Chapter 2 #2
“By marriage. Sort of. My mother was Uncle Humphrey’s favourite cousin. Aunt Lorna is his sister, so she’s really more of an aunt than Aunt Ruby is. My name is Olney, though. I’m sure you’d like tea, wouldn’t you? Aunt Lorna, how about a spot of tea?”
“And who’s to bring in Mrs. Fletcher’s bags, I’d like to know? The girls have gone home already.”
Daisy was about to announce that she was quite capable of bringing in her own bags, but Myra said carelessly, “Oh, Walter’s man can fetch them, can’t he, darling? Be an angel and find him. And he may as well take her car round to the stable yard, Walter, while he’s about it.”
Wondering whether the “darling” was a casual modernism or a sign of a close relationship, Daisy let herself be bustled up to her room to powder her nose while Walter Ilkton departed through one of the doors at the rear, a trifle sulkily.
“Is Mr. Ilkton another relative?” Daisy asked.
“Heavens no! I made his acquaintance at a house-party last year. He’s utterly dotty about me, you know. He actually wears that frightful tie-pin I gave him. I bought it in Woolworths for a shilling, as a lark. I can’t decide whether it’s a scream or simply too divine of him.”
“I wonder if he’d go so far as to wear it in London if you met him there.”
“Oh, I do see him in town, quite a bit.” She giggled. “And no, he doesn’t wear it there.”
“Is he staying for long?”
“As long as he’s allowed, I expect. He wrote to say he was going to visit an elderly relative at Smedley’s Hydro in Matlock—he has Expectations; not that he needs them, he’s rich as Midas, which is why the pearl is so funny—and as he’d be nearby, he said, he’d like to pop in to say hello.
Of course, Aunt Ruby invited him to stay the night.
That was three days ago and he’s showing no signs of leaving.
Last time he visited his elderly relative, he stayed for a week. ”
“Doesn’t your uncle mind?”
“He’s having one of his bad spells, poor dear. Aunt Ruby may have told him Walter’s here, but their paths haven’t crossed.”
“I’m sorry he’s unwell. It’s not a very good time for me to visit.”
“It’s nothing serious. He gets sort of depressed and lethargic and dopey, and all he wants to do is sleep all day.”
“Rotten for him,” Daisy commiserated.
“It would cast a bit of a blight over all of us if I let it. I come down from town now and then to cheer them all up.” Myra opened a door.
“Here you are. You should have everything you need. I did your room myself. Well, with Betty. She’s one of the farm girls who comes in.
The other one’s Etta. Very confusing, like a tongue-twister—I get mixed up and call them Betta and Ettie.
But I do help when I’m at home, whatever Aunt Lorna says! She likes to play the martyr.”
“That was my impression.”
“How right you were! Bathroom and lav opposite. Running water laid on, piped down from the spring where the stream rises. But if you’d like a bath, please mention it to an aunt in advance because the boiler takes simply ages to heat up again afterwards.
Speaking of heat, I’m frozen.” She hugged herself, shivering.
“I think I’ll go and put on a cardigan, however much it disappoints Walter.
Perhaps even woollen stockings, if I can find any, and sensible shoes. ”
“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Daisy agreed, boggling at the vision of that frock topping woollen stockings and sensible shoes. “When you’ve done that, would you mind letting Sybil know I’ve arrived?”
Myra looked doubtful. “Is it five o’clock? We’re absolutely not allowed to disturb her before five.”
Daisy checked her wristwatch. “By the time you’ve put on your woollies, it will be.”
“So that’s why it’s so beastly dark in the old house! The windows are bigger in the wings, so it’s lighter here, but would you like a couple of candles? Unless you’d rather have a lamp? We don’t usually bother with them upstairs until it’s time to change for dinner…”
“No, no, thanks, it’s quite light enough.”
“Right-oh. I’m glad you’ve come, after all. You’re not a bit like I expected an old school friend of Sybil’s to be.”
“Quite human, in fact.”
“What? Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t have said that! Sorry! Come down as soon as you’re ready. I happen to know Aunt Ruby’s made a sponge cake for tea.”
Divesting herself of hat, gloves, and coat, Daisy wondered what on earth she had let herself in for.
She hadn’t expected the acme of comfort in a farmhouse, however well adapted for an author who could afford a secretary-cum-personal assistant.
However, Sybil might at least have warned her that half a dozen people would apparently be sharing an unreliable hot-water supply and a minimal, part-time staff.
Did Mrs. Birtwhistle reign in the kitchen, or merely make an occasional cake for visitors?
Did she do all the gardening, too, or just pull weeds she happened to notice when cutting flowers?
Was the drooping Lorna really as put-upon as she made out?
Were the farm girls who came in by the day the only servants when Walter Ilkton, with his man in tow, wasn’t wearing out his welcome?
Still, the bedroom looked comfortable enough.
A knock on the door presaged the arrival of Ilkton’s manservant with Daisy’s suitcases. A small, neat, sandy man, very correctly clad in black, he didn’t look at all as if he’d be willing to lend a hand with such tasks as stoking the boiler and scrubbing the kitchen floor.
Though she was dying for a cup of tea, Daisy dawdled over making herself presentable to go down.
She hoped Sybil would come and explain the situation more frankly than she had felt able to in the presence of Lucy or by letter.
At least she could give Daisy more information about the inhabitants of the house.
But Sybil didn’t come. Daisy was tired and thirsty. She was probably keeping the others from their tea. Besides, it might be more useful to meet them without preconceptions, without being influenced by Sybil’s view of them.
Among other things she didn’t know, she realised, was what sort of books the “dopey” Mr. Birtwhistle wrote, and under what name.