Heirs of the Body(22)

Miranda and Oliver were old enough to enjoy waving to the colourful boats and watching the bridge open and close, she thought. When they all came in August, she would bring them here one day, even if it meant a battle with Nurse Gilpin.

Her own nanny had disapproved, saying it was unladylike. That had stopped Violet, though not Daisy nor, of course, Gervaise. How much fun one could miss through fear of not being considered ladylike!

Daisy got out of the car and, as the bridge closed, waved vigorously at the receding boat. She was gratified when the boatman took off his hat and saluted.

The bridge clunked into place. Daisy drove across and turned right, past the old church. A few hundred yards farther on, she turned into a narrow lane and wound about for a bit, between hedges adorned with sweet-scented dog roses and honeysuckle. She came to the village of Little Baswell and there she stopped at the smithy.

The smith, Ted Barnard, had married a favourite Fairacres nurserymaid. With the decline of the blacksmith’s trade, he had turned his hand to doing minor repairs for motorists, and he was more than willing to repair Daisy’s tyre.

“Won’t take but a few minutes, Miss Daisy. I know the wife’d take it kindly was you to pop in to say hello while ye’re waiting.”

“Of course.” She walked over to the neat whitewashed cottage next door. The garden was full of sweet peas and sweet william, as fragrant as the hedgerow flowers. The dog, a shaggy, tousled creature called Tuffet, greeted her with rapture. Mrs. Barnard was delighted to see her and at once set the kettle to boil. Daisy regretfully declined a cuppa. “Lady Dalrymple is expecting me for tea, you see. We’ll all be here in August, the whole family. I’ll bring the children to see you.”

Chatting about children made the wait pass quickly, and Daisy was soon on the road again. Fifteen minutes later, she turned in between the gates of Fairacres. Just beyond the lodge, she stopped under the shade of the first elm of the avenue and walked back to have a word with the lodge keeper, Mrs. Truscott, wife of the chauffeur.

They were all family, in a sense, the old servants. Their continued presence at Fairacres increased Daisy’s feeling of dislocation, of the world being slightly askew, when she visited. In spite of Edgar’s sincere and Geraldine’s consciously gracious assurances that she was always welcome, she hadn’t spent enough time there since Edgar’s accession to adjust to the changes and the many things that had not changed.

She was glad that almost all the old servants had been kept on. Apart from maids and garden boys, who tended to come and go, and the aged butler who had been pensioned off, the staff had barely changed.

Having assured herself that the Truscotts were all well, Daisy continued along the avenue to the house. She stopped in front of the impressive portico. Its marble pillars, pediment, and cupolas had been superimposed by an eighteenth-century ancestor to add consequence to an otherwise sprawling, multiperiod mansion. Brick built, it was clad in whatever stone happened to be convenient at the time, pinkish sandstone, amber Cotswold limestone, pale grey Portland stone, a patchwork mellowed by time.

Daisy had scarcely time to powder her nose before the footman ran down the steps to open the door for her.

“Hello, Ernest.”

“Good afternoon, madam. We’ve been expecting you. If you don’t mind me saying so, madam, her ladyship will be very happy to see you.”

Daisy laughed. “No, why should I mind?” She was on informal terms with the young man that would have horrified her mother, ever since he had helped her and Alec—and Tommy, come to think of it—to foil a dastardly plot. “Now if you’d told me the opposite…”

“As though I would, madam!”

“But I bet you’d manage to warn me.”

“A hint, maybe, madam. His lordship, of course, will be delighted.” He raised his voice for the benefit of the butler, who was waiting at the open front door. “Mr. Truscott will take your car round to the stables, madam, unless you was wanting it again this afternoon?”

“No, thank you. I may go down to the Dower House later, but I’ll walk. Good afternoon, Lowecroft.”

He gave a slight but stately bow. “Good afternoon, madam. May I say that your arrival is particularly welcome at this time.”

“Thank you.” Goodness, Geraldine must really be in a state!

“Her ladyship is in her sitting room, madam, not being at home to unexpected visitors.” He took the light coat she had worn for driving and handed it on to Ernest.

“I’ll pop in to say hello, but I must wash off the road dust before tea.”

“Certainly, madam. Your usual room has been prepared.”