise unoccupied sofa?—and was holding forth. Julia's expression of polite interest suggested she was enduring excruciating boredom. Mrs. Howell, in a chair on Rhino's other side, received no share of his attention. She looked disgruntled. She ought, in Daisy's opinion, to be grateful.

Howell handed Lucy her gin and It. “I hear you had a successful photography session in the grotto,” he said.

“I hope so,” Lucy said cautiously. “One can never be sure till the plates are developed.”

They went on to technical talk. Daisy drifted over to Pritchard and Sir Desmond.

“I hope I'm not interrupting business,” she said.

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Pritchard assured her.

“Oh dear, I'm afraid it's work I wanted to talk to you about, but mine, of course, not yours.”

“How is your ‘work' going?” Sir Desmond's eyebrows put jocular quotation marks round
work
, making an otherwise innocuous question patronising.

Daisy considered giving him one of her mother's grande-dame looks, but she decided he wasn't the sort to be impressed. Or even to notice. “Very well indeed, thank you. Mr. Pritchard and Mr. Armitage have been extremely helpful. Mr. Pritchard, I wondered whether you'd be so kind as to give me a tour of the house tomorrow, if you don't have to go to Swindon. Mr. Armitage told me you're a wonderful guide.”

“I'd be happy to, my dear. Owen will complete your business, Sir Desmond. I have every faith in his abilities. You won't really need me there. Excuse me, here's Lady Ottaline. I'll just make sure she gets her cocktail as Owen's busy discussing photography with Lady Gerald.”

Watching him go, Sir Desmond swigged down half a tumbler of whisky. “There goes a happy man.” He sounded more cynical than admiring or envious. “Wealth, no wife, no children, no worries.”

Daisy ignored most of this and said, “Have you children, Sir Desmond?”

“I do, Mrs. Fletcher. For my sins, I do. A son who believes he's a poet, and a daughter addicted to good works.”

Daisy wondered just how much whisky he'd put away. To her relief, Barker came in and announced that dinner was served.

In the hall, he discreetly beckoned her aside. “A telephone message, madam, from the local exchange. Mr. Fletcher wired to say he and Lord Gerald Bincombe will arrive tomorrow afternoon. About four o'clock, he hopes.”

“Spiffing! Have you told Lucy—Lady Gerald? Mr. Pritchard? Mrs. Howell?”

“Since the message was for you, madam, I have not.”

“I hope Mr. Pritchard informed Mrs. Howell that he'd invited them.”

“I believe so, madam. The housekeeper was aware that further guests might arrive.”

“Thank you, Barker.” Daisy was much relieved. She had no faith whatever that Mrs. Howell would welcome unexpected guests, even if one of them came with a title attached. “Please pass the word to Mrs. Howell and the housekeeper that they're definitely coming.”

“Certainly, madam.”

Daisy caught up with Lucy. “A message from Alec, darling. They're coming.”

“Gerald's coming with Alec?” Lucy's face lit up at Daisy's nod. “Oh, good.”

Seated on Pritchard's left, opposite Lady Beaufort, Daisy told him at once about Alec and Gerald's proposed arrival. He was delighted.

So was Lady Beaufort. “I'm looking forward to meeting your husband, Daisy.”

Blast
! Daisy thought. She remembered Lucy saying the Beauforts knew Alec was a copper, and she hadn't asked Julia to suggest to her mother that the fact was best kept quiet. In her experience people, however honest, tended to act oddly if they knew there was a policeman in the house, however off-duty. She took a spoonful of soup, trying to decide how to carry it off.

But Lady Beaufort was a woman of discretion. She said to Pritchard, “We met Lord Gerald in London. I know you will like him. He plays rugger, and you Welshmen are all devotees of rugger, aren't you?”

“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?”