Chapter 3
The mosquito bite had begun to itch in earnest. Rubbing the skin around it, fighting the instinct to scratch, Daisy turned right on the landing at the top of the stairs.
Cherry emerged from the bathroom at the end of the passage, blue-striped pyjamas protruding from beneath his blue dressing-gown.
“Wrong way,” he said, coming towards her. “You’re in with Tish, aren’t you? Her room’s that way, first on the right past the stairs. Aunt Cynthia put all us men in this wing.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. Last time I stayed I was in here.” She indicated the nearest door.
“You don’t want to go in there. That’s Fosdyke and that bast … blighter DeLancey. Fosdyke sleeps like a log. I wouldn’t count on him to wake up and defend your virtue.”
“Is DeLancey really so bad?”
“Well, there was a nasty story about him and a shop-girl, but I don’t suppose he’d actually force his attentions on a viscount’s daughter. Still, I’d steer clear of him in dark corners if I were you. Tish had some trouble with him at the Ambrose May Ball.”
“And Rollo still put him on the crew!”
“He’s a damn good oarsman, and the crew was already picked by then. Dropping him would have caused no end of a dust-up. The invitation to stay here had been issued and accepted too, worse luck.”
“What a frightful mess.”
“Isn’t it? I swear I’ll do the rotter in if he’s rude to Dottie one more time. But not till after the Regatta,” he added hastily.
“Of course not,” said Daisy, laughing. “You have a pretty good chance of winning, do you?”
“Pretty good. Bott’s a pill but he’s a first-rate cox, and that counts even more than usual with this narrow course, though at least it’s straight.
The four has a better than even chance in the Visitors’, too.
I really hope we win one or the other. I mean, it doesn’t matter so much to me, but it would buck Rollo up a bit.
The poor chap doesn’t show it much, but he’s frightfully cut up over being ploughed for Schools. ”
“I’ll be out there cheering for you. I’d better get to bed, now,” she said as footsteps and a burst of laughter approached below. “Nighty-night.”
“Good-night, Daisy. I’m glad you’re here. Dottie and Tish don’t feel quite so outnumbered!”
Smiling, Daisy turned back. The men were now noisily ascending the stairs.
“Hush!” said a cautionary voice.
She resisted the urge to glance over the banisters. If Bott had allowed himself to be goaded into drinking more whisky than he could cope with, no doubt she’d find out in the morning.
At least he could no longer complain that the others refused to drink with him.
Daisy found Tish seated at her dressing-table, cold-creaming her face. “I’m glad to see intellectual pursuits don’t preclude a touch of vanity,” she said.
“I’m not really frightfully intellectual,” Tish admitted, echoing her mother’s view, “but my aunt—Cherry’s mother—would have been madly disappointed if I hadn’t gone up. I’m determined to get my degree if it kills me.”
“As bad as that?”
“No, not really. I can manage, as long as I don’t fall behind. But oh, Daisy, I’m desperately worried about Rollo.”
“Cherry told me he’s more pipped about failing his exams than he seems.” Foreseeing a lengthy exposition, Daisy plumped down on the bed, glad to see Tish’s pink cotton pyjamas laid out on the camp-bed.
“He feels he’s let me down by spending time rowing when he should have been swotting.
You see, he’d planned to go into the Foreign Service right away and save up so that we could marry when I go down next year.
He’s frightfully keen on the Foreign Service, but he’d never be more than a clerk without his degree. ”
“I suppose not.”
“I want him to stay on at Ambrose and retake his Schools, but he’s talking about leaving and trying to find some sort of work that will pay enough to marry on. It doesn’t help that he’s older than most undergrads.”
“Haven’t his people any money?”
“There’s an older brother, and two younger. They’ll pay for another year of college, but then he’s on his own. We’re on our own,” Tish said fiercely. “I will marry him. The fathead refuses
to be properly engaged because he doesn’t want to tie me down. I’ll have some money from Father, and I’d be happy to get a job too, but he refuses to ‘sponge’ on me. He’s so damned noble!” she said with a sort of half sob.
“If he stayed and got his degree, then … ?”
“Then he’d go into the Foreign Service and I suppose we’d have to wait another year or so. But maybe not. After all, we’d have another whole year together in Oxford and I’d have a chance to work on him.”
“I dare say you’d prevail. What does Cherry think?” Daisy asked.
“Oh, he’s all in favour of Rollo staying on, but he doesn’t really understand how Rollo feels, especially about the Foreign Service. The university is Cherry’s whole life, you see.”
“He’s more or less been brought up in it, hasn’t he?”
Tish nodded. “He and Dottie are all set to follow in his parents’ footsteps, and you simply can’t imagine how much I envy them!
” Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her woebegone face.
She swiped them away. “I’m sorry, I’m being a rotten hostess.
Would you like a bath? I’m sure there’s enough hot water left. ”
“That’s all right, I had one this morning. A wash will do me.”
Her cousin summoned up a wavering smile. “Just as well. To be perfectly truthful, I should have said I hope there’s enough hot water. You’ve no idea how much the men use. Bister swears he spends all his time stoking the boiler.”
“Just think how unbearable the house would be if they stopped taking baths!” Daisy exclaimed, slipping down from the bed and picking up her sponge-bag from the bedside table.
“Ghastly thought. Thanks for listening, Daisy. I couldn’t
talk to Mother or Dottie about it, and I feel better just for getting it off my chest.”
“Good. I’ll think about it and see if I can’t give Rollo a tactful shove in the right direction. Back in a minute.”
When she returned to the bedroom, Tish was already half asleep on her camp-bed. “Breakfast from nine on,” she mumbled. “G’night.”
“Night, Tish.” Even the mosquito bite and the grievous discovery of three new freckles on her nose could not keep Daisy awake. “Must wear a hat,” she told herself as she drifted off.
Lady Cheringham wisely avoided all the “early” morning heartiness by taking breakfast in bed. Tish, Dottie, and Daisy were made of sterner stuff. They went down to the dining room together.
Young Fosdyke, pink-cheeked and horrifyingly brighteyed for the time of day, was already half-way through a plateful of eggs and sausages.
Rollo and Cherry had also started on their breakfasts, while Wells and Poindexter were at the sideboard, investigating the contents of the covered dishes on the electric hot-plates.
When the girls appeared, the latter two stepped aside. “After you, ladies,” Wells said gallantly.
“Go ahead,” said Tish. “You need to digest yours before your race.”
“Bott’s not going to be digesting much this morning,” announced Leigh, coming into the room. “He’s not feeling too chipper. Meredith’s holding his head under the cold tap.”
“Sick as a dog.” DeLancey followed Leigh in. “I told the ass he couldn’t hold his liquor.”
“What?” Rollo jumped up. “Bott got plastered last night?”
“Bott got blotto,” Delancey confirmed smugly.
Rollo started for the door. “Just let me get my hands on the little swine!”
Daisy sped after him. When she reached the hall, he was already at the foot of the stairs. Pulling the dining-room door shut behind her, she called, “Rollo, wait!”
“What is it?” he said impatiently, turning with one foot on the bottom step.
“Bott’s not to blame, at least not entirely. He was provoked into drinking whisky when he’s used to beer. It would have taken a saint not to rise to the bait.”
“DeLancey?”
“Who else?”
Rollo groaned. “Bott’s a prize chump not to see he’s only playing DeLancey’s game.”
“Actually, the way DeLancey put it, he won either way. That man seems to delight in causing trouble, even if it means cutting off his own nose to spite his face, though of course he’s in the four, too. Will it wreck your eights race?”
“I can’t tell till I see how bad he is. Will you ask Tish to send up buckets of black coffee?” Rollo continued on his way, taking the stairs two at a time.
Daisy relayed his request, then helped herself to bacon, toast, and tea. Joining Dottie and Cherry, luckily at the far end of the table from DeLancey, she quietly explained the extenuating circumstances of Bott’s hangover.
Fosdyke continued to munch placidly. Leigh, Poindexter,
and Wells, all to some degree implicated in the cox’s downfall, were rather shamefaced. They said nothing to the purpose, however, their sidelong glances at DeLancey suggesting that they did not care to risk becoming targets of his malice.
DeLancey, for a wonder, appeared slightly uncomfortable. Could he be having second thoughts about jeopardising the eight’s chances? Perhaps he had not thought so far ahead when he wreaked his mischief last night.
The door opened and Meredith came in, followed by Bott. Rollo brought up the rear, holding Bott’s upper arm—supportive or custodial, or both. Bott was greenish-pale and walked as if on eggshells.
“You’ll feel twice the man after a spot to eat,” said Rollo heartily.
Bott groaned and turned greener as the smells of breakfast assaulted his nostrils. “I can’t,” he moaned, stepping backwards. “Let me go back to bed and die in peace.”
“Pull yourself together, old man. We’ve a race to row in a couple of hours.”
“I can’t do it, I tell you.” He clutched his head with both hands. “My head’s going to explode. I can’t see straight, let alone steer.”
Rollo’s lips tightened. “Then I’ll phone up the stewards and see if they’ll put our heat back till this afternoon. The schedule’s pretty tight, though. I doubt they can manage it.”