Sheer Folly (16 page)

“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.”

 

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.

“Darling, did you see the babies before you left?” Daisy asked on the way to the drawing room. “How are they?”

“Blooming.”

“I wish they missed me,” she said mournfully.

In the drawing room, Pritchard introduced Alec and Gerald to Mrs. Howell, the Beauforts, and Charles Armitage. Predictably, Mrs. Howell gushed over Gerald and practically ignored Alec. Gerald let her gush. The Beauforts, having met Gerald in town, were more interested in Alec. They both managed not to reveal their knowledge of his profession, so Mrs. Howell and Armitage were the only two present to be left in ignorance. Unless, Daisy thought, Julia had told her beloved, in which case he was equally discreet.

An elderly parlour maid brought in fresh coffee. Daisy went
to the window to look at the sky. The high, thin haze had thickened and lowered.

“Do drink up, darling,” she said. “We'll have to go now to miss the downpour.”

“How badly do I want to see this grotto?”

“You mustn't feel obliged, Mr. Fletcher,” said Pritchard.

“Yes, you must,” said Daisy. “Come on. Are you coming, Gerald?”

“Right-oh,” said Gerald, always obliging.

Turning away from the window, Daisy caught a glimpse of someone moving in the garden below the terrace, just disappearing behind a yew hedge. Lady Ottaline? Surely not. But she was missing from the drawing room, Daisy realised. When had she left, before or after Alec and Gerald's arrival?

“Better take your umbrella, love,” said Alec.

“Lucy, coming?”

“Not me. Run along, children.”

“I'll go with you,” said Armitage. “The more the merrier.”

“Julia, you'll come, won't you?” Daisy asked helpfully.

“Yes, I'd like to get some fresh air before the rain starts. Are you sure you won't come, Lucy?”

Lucy sighed and said, “Oh, very well. I'll bring my Kodak and take a snap or two if there's enough light.”

Daisy was afraid Lady Beaufort would veto Julia's going with them now that the party looked so like three couples, rather than simply a mixed group. Perhaps her ladyship failed to hear their plans. A smile on her plump face, she was listening to Pritchard, who leant with one hand on the back of her armchair, bending towards her and speaking in a low voice.

“Sheer folly!” snapped Mrs. Howell. “You'll all be soaked to the skin and my servants will be put to the trouble of drying all your things again.”

“
My
servants, Winifred,” Pritchard reminded her. “
My
guests, going to admire
my
folly. At least, I hope you will admire the grotto, gentlemen, and let's hope the rain will hold off till you return.”

He shepherded them out to the hall, where the omniprovident Barker had enough umbrellas waiting for all.

“Just in case it starts raining before you return,” he said.

“Barker,” said Lucy, “do you know how to work a Kodak? It's very simple. I can show you in a minute. Would you come out to the terrace and take a snap of all of us in our expedition gear?”

Barker didn't bat an eyelid. “Certainly, my lady.”

Five minutes later the six were posed on the flagged terrace, with the butler peering gravely at them through the viewfinder. “Say ‘cheese,' ” he instructed them.