“I mean to get to know every corner this week,” she said, with an arch laugh, “because, considering the tohu-bohu of his lordship’s affairs, I may not get another chance. I can’t imagine why the lawyer hasn’t sorted it out yet.”
“Mr. Pearson is doing his best,” Daisy defended him. “It’s not his fault no one has yet provided the needed documents.”
Warned by her tone, Laurette reversed course. “Ça se voit. Of course not. I’m afraid he’s having a difficult time. Vincent is still hoping his relatives in France may be able to find proof that his grandfather was the eldest son. I don’t know what Vincent’s father was thinking of, to throw away the old man’s passport when he died.”
“Luckily no family papers ever get thrown away at Fairacres. Otherwise we wouldn’t have known about Julian Dalrymple going to Jamaica, and none of you would be here.”
“I suppose Mr. Pearson has checked that everyone is descended from Julian?” She nodded significantly at Benjamin, walking just ahead with Belinda. “I wouldn’t have thought—”
“Ben has French blood, I understand,” said Daisy, “like your husband.”
Irrelevant, perhaps, but it shut Laurette up on that subject. She chose instead to say how happy she would be to meet the dowager. “Because, though Lord and Lady Dalrymple are very worthy people, they were not, after all, brought up to the position, as your mama was. And you, of course, and Lady Violet.”
“My sister is known as Lady John, Laurette. Like me, she has no title of her own. She married Lord John, who is the younger son of a marquis.”
“How kind of you to explain. That’s exactly what I mean—you grew up knowing that sort of detail. I’m sure you and Lady John and the dear dowager will be able to give me and Vincent any number of hints when he … if he is acknowledged to be the heir.”
The “dear dowager” was most unlikely to do anything of the sort, Daisy reflected. Nor could she imagine herself or Vi ever becoming mentors to Laurette and Vincent. One of the things she liked best about Edgar and Geraldine was that on the whole they set their own style—Edgar especially—and didn’t fuss about the county’s opinion, still less that of London society.
Laurette chatted on. Daisy listened with half her attention, answering occasional questions automatically. Alec and Vincent had walked on ahead. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, if they were talking. Alec would probably prefer silence, but she doubted Vincent was capable of keeping his mouth shut. She hoped Alec’s policemanly restraint was not under too great a strain.
Bel and Ben were closer to her. Bel was telling Ben about all the fun to be had at Fairacres. She pointed down the hill at a stretch of mixed woodland a few hundred yards away, on the far side of the drive.
“That’s a ripping place for hide-and-seek and building forts. The stream goes through the middle, too, the one I told you about that flows into the river, where we can go boating. Uncle Edgar lets the woods grow wild, mostly, instead of having the undergrowth and fallen trees cleared. He says it’s better for butterflies. Did you know butterflies like stinging nettles? Some caterpillars won’t eat anything else.”
“What are stinging nettles?” Ben asked with trepidation. “Are they snakes?”
“No, plants. Don’t worry, if you touch them it smarts like blazes but only for a little while, ’specially if you rub it with dock leaves. We’ll show you.”
“Are there snakes in the woods? Poison snakes?”
“Not really poisonous. Adders won’t kill you and I’ve never seen one anyway. Are there poisonous snakes in Trinidad? Deadly ones?”
“Oh yes.”
“Gosh!”
Laurette had also listened to them, apparently, with both disapproval and amazement. “You let your daughter go off to play in the woods with her cousin?”
“They’re both sensible children and they stay on the estate. I suspect this is the last year Derek will care for hide-and-seek, though. He’s just passed his Common Entrance. Once he gets to Harrow, he won’t want to play with girls any longer. I remember how my brother changed at that age.”
They came to the top of a rise. Away off to the north, Worcester was visible, the square tower of the cathedral dominating the city. Down to their left, in the corner where the drive met the lane, an outcrop of booths and marquees studded the meadow set aside for the fête. Shouts and hammering indicated that preparations were still in full swing, tomorrow being the sabbath, when any remaining work would have to be hushed.