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Authors: Carola Dunn
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certificate.”
“How old was Raymond when Henry died?”
“Just five. He was brought up by his mother’s family.”
“So he hardly knew his father, and if he was told anything about his grandfather he could well have forgotten.”
“His mother used to say his great-grandfather was an English lord. That’s really all he knows. Raymond’s baptismal certificate names his father as Henry Herbert Dalrymple of Jamaica, giving no age, no profession.”
“It sounds as if he was in search of a profession when he died.”
“You could put it that way. Once again, the earlier certificates aren’t what they might be. The church where Henry married Alice and Raymond was baptised, by an itinerant preacher, burned down in one of their wars or uprisings, and bureaucracy didn’t hold much sway in the wilds in those days.”
“So once again there’s no proof. Most unsatisfactory.” Daisy frowned at the family branch:
?Julian
Henry Herbert Dalrymple m. Alice Pritchard
Raymond m.?
Stanley
“Raymond’s beginning to sound a lot like Vincent,” she said.
“Oh, far superior. In his own estimation, at least. The brother-in-law struck a vein of diamonds, or a pipe, or whatever they call it. The family went into the diamond business and prospered mightily, including Raymond, whom his mother’s family more or less adopted. He’s not here in hope of becoming viscount, he’s here to find out whether the estate is worth his while bothering to enter the lists. He wanted me to describe Fairacres and provide information about income and expenses.”
“What cheek! Did you tell him about the other claimants?”
“Only that there are others. When I refused to give him the financial details he asked for, he said he would motor down to Worcestershire and call on Lord Dalrymple, so as to see Fairacres for himself. I’ve written to warn them.”
* * *
Somewhat to Daisy’s surprise, she received a letter from Lady Dalrymple begging her to go and stay at Fairacres for the weekend.
Raymond Dalrymple had written to announce that he would call on Saturday afternoon. Cousin Geraldine wanted Daisy’s advice and support in meeting him.
If Geraldine had simply summoned Daisy, she might have refused in spite of her curiosity about Raymond. She couldn’t resist a plea for help, however, especially as she was dying to meet Raymond. He had already managed to annoy her by not giving permission for her to attend his meeting with Tommy.
Besides, June was her favourite month in the country, when trees and fields still wore their fresh spring green.
The weather was beautiful, so she decided to drive rather than be stuck in a stuffy train. It was a pretty route, through the Chilterns and the Cotswolds, though negotiating the streets of Oxford in between could be tricky.
She set out on Friday morning. The A-40 from London to Oxford was quite busy but all went smoothly. She managed not to run over any undergraduates—or dons, come to that—in the streets of Oxford. Beyond the city the traffic thinned out, and she was able to enjoy sailing through the countryside in her sky blue Gwynne Eight.
After stopping for a picnic lunch, she came in midafternoon to a high point with a view over the Vale of Evesham. Just over the crest, a convenient gateway in the drystone wall offered a place to pull over. She got out and, shading her eyes, gazed over the fruitful valley of the Severn to the Malvern Hills and the distant, hazy-blue line of the Brecon Beacons beyond.
Once that sight had meant she was nearly home. Now she was a visitor.
“Brace up,” she told herself firmly. If it weren’t for the war, if Gervaise had not been killed, he would have married, perhaps someone she disliked. She would have married Michael.… Best not to dwell on that. One way or another, Fairacres would have ceased to be her home.
Sighing, she turned back towards the car. The right front tyre was flat.
“Blast!” Hands on hips, she glared at it.
Alec
“How old was Raymond when Henry died?”
“Just five. He was brought up by his mother’s family.”
“So he hardly knew his father, and if he was told anything about his grandfather he could well have forgotten.”
“His mother used to say his great-grandfather was an English lord. That’s really all he knows. Raymond’s baptismal certificate names his father as Henry Herbert Dalrymple of Jamaica, giving no age, no profession.”
“It sounds as if he was in search of a profession when he died.”
“You could put it that way. Once again, the earlier certificates aren’t what they might be. The church where Henry married Alice and Raymond was baptised, by an itinerant preacher, burned down in one of their wars or uprisings, and bureaucracy didn’t hold much sway in the wilds in those days.”
“So once again there’s no proof. Most unsatisfactory.” Daisy frowned at the family branch:
?Julian
Henry Herbert Dalrymple m. Alice Pritchard
Raymond m.?
Stanley
“Raymond’s beginning to sound a lot like Vincent,” she said.
“Oh, far superior. In his own estimation, at least. The brother-in-law struck a vein of diamonds, or a pipe, or whatever they call it. The family went into the diamond business and prospered mightily, including Raymond, whom his mother’s family more or less adopted. He’s not here in hope of becoming viscount, he’s here to find out whether the estate is worth his while bothering to enter the lists. He wanted me to describe Fairacres and provide information about income and expenses.”
“What cheek! Did you tell him about the other claimants?”
“Only that there are others. When I refused to give him the financial details he asked for, he said he would motor down to Worcestershire and call on Lord Dalrymple, so as to see Fairacres for himself. I’ve written to warn them.”
* * *
Somewhat to Daisy’s surprise, she received a letter from Lady Dalrymple begging her to go and stay at Fairacres for the weekend.
Raymond Dalrymple had written to announce that he would call on Saturday afternoon. Cousin Geraldine wanted Daisy’s advice and support in meeting him.
If Geraldine had simply summoned Daisy, she might have refused in spite of her curiosity about Raymond. She couldn’t resist a plea for help, however, especially as she was dying to meet Raymond. He had already managed to annoy her by not giving permission for her to attend his meeting with Tommy.
Besides, June was her favourite month in the country, when trees and fields still wore their fresh spring green.
The weather was beautiful, so she decided to drive rather than be stuck in a stuffy train. It was a pretty route, through the Chilterns and the Cotswolds, though negotiating the streets of Oxford in between could be tricky.
She set out on Friday morning. The A-40 from London to Oxford was quite busy but all went smoothly. She managed not to run over any undergraduates—or dons, come to that—in the streets of Oxford. Beyond the city the traffic thinned out, and she was able to enjoy sailing through the countryside in her sky blue Gwynne Eight.
After stopping for a picnic lunch, she came in midafternoon to a high point with a view over the Vale of Evesham. Just over the crest, a convenient gateway in the drystone wall offered a place to pull over. She got out and, shading her eyes, gazed over the fruitful valley of the Severn to the Malvern Hills and the distant, hazy-blue line of the Brecon Beacons beyond.
Once that sight had meant she was nearly home. Now she was a visitor.
“Brace up,” she told herself firmly. If it weren’t for the war, if Gervaise had not been killed, he would have married, perhaps someone she disliked. She would have married Michael.… Best not to dwell on that. One way or another, Fairacres would have ceased to be her home.
Sighing, she turned back towards the car. The right front tyre was flat.
“Blast!” Hands on hips, she glared at it.
Alec
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