handing a small, flat, wrapped box to Daisy. ‘What’s this about a duchess?’
‘Some of this nonsense about Violet being presented,’ grunted the Earl. ‘How are you, Guy? Looking forward to a chinwag with you – got a drag hunt coming up in a few days if you care to stay on for that.’ He was always in a good humour when Sir Guy arrived and a drag hunt was his favourite form of amusement.
‘Excuse me, my lord.’ Bateman approached. ‘Morgan wishes to know if you need the car at the moment, or if he may –’ Bateman coughed – ‘attend to his duties upstairs until we hear about the Duchess’s train.’
Daisy smothered a giggle. Bateman sounded as though playing the drums was some obscure form of chauffeuring.
‘No, tell him to carry on,’ said the Earl, sounding a little more cheerful. ‘What do you think about that, Guy? My chauffeur has a jazz band. Sign of the times, eh? Jolly good they are too.’ He liked Morgan and was amused at the idea that his chauffeur had formed a jazz band from the neighbouring young people and one of his daughters. ‘They’ve been practising for most of the afternoon,’ he added. ‘You should hear Poppy play that clarinet. You’d think she was a professional.’ Poppy, in her father’s eyes, could do no wrong.
Daisy unpeeled the wrapping from the box – probably sweets, she thought. Although Sir Guy showered her with presents, he generally treated her as though she was about eight years old.
But there was an inner wrapping. And this time it was an expensive-looking embossed paper with a silver sheen. Daisy took that off more carefully and then opened the lid of the box and there, coiled on a bed of pale pink velvet, was a rope of shimmering pearls.
‘Your father said that you were all getting dressed up for Violet’s party,’ grunted Sir Guy.
For a moment Daisy said nothing. The pearls were exquisite – and the string was very, very long. They would be just perfect with her short pink silk dress. There was a picture of someone wearing a rope of pearls just like that in one of Violet’s magazines. She flung her arms around Sir Guy and kissed his wrinkled old cheek.
‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’
‘Very generous of you, Guy, old man,’ said the Earl. He had a look of regret on his face and Daisy guessed that he was thinking of Violet. She should have been the first to have pearls. If only he had not put so much of his money in that unlucky diamond mine in India. Daisy could see from the way his face darkened and the lines around his mouth tightened that he was thinking of that unlucky investment.
‘Better get back in the library,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Aunt Lizzie is like a cat on hot bricks. We’ve had a telegram from Violet’s godmother, the Duchess of Denton. She’s on her way to France, but she will stop off to give Violet her birthday present. Lizzie, of course, has got it into her head that if everything goes well the Duchess will take up Violet and present her at court or something like that. Stupid idea – can’t stand the woman.’
‘Excuse me, my lord.’ Bateman had appeared again. ‘That was the stationmaster on the phone. He says that the London train left on time and we should expect Her Grace to be at the village station in just over an hour.’
‘Better have a quick brandy before she descends on us.’ The Earl shot back into the library and Daisy grabbed Sir Guy’s sleeve.
‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and hide, or else Great-Aunt Lizzie will think that you should be standing around ready to be polite to the Duchess a good hour before she arrives.’
She took him upstairs and into the blue bedroom. She had been in and out of this room during the afternoon and everything was ready. The fire was burning well, she noticed and on a small table beside the comfortable old armchair she had placed a decanter with some of her father’s favourite brandy in it. She took her godfather’s coat from him and
‘Some of this nonsense about Violet being presented,’ grunted the Earl. ‘How are you, Guy? Looking forward to a chinwag with you – got a drag hunt coming up in a few days if you care to stay on for that.’ He was always in a good humour when Sir Guy arrived and a drag hunt was his favourite form of amusement.
‘Excuse me, my lord.’ Bateman approached. ‘Morgan wishes to know if you need the car at the moment, or if he may –’ Bateman coughed – ‘attend to his duties upstairs until we hear about the Duchess’s train.’
Daisy smothered a giggle. Bateman sounded as though playing the drums was some obscure form of chauffeuring.
‘No, tell him to carry on,’ said the Earl, sounding a little more cheerful. ‘What do you think about that, Guy? My chauffeur has a jazz band. Sign of the times, eh? Jolly good they are too.’ He liked Morgan and was amused at the idea that his chauffeur had formed a jazz band from the neighbouring young people and one of his daughters. ‘They’ve been practising for most of the afternoon,’ he added. ‘You should hear Poppy play that clarinet. You’d think she was a professional.’ Poppy, in her father’s eyes, could do no wrong.
Daisy unpeeled the wrapping from the box – probably sweets, she thought. Although Sir Guy showered her with presents, he generally treated her as though she was about eight years old.
But there was an inner wrapping. And this time it was an expensive-looking embossed paper with a silver sheen. Daisy took that off more carefully and then opened the lid of the box and there, coiled on a bed of pale pink velvet, was a rope of shimmering pearls.
‘Your father said that you were all getting dressed up for Violet’s party,’ grunted Sir Guy.
For a moment Daisy said nothing. The pearls were exquisite – and the string was very, very long. They would be just perfect with her short pink silk dress. There was a picture of someone wearing a rope of pearls just like that in one of Violet’s magazines. She flung her arms around Sir Guy and kissed his wrinkled old cheek.
‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’
‘Very generous of you, Guy, old man,’ said the Earl. He had a look of regret on his face and Daisy guessed that he was thinking of Violet. She should have been the first to have pearls. If only he had not put so much of his money in that unlucky diamond mine in India. Daisy could see from the way his face darkened and the lines around his mouth tightened that he was thinking of that unlucky investment.
‘Better get back in the library,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Aunt Lizzie is like a cat on hot bricks. We’ve had a telegram from Violet’s godmother, the Duchess of Denton. She’s on her way to France, but she will stop off to give Violet her birthday present. Lizzie, of course, has got it into her head that if everything goes well the Duchess will take up Violet and present her at court or something like that. Stupid idea – can’t stand the woman.’
‘Excuse me, my lord.’ Bateman had appeared again. ‘That was the stationmaster on the phone. He says that the London train left on time and we should expect Her Grace to be at the village station in just over an hour.’
‘Better have a quick brandy before she descends on us.’ The Earl shot back into the library and Daisy grabbed Sir Guy’s sleeve.
‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and hide, or else Great-Aunt Lizzie will think that you should be standing around ready to be polite to the Duchess a good hour before she arrives.’
She took him upstairs and into the blue bedroom. She had been in and out of this room during the afternoon and everything was ready. The fire was burning well, she noticed and on a small table beside the comfortable old armchair she had placed a decanter with some of her father’s favourite brandy in it. She took her godfather’s coat from him and
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