Daisy roused herself from her lethargy to say, “I hope Cousin Edgar won’t get caught in the storm.” She also hoped her mother would decide to leave before it broke. To spare Geraldine another mother-daughter squabble, she didn’t say so. It was dismaying to realise that though naturally she loved her mother, she liked Geraldine better.
NINE
Sunk in heat-induced torpor, Daisy, her mother, and Geraldine were all startled when Lowecroft came in and announced, “My lady, a Mr. Raymond Dalrymple has called—by appointment, he says—to see his lordship. I put him in the anteroom. I fear I have been unable to ascertain his lordship’s whereabouts.”
“That’s quite all right, Lowecroft. Please show the gentleman into the library. I’ll come and see him, if you’ll kindly excuse me, Maud. Daisy—”
“My dear Geraldine, I have every intention of observing this … this person for myself.” The dowager rose with a celerity that belied her sixty-odd years.
“Lowecroft, tell Mr.…” Geraldine began, but the butler had softly and silently vanished away, discretion being the better part of valour.
“I shall be with you directly,” said the dowager, sweeping out after him.
“Daisy…”
“I can’t stop her.”
“Oh dear!” Geraldine popped up out of her seat almost as briskly as had her guest. “Do you think she’s going straight to the library?”
“To the cloakroom, I expect,” Daisy reassured her. “But all the same, we’d better get a move on or she’ll be stealing a march on us.”
They met Lowecroft coming away from the library. “Did you wish me to offer Mr. Raymond Dalrymple any refreshment, my lady?” he asked.
“No, no. I’ll ring if we want anything. All I want,” Geraldine continued, her voice lowered, as the butler bowed and went on his way, “is to keep his visit as short as possible. Without discourtesy, of course.”
“It seems to me he’s already been discourteous, turning up without so much as a ‘by your leave’. But I suppose we shouldn’t sink to his level. If he has to be routed, I dare say we can rely on Mother for that,” Daisy added thoughtfully.
The library was a long room lined with glass-fronted bookcases containing, for the most part, calf-bound books that no one had read and very probably no one ever would read. One section, however, held novels, travellers’ tales, and light biographies suitable for house-party guests. Another had books of scientific interest belonging to Daisy’s grandfather, who had had an unaccountable interest in natural philosophy—a reaction, perhaps, against his wife’s fascination with martyred saints. It was he who had replaced the customary busts of Greek philosophers with British scientists such as Darwin, Lyell, Stephenson, and Faraday.
Gloomy at the best of times, the library was now positively stygian. Daisy flicked on the overhead electric lights.
On hearing Daisy and Geraldine enter the room, a tall, bulky man turned from contemplation of Lyell’s whiskers. He himself was clean shaven and thinning on top. He looked about sixty, perhaps a few years older. He frowned.
Geraldine bade him “good afternoon,” and introduced herself and Daisy. He returned a brusque greeting, scarcely sparing Daisy a cursory glance. He spoke with the clipped, flat, slightly nasal accent of British South Africa.
“I’m happy to meet you, Lady Dalrymple.” His voice was that of the man in the car who had ordered his chauffeur not to stop and help Daisy. “But it’s Lord Dalrymple I’ve come to see.”
“I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. Today is not at all convenient for my husband.”
“Not convenient? I wrote to make an appointment!”
“But I don’t believe you waited for a reply?”
“I’m sure he’ll see me now I’m here.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t know where Edgar is just now.”
Bravo, Daisy cheered silently.
“Well, I’m staying in Worcester, at the Diglis House Hotel. I can come back tomorrow if it suits him better.”
“On Sunday?” The dowager viscountess made a grand entrance. “Is he speaking of transacting business on a Sunday? Geraldine, who is this person?”
“Mr. Raymond Dalrymple, Maud.”
“Indeed.” She looked him up and down, and Daisy became aware that his well-tailored tweed suit was much too new, the colour a trifle too green—especially as his complexion was florid. Worse, he wore a large diamond pin in his tie. “Well! A Dalrymple? What does he want?”
“Madam, my business is with Lord Dalrymple.”