it’s mostly organizing the moving of furniture.”
“I’m not volunteering for that! Neither the organizing nor the moving.”
“Certainly not,” said Lady Tyndall, giving Daisy her faint, exhausted smile. “Why don’t you take a nap after the morning’s exertions? That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Yes, do, Daisy,” said Gwen, seconding her mother. “Then you’ll be full of beans for the evening’s exertions.”
“Gwen, dear, where on earth did you come by such a dreadful ex pression!” Lady Tyndall gave Miller a look cold enough to turn the lily pond into solid ice.
“At school, Mother. See you later, Daisy.”
Daisy and Lady Tyndall went slowly upstairs together. “I don’t know,” Lady Tyndall said wretchedly. “I really don’t know. Gwen is twenty-seven, and if he’s the only chance she’s going to have to marry . . . But he’s encouraging Jack to go off to Coventry— to be an engineer, of all things!— and I was so looking forward to having him home for good at last. What do you think of Mr. Miller?”
“I like him,” said Daisy, and refused to be drawn further.
The guy propped up by the front door to greet the Tyndalls’ guests wore a long frilly nightgown and a lace nightcap, from which the mask of a wolf peered out.
“Gwen found the clothes when she turned out some old trunks in the loft,” Jack explained to Daisy. “The wolf in ‘ Little Red Riding Hood’ used to terrify me when I was little, so I thought I’d take my revenge. There’s no law says the guy has to be a person.”
“No, and after all, the whole thing is really for the children.”
He grinned. “Don’t let Father hear you pronounce such blasphemy!”
“I shan’t. Your wolf looks quite sinister in the dusk with just the oil lanterns lighting it.”
“Electric light would spoil the effect. Here comes someone. Let’s go in, or we’ll end up exchanging greetings on the doorstep and freezing, and spoiling Jennings’s fun the one time of year he actually opens the door.”
Headlamps approached along the drive. Jack and Daisy slipped into the house. A screen had been set up before the door in an attempt to keep some of the cold air out as guests entered. Jennings waited there, a small, bent figure in his best, slightly less rusty black.
The invitations had stated “Dress for warmth,” and Daisy had done so, wearing a long-sleeved wool frock, lisle stockings, and walking shoes for her projected visit to the meadow. She had brought her coat downstairs. The Tyndalls were equally sensibly dressed, except Adelaide. She was once again backless and sleeveless, elegant but not at all practical. Her boys were there, too, in shorts with jerseys under their school blazers. Several other guests would be bringing children, so lemonade and cocoa were provided along with the cocktails, sherry, and whisky at a long table to one side of the hall.
The hall had been rearranged, with small tables and groups of chairs throughout, ready for the buffet supper. A blaze in the fireplace looked cheerful, even if it did little to warm the air in the distant corners.
Jennings appeared around the screen and announced in his creaky voice, “Mr. and Mrs. Dryden-Jones.”
It was the only announcement Daisy heard, as his voice became totally inaudible once people started talking. She and Miller kept out of the way as the Tyndalls moved forward to welcome a swelling stream of guests. The constant opening and closing of the door chilled the air, and though the gentlemen doffed their hats of course, most people unbuttoned their coats but kept them on.
Gwen brought over Colonel Sir Nigel Wookleigh, Chief Constable of Worcestershire. He was a very tall, very thin man, whose narrow face, fringed with old-fashioned white whiskers, made Daisy think of an Afghan hound. Not only had Sir Nigel known Daisy’s father and been colonel of her brother’s regiment; he had been extremely forbearing when Daisy dragged Alec willy-nilly and
“I’m not volunteering for that! Neither the organizing nor the moving.”
“Certainly not,” said Lady Tyndall, giving Daisy her faint, exhausted smile. “Why don’t you take a nap after the morning’s exertions? That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Yes, do, Daisy,” said Gwen, seconding her mother. “Then you’ll be full of beans for the evening’s exertions.”
“Gwen, dear, where on earth did you come by such a dreadful ex pression!” Lady Tyndall gave Miller a look cold enough to turn the lily pond into solid ice.
“At school, Mother. See you later, Daisy.”
Daisy and Lady Tyndall went slowly upstairs together. “I don’t know,” Lady Tyndall said wretchedly. “I really don’t know. Gwen is twenty-seven, and if he’s the only chance she’s going to have to marry . . . But he’s encouraging Jack to go off to Coventry— to be an engineer, of all things!— and I was so looking forward to having him home for good at last. What do you think of Mr. Miller?”
“I like him,” said Daisy, and refused to be drawn further.
The guy propped up by the front door to greet the Tyndalls’ guests wore a long frilly nightgown and a lace nightcap, from which the mask of a wolf peered out.
“Gwen found the clothes when she turned out some old trunks in the loft,” Jack explained to Daisy. “The wolf in ‘ Little Red Riding Hood’ used to terrify me when I was little, so I thought I’d take my revenge. There’s no law says the guy has to be a person.”
“No, and after all, the whole thing is really for the children.”
He grinned. “Don’t let Father hear you pronounce such blasphemy!”
“I shan’t. Your wolf looks quite sinister in the dusk with just the oil lanterns lighting it.”
“Electric light would spoil the effect. Here comes someone. Let’s go in, or we’ll end up exchanging greetings on the doorstep and freezing, and spoiling Jennings’s fun the one time of year he actually opens the door.”
Headlamps approached along the drive. Jack and Daisy slipped into the house. A screen had been set up before the door in an attempt to keep some of the cold air out as guests entered. Jennings waited there, a small, bent figure in his best, slightly less rusty black.
The invitations had stated “Dress for warmth,” and Daisy had done so, wearing a long-sleeved wool frock, lisle stockings, and walking shoes for her projected visit to the meadow. She had brought her coat downstairs. The Tyndalls were equally sensibly dressed, except Adelaide. She was once again backless and sleeveless, elegant but not at all practical. Her boys were there, too, in shorts with jerseys under their school blazers. Several other guests would be bringing children, so lemonade and cocoa were provided along with the cocktails, sherry, and whisky at a long table to one side of the hall.
The hall had been rearranged, with small tables and groups of chairs throughout, ready for the buffet supper. A blaze in the fireplace looked cheerful, even if it did little to warm the air in the distant corners.
Jennings appeared around the screen and announced in his creaky voice, “Mr. and Mrs. Dryden-Jones.”
It was the only announcement Daisy heard, as his voice became totally inaudible once people started talking. She and Miller kept out of the way as the Tyndalls moved forward to welcome a swelling stream of guests. The constant opening and closing of the door chilled the air, and though the gentlemen doffed their hats of course, most people unbuttoned their coats but kept them on.
Gwen brought over Colonel Sir Nigel Wookleigh, Chief Constable of Worcestershire. He was a very tall, very thin man, whose narrow face, fringed with old-fashioned white whiskers, made Daisy think of an Afghan hound. Not only had Sir Nigel known Daisy’s father and been colonel of her brother’s regiment; he had been extremely forbearing when Daisy dragged Alec willy-nilly and
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