Heirs of the Body(37)

“Damselfly. Ceriagrion tenellum.” He smiled at her, then peered at Oliver as Alec set him down.

“My brother, Oliver. He was only a baby when we came last year. He can almost talk now. Oliver, say hello.”

“Dada,” said Oliver firmly, reaching out to Alec.

Miranda was more obliging: “Heyo,” she said with a beam.

Lord Dalrymple beamed back. “Heyo, Miranda. Would you like to see some butterflies?”

“Buf’eyes?”

“I’d like to,” said Belinda. “I’ll bring them both to your conservatory later, all right, Uncle Edgar?”

“Certainly, certainly. You can help me release the Migrant Hawker.”

“I take it, sir,” said Alec dryly, “that you haven’t imprisoned a wandering pedlar?”

“Butterfly,” said Daisy, “or moth.”

“No, no, dragonfly. It hatched this morning. Pretty dragonfly,” he said to Miranda.

“Dagfwy? Manda pitty.”

“So you are, my dear, so you are.”

“What nonsense, Miss Miranda,” Nurse Gilpin intervened. “Vain as a peacock, that’s what you’ll be. If your lordship’ll excuse us, I’d like to get them settled in the nursery.”

“I have several Peacocks that will probably hatch in a few days.”

“Bird or butterfly?” Alec asked, laughing.

“Oh, butterfly, my dear fellow, butterfly. Inachis io, don’t you know. Geraldine was talking about acquiring some peacocks for the terrace, but I can’t abide their screeching. For my taste, it’s too like a rabbit’s scream when a fox or stoat gets it.” On this gruesome note, he stepped forward to greet Martha, whom Truscott was solicitously handing down from the Vauxhall. She looked apprehensive, unsure of her welcome. “And here is the Beautiful Demoiselle.”

“Mrs. Samuel Dalrymple,” Daisy introduced her. “Demoiselle” was hardly appropriate for the by-now distinctly pregnant young woman!

However, perhaps Edgar was not so oblivious as his choice of words suggested. He offered Martha his arm, patted her hand, and said, “I’m very happy to meet you, my dear. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you until your husband arrives.”

At last the butler succeeded in ushering everyone out of the heat and glare of the July afternoon into the cool dimness of the hall, lit only by the clerestory and lantern of the cupola high above.

“Her ladyship is in the drawing room,” Lowecroft announced. “Tea will be served shortly. Perhaps the ladies would like to go to their rooms first?”

“I’ll go up too,” Alec said firmly.

Ernest was waiting by the stairs to escort them, and upstairs a maid was in attendance. Belinda was thrilled to find she had risen to the dignity of a guest room of her own, instead of one of the nursery bedrooms. In fact, she was in Daisy’s old room, as Daisy and Alec had the second-best bedroom.

“Mummy, do you think that means I’m supposed to have tea with the grown-ups, not with the babies?” she asked anxiously.

“I expect so, darling. You can come down with us to say hello to Aunt Geraldine, and if it looks as if you’re not expected you can quietly fade out, all right?” Daisy turned to the maid. “Are the other … guests already here?”

“Lord and Lady John will be staying at the Dower House, madam. There’s others as came yesterday,” she added in an ominous tone, “but who they may be, I’m sure it’s not my place to say.”

She made sure they had everything they needed, then departed.

“It sounds as if the servants don’t approve of the heirs of the body,” said Alec.

“Darling, it sounds to me as if they strongly disapprove.”

“They’re your relatives.” He was determined not to be drawn into Daisy’s family affairs. “I’m not going to get involved. I’d rather face a gang of thugs than massed Dalrymples, unless you’re by my side to protect me.”

Daisy giggled. “Then hurry up, do. I’m dying to see how Vincent and Raymond get on with each other.”

They washed off the inevitable grime of a train journey. When Belinda tapped on the door, Daisy sent her to see if Martha was ready.

Meeting on the landing, Alec saw that Martha was wide-eyed with apprehension, daunted by the prospect of facing a roomful of strangers. He was not a little apprehensive himself—of a week of boredom or, alternatively, of hordes of squabbling relatives whose ruffled feathers Daisy would expect him to help to smooth. With a certain fellow feeling, he gave Martha his arm and escorted her down the wide stairs to the hall.

Daisy followed with Belinda, doing her best not to act as if Fairacres were still her home. She wondered whether Martha found the mansion any more intimidating than she had—at first sight—the Hampstead house.