Chapter 13 #2
“I’m afraid not,” John said wryly. “The doctor says no more children. I’ll be glad to see Derek off her hands this week, especially as I’m going to have to go home for a couple of days.
The hop harvest is just getting going and it’s the one thing my bailiff isn’t comfortable handling on his own, with all the pickers coming down from the East End. ”
“You’ll be back for Edgar’s birthday?”
“Of course. But if you could keep an eye on Violet while I’m away, and make sure she doesn’t overexert herself.… You know how she likes to spend time with the children.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her, and Derek can bring his things over tomorrow after church.” Daisy went to talk to her sister.
“Has John been telling you I’m at death’s door?” Violet asked resignedly, in a soft voice. “Don’t go spreading it about, will you, Daisy?”
“Of course not, darling. Is it true?”
“Just a bit done up from the journey. You know how I hate to travel, and John gets in a fuss. I just need a couple of days of peace and quiet and I’ll be perfectly all right for Edgar’s birthday ‘spree,’ as Derek insists on calling it.”
“You’ll have much more peace and quiet if Derek comes to the house.”
“Y-yes. I suppose, if you and Alec think the … that boy is an acceptable friend for Belinda.…” She glanced at the three children, who had their heads together as if they’d known each other for years.
“Much as I love him, he’s at that awkward age—active and noisy, but too old to be sent to the nursery.
All right,” she conceded with a sigh. “And I won’t even ask you to try to keep him out of mischief. It’s impossible.”
Daisy briefly wondered whether she had bitten off more than she could chew.
She took comfort in the thought that Edgar and Geraldine were both accustomed to dealing with large numbers of children at that “awkward” age.
Derek, Bel, and Ben must be encouraged to work off their excess energy in insect-hunting expeditions.
As usual, as the party from Fairacres was leaving, Lady Dalrymple had the last word. “You didn’t bring the twins, Daisy. Belinda is a nice enough child, but after all, she’s only a stepgranddaughter.…”
“Mother, it’s past their bedtime! You’ll see them tomorrow. I nearly forgot, Geraldine’s invited everyone to lunch.”
“Nearly forgot to pass on an invitation? Well, I must say, modern manners are quite extraordinary! I suppose we shall have to go, though I don’t know how the woman has the nerve to ask me to be a guest in what should be my own home!”
Daisy dutifully kissed her cheek, rounded up the flock, and left the Dower House with all possible speed.
On the way home, they met Frank Crowley coming along the footpath from the village, which joined their path. “I’ve always wanted to see an English country pub,” he explained. “That young chap Ernest—the vice-butler?”
“Footman,” Alec told him.
“I asked his advice and he told me how to get to the Wedge and Beetle in Morton Green. Nice place. Good beer.”
“I’ll come with you one evening,” said Alec. “I stayed there a few years ago and found it friendlier to strangers than some I could name.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you’d like to go too … er … Vincent?”
“Certainly, certainly,” Vincent agreed insincerely.
Catching Alec’s eye, Daisy was fairly certain the invitation would not have been extended if he had thought for a moment that a country pub held any attraction for Vincent.
When they reached the house, it was time to change for dinner. Ernest met them in the hall with instructions from Geraldine that black ties would not be worn. Daisy was not surprised. Edgar loathed evening dress as much as Alec did, and the chance of Mr. Crowley owning a dinner jacket seemed slim.
Belinda pulled at her sleeve. “Mummy!” she whispered urgently.
“Ernest, did her ladyship mention whether Miss Belinda and Master Benjamin are to join us?”
“Oh yes, madam. My lady expects the young people to dine with the company.” He gave a slight bow towards said young people, who exchanged a happy smile and made for the stairs.
Ernest said to Daisy in a lowered voice, “Mr. Crowley asked for Master Benjamin to be seated tonight with the rest of the—er—cousins, so as not to make an exception of him. My lady expects the young people, given a choice, to choose not to dine with the grown-ups after the first time.”
“My lady is experienced in the ways of young people,” Daisy agreed, laughing, remembering the excruciating boredom of grown-up dinner parties.
Daisy and Alec followed the Vincent Dalrymples and the children upstairs. Belinda was waiting at their bedroom door.
“Should I wear my best frock, Mummy?”
“Second best, pet. Save the best for Uncle Edgar’s birthday. And come and see me before you go down. I’ll help you with your hair.”
“Oh yes, I want to go down with you and Daddy.”
“Of course. Would you go and ask Aunt Martha whether she needs any help? Let me know if it’s something you can’t do for her. You know which is her room?”
“Yes. Did you know Aunt Geraldine put Ben in the turret room? She says it’s perfect for boys.” It had been Gervaise’s room in the all-too-short years between nursery and war. “It’s not really fair, because I think it’s perfect for girls, too, but it’s nice of Aunt Geraldine, and Ben’s happy.”
“You like Ben?”
“Oh yes. He was telling Derek and me all sorts of interesting stuff about Trinidad. We’re going to go and visit him there when we’re grown-up, unless he’s the next Lord Dalrymple.”
Pondering this possibility, Daisy took a moment to write down Ben’s family branch:
Julian?
Josiah m.?
John m. Dolores
Lucas m. Susanna (m. 2 Frank Crowley)
Anita Benjamin ++
Benjamin, Viscount Dalrymple? No more improbable, really, than Raymond, Vincent, or Martha’s Sam.