Heirs of the Body(58)

“You can tell people it’s a picture of your sweetheart,” Ben suggested. “Well, not now, but when you’re old.”

“It’s time for supper,” Derek intervened, and the three went off together.

Daisy paid a visit to the nursery. After reading a story to the twins, she said goodnight and, feeling a bit limp after the events of the past few hours, she went downstairs to see if Alec had returned from the fête. In the entrance hall, Raymond was handing his hat to Ernest. He looked round at the sound of Daisy’s footsteps.

“Ah, Mrs. Fletcher—Daisy. I’m told your daughter is not seriously hurt?”

“Just a nosebleed and a bruise or two.” Where had he been when Belinda fell?

“Happy to hear it. Could I have a word with you?”

“Yes, of course.” Did he still have hopes of her providing financial information about Fairacres?

“No one in the morning room at present, madam.”

Daisy and Raymond made their way to the morning room. Daisy chose an armchair near the open window, glad of the cooler air wafting off the river, for the late afternoon was sultry. Raymond sat down nearby and took out his cigarette case, the ostentatious diamond monogram glittering coldly against the gleam of the gold. With an automatic gesture, he started to offer the open case to Daisy, then remembered she didn’t smoke. He took a cigarette and lit it, slipping the case back into his breast pocket.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

He seemed uncharacteristically uncertain. “Nothing, really. It’s just … I was watching Lord Dalrymple this afternoon. I hadn’t realised there was so much to this ‘lord of the manor’ business. I’m coming to have considerable respect for Cousin Edgar.”

“You thought he was just a crackpot would-be entomologist—”

“A typical useless sort of aristocrat. We get them visiting South Africa. All they want to do is kill the biggest, fiercest animals, not even for food, just so that they can boast about it. But it’s obvious the villagers respect Edgar.”

“You didn’t know Edgar had a useful career before he inherited the viscountcy? He was a schoolmaster for twenty years or so.”

“A teacher? No, I had no idea. No one told me.”

“Anyone capable of controlling a classroom, let alone a school house, full of adolescent boys is worthy of respect. The lord of the manor stuff is smooth sailing in comparison. Schoolboys and tenants both require the same friendliness and consideration combined with a firm hand and a certain distance, yet without condescension.” Not that Daisy’s father had viewed his position quite like that. “If you see what I mean,” she added.

“Yes.” Raymond’s voice held a note of doubt. “It’s different from the blacks on the farms at home, I suppose.”

“I daresay.” She did not want to get involved in a discussion of colonialism, still less to hear his opinion of the discovery that he had a coloured cousin who might be the heir. “Edgar manages to be on good terms with everyone, as far as I can see. And although he’s not interested in the running of the estate, he’s a good judge of character and employs an excellent bailiff.”

“I gather he owns the village as well as the farms.”

“Edgar doesn’t own it, Fairacres does. The estate. Most of the estate is in some sort of trust that can’t be broken without the agreement of both Edgar and his heir.” Too late, she wondered whether she had told him more than she ought. Were trusts a matter of public record? They were not uncommon, at least, so Raymond could have guessed.

Or perhaps the new law Tommy had told her about had abolished the trust? In any case, it wasn’t worth worrying about.

Raymond, momentarily silenced, started to say something when Edgar came in. “Pretty good show, eh?” he said jauntily. “Apart from poor little Belinda, but I went to see her just now and she’s eating like a horse, so not much harm done, I’d say. It’s a good job she gets on so well with the lads. I’m pleased with the lot of them, very pleased. Hope you enjoyed our little country festivity, Raymond?”

“I found it interesting, sir.”

“Sir? Sir? What’s this? Edgar to you, my dear chap. After all, you can give me ten years or more, what?” The twinkle in his eye was slightly malicious. “I say, has either of you seen my butterfly net? I seem to have mislaid it.” He pottered about the room, looking behind chairs. Having decisively put Raymond in his place at their first meeting, he now seemed to be playing the part of a vague, unworldly aristocrat straight out of a Criterion farce.