“Do you join in the other stuff?” she asked, adding vaguely, “Acting, and debating, and rags, and sports, and so on ⦠Oh, sports, of course.”
“I thought sports'd do it, coxing, and I play racquetsâgot my Blue in that last year, actually.”
“You play racquets for the university, not just the college? Congratulations.”
“All very well, but the toffs still don't choose to hoist a pint with me after a match,” Bott said resentfully.
His lack of popularity might have less to do with his birth than with the way he wallowed in his grievances, Daisy guessed. She nearly said so, then thought better of it. He
would be sure to take advice amiss, however well-meant, and though she felt sorry for him, she did not like him.
He took a packet of Woodbines from his shirt pocket. “Smoke?” he offered.
“No, thanks.”
He lit up the cheap cigarette, flicking the match into the river. “I suppose you never touch anything but Turkish.”
“As a matter of fact, I don't smoke at all. I don't care for the smell of cigarettes.” Pipe smoke was another matter, especially Alec's pipe.
Bott moved a step away, wafting the smoke from her with his hand. “Sorry. My girl doesn't like it, either. She's coming down this eveningâbooked a room in the townâso once I've finished this packet, I won't buy another for a few days.” His momentary cheerfulness at the prospect of his girl's arrival faded and gloom returned. “Can't really afford them, anyway.”
Tempted to start listing the things she couldn't afford, Daisy was saved by the return of the others from the direction of the boat-house. Beside it, the racing shell, too long to fit inside, now rested upside-down on supports.
Three of the men started up the lawn towards the house, a Georgian manor built of age-mellowed red brick with white sash windows. A shout followed them: “Don't hog all the hot water!”
Tish, Dottie, Cherry, and four others came towards Daisy and Bott.
“Daisy, you remember Cherry?” said Tish.
“Yes, of course.”
“How do you do, Miss Dalrymple?” the fair-haired bowoarsman greeted her.
“Daisy, please. We're practically cousins, after all.”
A grin lit his face. “Daisy it shall be, if you promise never to call me Erasmus.”
“I promise!”
During this exchange of social amenities, two of the men picked up a pair of oars each and returned towards the boat-house, while Daisy heard the dark number two rower say to the cox, “Jolly good show, Bott.”
“Thanks to St. Theresa's hitting the booms,” the fifth oarsman said sarcastically. He was dark-haired, like Number Two, but his hair was sleeked back with pomade. Daisy thought he was the sulky stroke.
“Lots of boats are hitting, with this experimental course being so deucedly narrow. Bott's steered us dead straight. We'll beat the tar out of Richmond tomorrow.”
“Not if we're all poisoned by those filthy things he smokes.”
Bott gave the stroke a malevolent look, then turned and headed for the house.
“Oh, come on, DeLancey, pack it in,” said Number Two. “Not everyone's so frightfully keen on those foul cigars of yours.”
“It sticks in my gullet taking orders from that beastly little pipsqueak twerp,” DeLancey fumed.
“All coxes are small ⦔
“Bott's no twerp!” Dottie interrupted, flaring up. “He's brainier than the rest of you put together.”
“Oh, I say,” Cherry protested.
“Well, nearly,” his fiancée affirmed, unrepentant. “You've got a good mind, my dear old soul, but his is tip-top.”
Cherry looked chagrined.
“Better watch it, Miss Carrick,” DeLancey said nastily, “or you'll be an old maid after all.”
“Here, I say!” Cherry stepped forward. “You mind your tongue, DeLancey!”
Tish put a hand on his arm. “Don't come unbuttoned, old thing. The best way to make him eat his words is to stay engaged to Dottie.”
“I shall!” her cousin snapped, “but I'd like to stuff his rotten words down
his
gullet, all the same.”
“This isn't the time for a dust-up. You've got a race to row tomorrow,” Tish reminded him.
“Common sense and pretty, too,” DeLancey applauded mockingly. “A girl with your looks is wasted on books and lectures. I'd be glad to show you how to have a good time.”
Tish turned her back on him.
Number Two, his face red with suppressed fury, said through his teeth, “Didn't I tell you it's your turn to help with the oars, DeLancey?”
“So you did, Captain, so you did.” With insolent slowness, DeLancey strolled towards the remaining two oars.
Captainâso Number Two was Tish's Rollo, as Daisy had already surmised. Fists clenched, he stared after DeLancey, then shrugged and turned back to the others.
“I'm so sorry, Daisy,” Tish apologised unhappily. “What a welcome!”
Daisy murmured something soothing.
“Oh, didn't introduce Rollo, did I?” The ready blood tinted her cheeks. “Roland Frieth, the crew captain.”
“And a pretty sorry specimen of a captain you must think me, Miss Dalrymple,” Rollo said ruefully. “Unable to squash dissension in the ranks.”
“I thought you squashed it very neatly,” Daisy said with a smile. “The oars are on their way to the boat-house, aren't they?”
They all glanced at DeLancey's retreating back.
“I ought to have introduced him, too,” Tish worried.
Dottie snorted. “He hardly gave you much opportunity.”
“One of these days,” said Cherry darkly, “he'll go too far and get his teeth shoved down his precious gullet.”
Rollo shook his head. “I doubt it. He's a boxing Blue, remember. What I'm afraid of is that one of these days he'll biff Bott.”
“Oh, Bott! He can scramble Bott's brains with my goodwill, as long as he waits till after the Regatta.”
“But, Cherry, he's twice Bott's size!” Dottie protested.
“I can't see that stopping him,” said Rollo. “For all his pater's an earl, the way he goes around insulting ladies proves he's no gentleman, and he's really got his knife into Bott.”
“Bott's no gentleman either,” Cherry muttered, “even if he is a bloody genius.”
“Oh darling!” Standing on tiptoe, Dottie kissed his cheek. “Bott's brains are absolutely the only thing about him I admire. I wouldn't marry him for a million in cash. I mean to say, how could I bear to be called Dottie Bott?”
Laughing, they all moved towards the house.
A
fternoon tea was served on the terrace. All the crew were present. Their donning of flannels and blazers seemed to Daisy to reduce them to manageable proportions. Still, even after being introduced to those she had not yet met, she wasn't sure she'd know one from the next if she met them on the river-bank.
Cherry and Rollo stood out not only in their relationship to her cousin, she realised. They were older than the others, about her own age, having fought in the War before going up to Oxford. They were third-year men, as were Horace Bott and Basil DeLancey, the rest being first and second.
Some on garden chairs and benches, some sprawled on cushions on the crazy paving, they lounged about the terrace. Tish presided over the urn and teapot as her mother had not turned up.
“Shall I go and find Aunt Cynthia?” Daisy offered, suddenly anxious as she recalled the splotches of insecticide on Lady Cheringham's blouse.
Tobacco-water didn't sound very dangerous, however noxious the fumes from cheap cigarettes. But it must contain nicotine
and that, she had a feeling, was a deadly toxin in certain circumstances. She had read a book on poisons after the Albert Hall affair, though she couldn't remember the specifics.
“I saw Lady Cheringham out in the front garden when I came down,” Rollo said, “taking a pair of shears to one of the topiary swans.”
“Mother's so thrilled to have a proper English garden, she finds it hard to drag herself away,” Tish explained.
Cherry grinned. “And Uncle Rupert can't be pried from his manuscript. You know he's writing his memoirs, Daisy? It seems to be
de rigueur
for retired colonial administrators, a sort of tic, like giving their houses frightful names like âBulawayo.' I'll take him a cup. The servants are run off their feet with this heathen lot to cater to.” He waved a careless hand at his guzzling crew-mates.
“I'll go,” said Daisy. “I haven't said hullo to Uncle Rupert yet. He's keen on cucumber sandwiches, isn't he?”
She started to pile a plate with the thin-cut, crustless triangles, but Tish, momentarily distracted by handing cups to two suppliants, turned back to stop her.
“I'm afraid Daddy's made a bolt for it,” she said, as guiltily as if she was personally responsible for her father's dereliction of his duty as host. “He said he couldn't hear himself think with dozens of galumphing athletes in the house, so he packed up the great work and departed for his club. Bister took him to the station when he met you, Daisy. You must have just missed him.”
Cherry laughed, but Rollo looked dismayed.
“Dash it, I'm most frightfully sorry, Tish,” he said. “You should have told me. I'd have made them shut up.”
“It's all right, you great oaf,” Tish told him lovingly.
“Mother says it's his own fault for agreeing to put up the crew. She's used to accommodating any passing Europeans, of course. To tell the truth, I don't think Father was listening when I proposed inviting you all, so perhaps it will teach him to pay attention to his daughter's words in future!”
“Typical man!” said Dottie, and added something Daisy didn't understand.
Cherry responded in what sounded like the same language.
“Greek,” said Tish, seeing Daisy's blank look, as Dottie and Cherry moved away together to stand by the balustrade, obviously engaged in all-absorbing debate. “Ancient Greek, not modern. I don't understand it either, just recognise it.”
“It's all Greek to me, too,” Rollo admitted, looking modestly pleased with his little joke. “I had to do a year of it at school but I never quite got the hang of it. Latin was bad enough.”
“I take it your degree isn't in the Classics,” Daisy said, laughing.
“Not me! Modern Languages. I picked up French like billy-oh when we were over there, and then German in the Army of Occupation. I ended up in liaison, in fact.”
“That must have been jolly interesting.”
“Frightfully. I was really keen. The trouble is, speaking âem isn't the same thing as writing 'em, let alone reading and discussing the literature, and all that guff. I'd never have got into Ambrose if it weren't for the allowances they made for exservice men. That and my father having been an Ambrose man. And now I've been ploughed for Schools,” he finished disconsolately.
“Rotten luck,” said Daisy.
“Not really. I should have dropped rowing and concentrated on exams. I know I'm not clever, not like Cherry, who managed to row
and
swot enough to get a decent First in Greats.” Rollo glanced round and lowered his voice. “Let alone that beastly little squirt Bott, who sailed through with a brilliant Double First without even trying.”
Daisy saw the unfortunate Bott sitting all alone on a bench on the far side of the terrace, moodily sipping his tea. Though once again she was sorry for him, she had no desire to join him. She turned back to Rollo.
“Are you going to try again?” she asked.
“No.”
“Yes,” said Tish at the same time. They exchanged a glance.
Before Daisy could request an explanation, DeLancey came up and presented his cup to Tish for a refill. “Be so kind, fair lady,” he said, his insinuating tone stripping the words of their innocence.
Stony-faced, Tish complied.
With a mocking laugh, DeLancey turned away from her, picked up a nearly empty plate of macaroons, and offered it to Daisy. “Better have one of these before the ravening hordes finish them off. Sweets to the sweet,” he said unoriginally.
Daisy might not be learned, but she knew her
Hamlet
. “Do you propose to strew them on my grave, Mr. DeLancey?” she enquired sweetly. “I assure you, I'm not going to drown myself for unrequited love.”
She took a macaroonâthey were, after all, one of her favouritesâdeliberately with her left hand, making sure her sapphire engagement ring flashed in the sun. The stone was not large, but it was exactly the colour of her eyes, Alec said,
the guileless blue eyes which led people to confide in her, including him. Their depths had more than once led him to indiscreet revelations about his cases.
Not an hour ago, Bott had unbosomed himself to her after two minutes' acquaintance. Daisy hoped DeLancey was not going to bare his soul. She didn't want to see it. He was as disagreeable as Bott, and without that miserable little man's excuse.
DeLancey looked rather nonplussed by her riposte. Whatever his course of study, it had presumably not included Shakespeare. He did, however, comprehend the sapphire's significance.
Casting a derisive glance at Dottie, still deep in discussion with Cherry, he said, “You're engaged too, Miss Dalrymple?” At least he didn't sound insultingly surprised.
“To a policeman,” Daisy informed him.
“To a ⦠! But I thought ⦠. That is, isn't Lord Dalrymple your brother?”
“No,” she said baldly, awaiting his reaction with interest.
“Oh, don't tell me you're just another of these bally would-be intellectual women, are you?”
“I'm a writer.”
“Heaven help us! Where did I get the idea you were the Hon. Gervaise's sister?”
“I was.”
“What? Was? I say, he didn't buy it, did he?”
“Yes.” Daisy paused to allow some expression of regret, in vain. “But you can't have known him. You were only a little boy.” And a very spoilt one, she suspected.
At her dismissive tone, DeLancey flushed. “Cedricâmy brotherâknew him in France and used to talk about him
when he came home on leave. But Ceddie was invalided out before the end, so I didn't hear ⦠. He's staying at Crowswood Place for the Regatta.”
“He's keen on rowing, too?”
“Not particularly, nothing more than messing about in a punt or a skiff on the Isis. But it's quite a social occasion, after all. I say, he and I and some others are going dancing at Phyllis Court Club this evening. Would you like to come?”
“No, thanks,” said Daisy. A pity, for though she wasn't keen on dancing, it was just the sort of do she ought to write about. But nothing could induce her to go out for the evening with DeLancey.
Rollo broke in. “You're not going either, DeLancey. Our Thames Cup heat's first tomorrow. No larking about tonight for anyone. And I want the four in the boat in quarter of an hour to practise a few starts. Tell the others, will you?”
“Oh, I wouldn't care to break up such a charming
tête-à -tete
.” the stroke said sarcastically.
“I'll tell Cherry,” said Daisy, standing up, “and I'll take a cup of tea to Aunt Cynthia, since it doesn't look as if she's going to turn up.”
As she approached the pair by the balustrade, she heard Dottie say vehemently, “And in the ninth place ⦔
“My apologies for nipping your ninth point in the bud,” Daisy interrupted with a chuckle, “but your captain calls, Cherry. A practise for the four in fifteen minutes.”
“I'm on my way.” He dropped a kiss on Dottie's cheek. “Don't lose track of number nine, darling. You may persuade me yet.”
Looking after him, Dottie said affectionately, “The oaf would have conceded by now if I wasn't a year behind him. I'll
say this for him, he doesn't refuse to take my arguments seriously just because I'm a woman.”
“He wouldn't dare, would he?” Daisy observed. “What with his mother being a don.”
Dottie laughed. “True. He's been properly brought up. Blast, my tea is stone-cold and I've barely had a sip. I hope there's some left.”
They returned together to the tea-table. Daisy hunted in vain for a biscuit, a slice of cake, or even a sandwich to take to her aunt. Every last crumb had vanished.
“And what's more, guzzling now won't spoil their appetites for dinner,” said Tish, presiding over the ruins. “Here's a cup of tea for Mother, Daisy. She'll have to make do. Oh, by the way, no fun-fair today, I'm afraid, as they're taking the four out now.”
“Never mind. I'd as soon wait for Alec. As for going dancing with that beast DeLanceyâcatch me! Do you know his brother?”
“Lord DeLancey? No, I've never met him, but I know he's the Earl of Bicester's eldest son, quite a bit older than dear Basil, and Cherry told me ⦠.” Tish stopped and smiled coolly at Bott as he marched up to the table, cup and saucer in hand.
“More tea, Mr. Bott?” she offered. “You prefer Indian, don't you?”
“What if I do?” the cox growled belligerently.
Daisy escaped. She found Lady Cheringham at the front of the house, tying a delphinium to a stake. Nearby Bister, erstwhile smart chauffeur, dressed now in shirtsleeves, distinctly disreputable trousers, and a dilapidated straw hat, mowed the circle of lawn enclosed by the carriage-sweep. The
green smell of fresh-cut grass vied with the flowers' mingled scents.
“Oh dear, have I missed tea again?” Lady Cheringham gingerly picked her way out of the herbaceous border. “Thank you, Daisy dear.” She gulped tea.
She still had the tobacco-stained blouse on, probably irremediably stained by now, though its wearer seemed to have suffered no ill effects. The wet patches must have dried fast on such a warm day, Daisy thought. It might be an idea, though, to see if she could find any information about the toxic effects of nicotine, so as to warn her aunt to take care.
After chatting for a few minutes, she went into the house and invaded Sir Rupert's library. Opposite the drawing-room at the back of the house, it had a long library table down the centre, with several straight chairs. Comfortable leather-covered armchairs were grouped about the windows at this season, with small tables beside them. A large walnut kneehole desk stood between the windows, where the light from both would fall on it. Except for the fireplace, the two walls opposite the door and windows were entirely lined with bookshelves.
Though the books were well organised by subject, Daisy had no idea where to start looking and searched the shelves for some time without success. About to give up, she glanced at the volumes lying on the library table. There was Henslow's
Poisonous Plants
, the section on tropical poisons bristling with bookmarks.
Consulting the index, Daisy found tobacco, turned to the page, and skimmed through the details.
Nicotiana
was related to deadly nightshade, she discovered. The long list of horrible symptoms of nicotine poisoning included headache, nausea,
dizziness, incoherence, and convulsions, leading to death. Most alarming, as she had vaguely remembered, the stuff was highly dangerous when absorbed through the skin.
She ran to find her aunt.
“Yes, dear,” said Lady Cheringham absently but not at all incoherently, stooping without apparent dizziness to pull an intrusive groundsel from among the pinks, “I'll go and change. And I'll remind Bister to be sure to keep the shed locked, though I'm sure he already does. Arsenic, you know, for rats, and cyanide for wasps' nests, I believe. Nasty stuff.”