Chapter Five
FIVE
Daisy and Alec had retired early, though a considerable time passed before they settled to sleep.
Daisy lay in bed, curled up against Alec, with his arm around her waist. He was already asleep.
She mused on how wonderful life was. Before she was married, she hadn’t realized that one could miss a person physically as well as emotionally, and after just a couple of days apart.
She was glad they had a double bed. No modern nonsense about separate singles in this old-fashioned house, she was thinking drowsily, when she heard Belinda scream.
“Daddy!”
Alec stirred. Daisy sprang out of bed. Not wasting time hunting for her abandoned nightie, she grabbed her dressing-gown, pulling it on as she felt her way through the pitch-darkness, barefooted on the chilly polished floorboards. Where was the door? Oh for the flip of a switch!
A narrow line of light from a lamp left burning in the passage showed her the way. Flinging open the door, she stumbled up the awkward stairs to Belinda’s room. The child’s voice was a wail now: “Daddy!”
“Darling, I’m here. Everything’s all right. Did you have a bad dream?” As she spoke, Daisy gathered the sobbing girl in her arms and glanced around the dimly lit room.
A paler rectangle—the door to the clergyman’s bedroom was open. Daisy’s upbringing had not been so sheltered that she hadn’t heard tales of clergymen who …
“A ghost! It was a ghost, Mummy, all white, moaning and rattling its chains.”
“Did it touch you, darling?” Even as she spoke, Daisy became aware of voices in the next room. “Wait here, Belinda, I’m going to see just what’s going on.”
Mr. Calloway, fully dressed, had the ghost by its thoroughly corporeal wrist. It had on an ankle-length white garment, with a lacy white shawl completely covering its head.
“… dabbling in the occult,” the clergyman was saying sternly, “a highly dangerous pastime. You put your immortal soul in danger for the sake of a silly prank.”
“Let me go! It was just in fun.”
“Jemima,” whispered Belinda, slipping her hand into Daisy’s. “She doesn’t like Derek and me.”
“The supernatural is not ‘fun.’ From playing the ghost, you may easily come to the deadly sin of attempting to raise ghosts and spirits.”
“I hardly think so,” said Daisy, walking in. “A stupid bit of mischief, that’s all, isn’t it, Jemima? I have a word to say to you, young lady, but we don’t want to keep Mr. Calloway from his devotions.” She had noticed a pillow on the floor by the bed, indented by two knees.
“I am sorry to hear you make light of this, Mrs. Fletcher. However, this is not the time for serious remonstrances. I shall speak to her parents in the morning and ask their permission to see if I cannot make her see the evil of her tricks. This is a troubled house. I shall pray for all within its walls.”
Daisy was tempted to say, “Not for me, thank you,” but that would be a very bad example for the girls; and anyway, she was far too well brought up.
“Good night,” she said instead, and beckoned imperiously to the ghost. She was her mother’s daughter in that, she thought ruefully.
Even with bare feet and no night-dress under her dressing-gown, she could make a gesture imperious enough to bring Jemima slouching after her into Belinda’s room.
Shutting the door, she moved to stand on the bedside rug, saying, “Belinda, get back into bed before you catch cold. Jemima, take your grandmother’s shawl off your head, if you please.
Now tell me, why did you play such an unkind trick on a younger child who is a guest in your house? Why did you want to frighten Belinda?”
“I didn’t care about frightening Belinda,” Jemima said sulkily. “I just wanted to make Mr. Calloway go away.”
“Mr. Calloway? Why on earth…?”
“He’s upset everyone. He’s going to absolutely ruin Christmas! I suppose you’ll tell everyone what I did,” she snarled at Belinda.
“No, I shan’t. I don’t carry tales.”
“Mr. Calloway’s going to tell your parents,” Daisy pointed out. “You’ll have to explain to them what it was all about. Now you’d better get to bed. Off you go.”
Jemima left through the door to the landing, which Daisy had left open. As she closed it behind her, the handle rattled slightly.
“That’s what it was,” said Belinda. “That’s the noise I thought was chains. It must have been Mr. Calloway’s door handle, and I should think what woke me up was when she came in through Derek’s door.”
“She came through Derek’s room?”
“I think so. When I saw her, she was coming from that direction. Do you think he’s all right?” Bel started climbing out of bed.
“You just stay put, young lady, and do your best to go back to sleep. I’ll see to Derek.”
Daisy wondered if she’d find her intrepid nephew cowering under the bedclothes. She should have known better. He was fast asleep, sprawled on his back, the bedclothes around his waist. She pulled them up around his neck, tucked them in, and went back to her own room.
Alec was as fast asleep as Derek. Of course, he’d worked hard all week and had had the exhausting task of bringing her mother plus children and puppy from London to Brockdene.
Yet before their marriage he would have awakened at the slightest sound of distress from his precious daughter.
Daisy sighed. She supposed it was flattering that, even dead to the world, he relied on her to take care of Bel.
Icy feet against his thighs brought only an indistinct mutter as his arm closed around her again.
Feeling wide awake she started to try to puzzle out what Jemima had really been up to, and what it had to do with whatever was going on with the rest of the Norvilles.
But in spite of the subject’s fascination, within a couple of minutes she drifted off.
When Daisy and Alec went down to breakfast on Christmas Eve, only Miles was in the dining room.
“Your two are off somewhere doing something deadly secret,” he reported, as they helped themselves from the sideboard.
“Not outside, I hope,” said Daisy, looking at the rain beating against the window.
“I think not. They took the pup out for a quick dash earlier, then apologized profusely to her for shutting her up again, so I suspect they’re in the old house. I suppose they’re to be trusted not to do any damage?”
“Oh yes, they’re good children.” Daisy sat down opposite the young man.
“On the whole,” Alec qualified. “You did warn them to be especially careful, I trust?”
“I told them Father would beat them within an inch of their lives if anything was broken. I remember the time I … Ah well, that’s water under the bridge.
It’s about the only thing that really gets his goat.
The Rev was fulminating against Jemima this morning, but Father didn’t seem to care a hoot.
I don’t suppose you know what that was all about? ”
Daisy exchanged a glance with Alec, whom she’d told about the night’s adventures.
“I see you know all and are not going to tell me,” said Miles.
“Ah well, I’ll worm it out of Mother. She was pretty annoyed about Jemima’s shenanigans.
Jemima’s been sent up to wind wool for Gran.
I was asked to present Mother’s excuses for not being here when you came down.
She’s gone to consult Mrs. Pardon about Christmas frolics, the Pardon being expected to cooperate for once because there’s a ‘Lady’ in the house, with a capital L.
Said Lady is breakfasting in bed, I understand. ”
“Said Lady always does,” Daisy affirmed. “I hope Mrs. Pardon has assigned a maid to her full time. I’m surprised she didn’t bring her own woman.”
“Lady Dalrymple gave her maid Christmas off,” said Alec, “assuming that Lord Westwood’s house would have plenty of well-trained servants.”
“Plenty of housemaids.” Miles looked at Daisy. “Am I out of line, Mrs. Fletcher, if I say we’ve all been wondering why Lady Dalrymple chose to come to Brockdene for Christmas?”
“I never attempt to explain anything Mother does,” Daisy said lightly. “Where is everyone else?”
“The Rev’s in the Chapel, praying to be preserved from Gran’s idols. You haven’t seen them yet, have you, sir? I’ll take you up after breakfast, if you like. They’re rather magnificent.”
“So Daisy tells me.”
“Uncle Victor’s dragged a couple of gardeners out to cut a Christmas tree and some greenery. Flick … Oh, good morning, sir.” Miles jumped up as an elderly gentleman in a decidedly damp tweed suit came into the room.
“Sit down, sit down, my boy, and finish your breakfast.”
“Just a last cup of coffee. Will you have one? Mrs. Fletcher, may I present my grandfather, James Tremayne? Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, sir.”
So this was the solicitor, Dora Norville’s father, who had paid for Miles’s schooling and now employed him. “How do you do, Mr. Tremayne,” Daisy said with a smile. “Don’t tell me you walked over from Calstock in this weather?”
“Pooh, pooh, a bit of a breeze and a drop of rain, nothing to a countryman, Mrs. Fletcher, I assure you.” He stood on the hearth, his back to the fire, his steaming clothes releasing an odour of cigars into the room.
“Now, the weather forecast is something different. I listened to it this morning on my wireless receiver. I have an excellent wireless set. They say this wind will grow to gale force in the course of the morning. That’s why I came over early. ”
“We’re quite sheltered at Brockdene,” said Miles, taking his grandfather a cup of coffee. “I dare say it won’t amount to much except for those at sea. But you’d better reckon to spend the night, sir.”
“Perhaps so, perhaps so. I wouldn’t wish to put out Lord Westmoor’s guests.”
“You won’t do that, Mr. Tremayne,” Daisy assured him. Her mother could not possibly have any greater objection to a country solicitor than she already did to a dark-skinned poor relation, and her host’s absence. “The more the merrier, especially at Christmas.”