As the Crow Flies

Chapter 13

When I opened the letter, I confess I didn't immediately recall who Becky Salmon was. But then I remembered that there had been an extremely bright, rather plump pupil by that name at St. Paul's, who always seemed to have an endless supply of cream cakes. If I remember, the only thing I gave her in return was an art book that had been a Christmas present from an aunt in Cumberland.

In fact, by the time I had reached the upper sixth, the precocious little brighter was already in the lower sixth, despite there being a good two years' difference in our ages.

Having read her letter a second time, I couldn't imagine why the girl should want to see me, and concluded that the only way I was likely to find out was to invite her round to tea at my little place in Chelsea.

When I first saw Becky again I hardly recognized her. Not only had she lost a couple of stone, but she would have made an ideal model for one of those Pepsodent advertisements that one saw displayed on the front of every tram—you know, a fresh-faced girl showing off a gleaming set of perfect teeth. I had to admit I was quite envious.

Becky explained to me that all she needed was a room in London while she was up at the university. I was only too happy to oblige. After all, the mater had made it clear on several occasions how much she disapproved of my being in the flat on my own, and that she couldn't for the life of her fathom what was wrong with 26 Lowndes Square, our family's London residence. I couldn't wait to tell Ma, and Pa for that matter, the news that I had, as they so often requested, found myself an appropriate companion.

"But who is this girl?" inquired my mother, when I went down to Harcourt Hall for the weekend. "Anyone we know?"

"Don't think so, Ma," I replied. "An old school chum from St. Paul's. Rather the academic type."

"Bluestockin', you mean?" my father chipped in.

"Yes, you've got the idea, Pa. She's attending someplace called Bedford College to read the history of the Renaissance, or something like that."

"Didn't know girls could get degrees," my father said. "Must all be part of that damned little Welshman's ideas for a new Britain."

"You must stop describing Lloyd George in that way," my mother reprimanded him. "He is, after all, our prime minister."

"He may be yours, my dear, but he's certainly not mine. I blame it all on those suffragettes," my father added, producing one of his habitual non sequiturs.

"My dear, you blame most things on the suffragettes," my mother reminded him, "even last year's harvest. However," she continued, "coming back to this girl, she sounds to me as if she could have a very beneficial influence on you, Daphne. Where did you say her parents come from?"

"I didn't," I replied. "But I think her father was a businessman out East somewhere, and I'm going to take tea with her mother sometime next week."

"Singapore possibly?" said Pa. "There's a lot of business goin' on out there, rubber and all that sort of thing."

"No, I don't think he was in rubber, pa."

"Well, whatever, do bring the girl round for tea one afternoon," Ma insisted. "Or even down here for the weekend. Does she hunt?"

"No, I don't think so, Ma, but I'll certainly invite her to tea in the near future, so that you can both inspect her."

I must confess that I was equally amused by the idea of being asked along to tea with Becky's mother, so that she could be sure that I was the right sort of girl for her daughter. After all, I was fairly confident that I wasn't. I had never been east of the Aldwych before, as far as I could recollect, so I found the idea of going to Essex even more exciting than traveling abroad.

Luckily the journey to Romford was without incident, mainly because Hoskins, my father's chauffeur, knew the road well. It turned out he had originated from somewhere called Dagenham, which he informed me was even deeper inside the Essex jungle.

I had no notion until that day that such people existed. They were neither servants nor from the professional classes nor members of the gentry, and I can't pretend that I exactly fell in love with Romford. However, Mrs. Salmon and her sister Miss Roach couldn't have been more hospitable. Becky's mother turned out to be a practical, sensible, God-fearing woman who could also produce an excellent spread for tea, so it was not an altogether wasted journey.

Becky moved into my flat the following week, and I was horrified when I discovered how hard the girl worked. She seemed to spend all day at that Bedford place, returning home only to nibble a sandwich, sip a glass of milk and then continue her studies until she fell asleep, long after I had gone to bed. I could never quite work out what it was all in aid of.

It was after her foolish visit to John D. Wood that I first learned about Charlie Trumper and his ambitions. All that fuss, simply because she had sold off his barrow without consulting him. I felt it nothing less than my duty to point out that two of my ancestors had been beheaded for trying to steal counties, and one sent to the Tower of London for high treason; well at least, I reflected, I had a kinsman who had spent his final days in the vicinity of the East End.

As always, Becky knew she was right. "But it's only a hundred pounds," she kept repeating.

"Which you don't possess."

"I've got forty and I feel confident it's such a good investment that I ought to be able to raise the other sixty without much trouble. After all, Charlie could sell blocks of ice to the Eskimos."

"And how are you planning to run the shop in his absence?" I asked. "Between lectures perhaps?"

"Oh, don't be so frivolous, Daphne. Charlie will manage the shop just as soon as he gets back from the war. After all, it can't be long now."

"The war has been over for some weeks," I reminded her. "And there doesn't seem to be much sign of your Charlie."

"He's not my Charlie" was all she said.

Anyway, I kept a close eye on Becky during the next thirty days and it quickly became plain for anyone to see that she wasn't going to raise the money. However, she was far too proud to admit as much to me. I therefore decided the time had come to pay another visit to Romford.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Harcourt-Browne," Becky's mother assured me, when I arrived unannounced at their little house in Belle Vue Road. I should point out, in my own defense, that I would have informed Mrs. Salmon of my imminent arrival if she had possessed a telephone. As I sought certain information that only she could supply before the thirty days were up—information that would save not only her daughter's face but also her finances—I was unwilling to put my trust in the postal service.

"Becky isn't in any trouble, I hope?" was Mrs. Salmon's first reaction when she saw me standing on the doorstep.

"Certainly not," I assured her. "Never seen the girl in perkier form."

"It's just that since her father's death I do worry about her," Mrs. Salmon explained. She limped just slightly as she guided me into a drawing room that was as spotless as the day I had first accepted their kind invitation to tea. A bowl of fruit rested on the table in the center of the room. I only prayed that Mrs. Salmon would never drop into Number 97 without giving me at least a year's notice.

"How can I be of assistance?" Mrs. Salmon asked, moments after Miss Roach had been dispatched to the kitchen to prepare tea.

"I am considering making a small investment in a greengrocer's shop in Chelsea," I told her. "I am assured by John D. Wood that it is a sound proposition, despite the current food shortage and the growing problems with trade unions—that is, as long as I can install a first-class manager."

Mrs. Salmon's smile was replaced by a puzzled expression.

"Becky has sung the praises of someone called Charlie Trumper, and the purpose of my visit is to seek your opinion of the gentleman in question."

"Gentleman he certainly is not," said Mrs. Salmon without hesitation. "An uneducated ruffian might be nearer the mark."

"Oh, what a disappointment," I said. "Especially as Becky led me to believe that your late husband thought rather highly of him."

"As a fruit and vegetable man he certainly did. In fact I'd go as far as to say that Mr. Salmon used to consider that young Charlie might end up being as good as his grandfather."

"And how good was that?"

"Although I didn't mix with those sort of people, you understand," explained Mrs. Salmon, "I was told, second-hand of course, that he was the finest Whitechapel had ever seen."

"Good," I said. "But is he also honest?"

"I have never heard otherwise," Mrs. Salmon admitted. "And Heaven knows, he's willing to work all the hours God gave, but he's hardly your type, I would have thought, Miss Harcourt-Browne."

"I was considering employing the man as a shopkeeper, Mrs. Salmon, not inviting him to join me in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot." At that moment Miss Roach reappeared with a tray of tea jam tarts and eclairs smothered in cream. They turned out to be so delicious that I stayed far longer than I had planned.

The following morning I paid a visit to John D. Wood and handed over a check for the remaining ninety pounds. I then visited my solicitor and had a contract drawn up, which when it was completed I didn't begin to understand.

Once Becky had found out what I had been up to I drove a hard bargain, because I knew the girl would resent my interference if I wasn't able to prove that I was getting something worthwhile out of the deal.

As soon as she had been convinced of that, Becky immediately handed over a further thirty pounds to help reduce the debt. She certainly took her new enterprise most seriously, because within weeks she had stolen a young man from a shop in Kensington to take over Trumper's until Charlie returned. She also continued to work hours I didn't even know existed. I could never get her to explain to me the point of rising before the sun did.

After Becky had settled into her new routine I even invited her to make up a foursome for the opera one night—to see La Bohème. In the past she had shown no inclination to attend any of my outings, especially with her new responsibilities with the shop. But on this occasion I pleaded with her to join the group because a chum of mine had canceled at the last minute and I desperately needed a spare girl.

"But I've nothing to wear," she said helplessly.

"Take your pick of anything of mine you fancy," I told her, and ushered her through to my bedroom.

I could see that she found such an offer almost irresistible. An hour later she reemerged in a long turquoise dress that brought back memories of what it had originally looked like on the model.

"Who are your other guests?" Becky inquired.

"Algernon Fitzpatrick. He's Percy Wiltshire's best friend. You remember, the man who hasn't yet been told I'm going to marry him."

"And who makes up the party?"

"Guy Trentham. He's a captain in the Royal Fusiliers, an acceptable regiment, just," I added. "He's recently returned from the Western Front where it's said he had a rather good war. MC and all that. We come from the same village in Berkshire, and grew up together, although I confess we don't really have a lot in common. Very good-looking, but has the reputation as a bit of a ladies' man, so beware."

La Bohème, I felt, had been a great success, even if Guy couldn't stop leering at Becky throughout the second act—not that she seemed to show the slightest interest in him.

However, to my surprise, as soon as we got back to the flat Becky couldn't stop talking about the man—his looks, his sophistication, his charm although I couldn't help noting that she didn't once refer to his character. Eventually I managed to get to bed, but not before I had assured Becky to her satisfaction that her feelings were undoubtedly reciprocated.

In fact, I became, unwittingly, Cupid's messenger for the budding romance. The following day I was asked by Guy to invite Miss Salmon to accompany him to a West End play. Becky accepted, of course, but then I had already assured Guy she would.

After their outing to the Haymarket, I seemed to bump into the two of them all the time, and began to fear that if the relationship became any more serious it could only, as my nanny used to say, end in tears. I began to regret having ever introduced them in the first place, although there was no doubt, to quote the modern expression: she was head over heels in love.

Despite this, a few weeks' equilibrium returned to the residents of 97—and then Charlie was demobbed.

I wasn't formally introduced to the man for some time after his return, and when I was I had to admit they didn't make them like that in Berkshire. The occasion was a dinner we all shared at that awful little Italian restaurant just up the road from my flat.

To be fair, the evening was not what one might describe as a wow, partly because Guy made no effort to be sociable, but mainly because Becky didn't bother to bring Charlie into the conversation at all. I found myself asking and then answering most of the questions, and, as for Charlie, he appeared on first sighting to be somewhat gauche.

When we were all walking back to the flat after dinner, I suggested to him that we should leave Becky and Guy to be themselves. When Charlie escorted me into his shop he couldn't resist stopping to explain how he had changed everything around since he had taken over. His enthusiasm would have convinced the most cynical investor, but what impressed me most was his knowledge of a business which until that moment I hadn't given a second thought to. It was then that I made the decision to assist Charlie with both his causes.

I wasn't in the least surprised to discover how he felt about Becky, but she was so infatuated with Guy that she wasn't even aware of Charlie's existence. It was during one of his interminable monologues on the virtues of the girl that I began to form a plan for Charlie's future. I was determined that he must have a different type of education, perhaps not as formal as Becky's, but no less valuable for the future he had decided on.

I assured Charlie that Guy would soon become bored with Becky as that had proved to be the invariable pattern with girls who had crossed his path in the past. I added that he must be patient and the apple would eventually fall into his lap. I also explained who Newton was.

I assumed that those tears to which Nanny had so often referred might indeed begin to flow soon after Becky was invited to spend the weekend with Guy's parents at Ashurst. I made sure that I was asked to join the Trenthams for afternoon tea on the Sunday, to give whatever moral support Becky might feel in need of.

I arrived a little after three-forty, which I have always considered a proper hour for taking tea, only to find Mrs. Trentham surrounded by silverware and crockery but sitting quite alone.

"Where are the starstruck lovers?" I inquired, as I entered the drawing room.

"If you're referring, in that coarse way of yours, Daphne, to my son and Miss Salmon, they have already departed for London."

"Together, I presume?" I asked.

"Yes, although for the life of me I can't imagine what the dear boy sees in her." Mrs. Trentham poured me a cup of tea. "As for myself, I found her exceedingly common."

"Perhaps it could be her brains and looks," I volunteered as the major entered the room. I smiled at a man I had known since I was a child and had come to treat as an uncle. The one mystery about him as far as I was concerned was how he could possibly have fallen for someone like Ethel Hardcastle.

"Guy left too?" he asked.

"Yes, he's returned to London with Miss Salmon," said Mrs. Trentham for a second time.

"Oh, pity really. She seemed such a grand girl."

"In a parochial type of way," said Mrs. Trentham.

"I get the impression Guy rather dotes on her," I said, hoping for a reaction.

"Heaven forbid," said Mrs. Trentham.

"I doubt if heaven will have a lot to do with it," I told her, as I warmed to the challenge.

"Then I shall," said Mrs. Trentham. "I have no intention of letting my son marry the daughter of an East End street trader."

"I can't see why not," interjected the major. "After all, isn't that what your grandfather was?"

"Gerald, really. My grandfather founded and built up a highly successful business in Yorkshire, not the East End."

"Then I think that it's only the location we are discussing," said the major. "I well recall your father tellin' me, with some pride I might add, that his old dad had started Hardcastle's in the back of a shed somewhere near Huddersfield."

"Gerald—I feel sure he was exaggerating."

"Never struck me as the type of man who was prone to exaggerate," retorted the major. "On the contrary, rather blunt sort of fellow. Shrewd with it, I always considered."

"Then that must have been a considerable time ago," said Mrs. Trentham.

"What's more, I suspect that we shall live to see the children of Rebecca Salmon doing a bloody sight better than the likes of us," added the major.

"Gerald, I do wish you wouldn't use the word 'bloody' so frequently. We're all being influenced by that socialist playwright Mr. Shaw and his frightful Pygmalion, which seems to be nothing more than a play about Miss Salmon."

"Hardly," I told her. "After all, Becky will leave London University with a bachelor of arts degree, which is more than my whole family has managed between them in eleven centuries."

"What may well be the case," Mrs. Trentham concurred, "but they are hardly the qualifications that I feel appropriate for advancing Guy's military career, especially now his regiment will be completing a tour of duty in India."

This piece of information came as a bolt out of the blue. I also felt pretty certain Becky knew nothing of it.

"And when he returns to these shores," continued Mrs. Trentham, "I shall be looking for someone of good breeding, sufficient money and perhaps even a little intelligence to be his matrimonial partner. Gerald may have failed, by petty prejudice, to become Colonel of the Regiment, but I will not allow the same thing to happen to Guy, of that I can assure you."

"I simply wasn't good enough," said the major gruffly. "Sir Danvers was far better qualified for the job, and in any case it was only you who ever wanted me to be colonel in the first place."

"Nevertheless, I feel after Guy's results at Sandhurst—"

"He managed to pass out in the top half," the major reminded her. "That can hardly be described as carrying off the sword of honor, my dear."

"But he was awarded the Military Cross on the field of battle and his citation—"

The major grunted in a manner that suggested that he had been trotted round this particular course several times before.

"And so you see," Mrs. Trentham continued, "I have every confidence that Guy will in time become Colonel of the Regiment and I don't mind telling you that I already have someone in mind who will assist him in that quest. After all, wives can make or break a career, don't you know, Daphne."

"At least on that I am able to concur fully, my dear," murmured her husband.

I traveled back to London somewhat relieved that, after such an encounter, Becky's relationship with Guy must surely come to an end. Certainly the more I had seen of the damned man the more I distrusted him.

When I returned to the flat later that evening, I found Becky sitting on the sofa, red-eyed and trembling.

"She hates me," were her first words.

"She doesn't yet appreciate you," was how I remembered phrasing my reply. "But I can tell you that the major thinks you're a grand girl."

"How kind of him," said Becky. "He showed me round the estate, you know."

"My dear, one does not describe seven hundred acres as an estate. A freeholding, perhaps, but certainly not an estate."

"Do you think Guy will stop seeing me after what took place at Ashurst?"

I wanted to say I hope so but managed to curb my tongue. "Not if the man has any character," I replied diplomatically.

And indeed Guy did see her the following week, and as far as I could determine never raised the subject of his mother or that unfortunate weekend again.

However, I still considered my long-term plan for Charlie and Becky was proceeding rather well, until I returned home after a long weekend to find one of my favorite dresses strewn across the drawing room floor. I followed a trail of clothes until I reached Becky's door, which I opened tentatively to find, to my horror, even more of my garments lying by the side of her bed, along with Guy's. I had rather hoped Becky would have seen him for the bounder he was long before she had allowed it to reach the terminal stage.

Guy started out on his journey to India the following day, and as soon as he had taken his leave Becky began telling everyone who cared to listen that she was engaged to the creature, although there was no ring on her finger and no announcement in any paper to confirm her version of the story. "Guy's word is good enough for me," she asserted, which left one simply speechless.

I arrived home that night to find her asleep in my bed. Becky explained over breakfast that Charlie had put her there, without further explanation.

The following Sunday afternoon I invited myself back to tea with the Trenthams, only to learn from Guy's mother that she had been assured by her son that he had not been in contact with Miss Salmon since her premature departure from Ashurst more than six months before.

"But that isn't—" I began, but stopped in midsentence when I recalled my promise to Becky not to inform Guy's mother that they were still seeing each other.

A few weeks later Becky told me that she had missed her period. I swore that I would keep her secret but did not hesitate to inform Charlie the same day. When he heard the news he nearly went berserk. What made matters worse was that he had to go on pretending whenever he saw the girl that he wasn't aware of anything untoward.

"I swear if that bastard Trentham were back in England I'd kill him," Charlie kept repeating, as he went on one of his route marches round the drawing room.

"If he were in England I can think of at least three girls whose fathers would happily carry out the job for you," I retorted.

"So what am I meant to do about it?" Charlie asked me at last.

"Not a lot," I advised. "I suspect time—and eight thousand miles—may well turn out to be your greatest allies."

The colonel also fell into the category of those who would have happily shot Guy Trentham, given half a chance, in his case because of the honor of the regiment and all that. He even murmured something sinister about going to see Major Trentham and giving it to him straight. I could have told him that the major wasn't the problem. However, I wasn't sure if the colonel, even with his vast experience of different types of enemy, had ever come up against anyone as formidable as Mrs. Trentham.

It must have been around this time that Percy Wiltshire was finally discharged from the Scots Guards. Lately I had stopped worrying about his mother telephoning me. During those dreadful years between 1916 and 1919 I always assumed it would be a message to say that Percy had been killed on the Western Front, as his father and elder brother had been before him. It was to be years before I admitted to the dowager marchioness whenever she called how much I dreaded hearing her voice on the other end of the line.

Then quite suddenly Percy asked me to marry him. I fear from that moment on I became so preoccupied with our future together and being expected to visit so many of his family that I quite neglected my duty to Becky, even though I had allowed her to take over the flat.

Then, almost before I could look round, she had given birth to little Daniel. I only prayed that she could face the inevitable stigma.

It was some months after the christening that I decided to pay a surprise visit to the flat on my way back from a weekend in the country with Percy's mother.

When the front door opened I was greeted by Charlie, a newspaper tucked under his arm, while Becky, who was sitting on the sofa, appeared to be darning a sock. I looked down to watch Daniel crawling towards me at a rate of knots. I took the child in my arms before he had the chance to head off down the stairs and out into the world.

"How lovely to see you," Becky said, jumping up. "It's been ages. Let me make you some tea."

"Thank you," I said, "I only came round to make sure you are free on—" My eyes settled on a little oil that hung above the mantelpiece.

"What a truly beautiful picture," I remarked.

"But you must have seen the painting many times before," Becky said. "After all, it was in Charlie's—"

"No, I've never seen it before," I replied, not sure what she was getting at.

Chapter 14

The day the gold-edged card arrived at Lowndes Square Daphne placed the invitation between the one requesting her presence in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot and the command to attend a garden party at Buckingham Palace. However she considered that this particular invitation could well remain on the mantelpiece for all to gaze upon long after Ascot and the palace had been relegated to the wastepaper basket.

Although Daphne had spent a week in Paris selecting three outfits for the three different occasions, the most striking of them was to be saved for Becky's degree ceremony, which she now described to Percy as "the great event."

Her fiancé—though she hadn't yet become quite used to thinking of Percy in that way—also admitted that he had never been asked to such a ceremony before.

Brigadier Harcourt-Browne suggested that his daughter should have Hoskins drive them to the Senate House in the Rolls, and admitted to being a little envious at not having been invited himself.

When the morning finally dawned, Percy accompanied Daphne to lunch at the Ritz, and once they had been over the guest list and the hymns that would be sung at the service for the umpteenth time, they turned their attention to the details of the afternoon outing.

"I do hope we won't be asked any awkward questions," said Daphne. "Because one thing's for certain, I will not know the answers."

"Oh I'm sure we won't be put to any trouble like that, old gel," said Percy. "Not that I've ever attended one of these shindigs before. We Wiltshires aren't exactly known for troubling the authorities on these matters," he added, laughing, which so often came out sounding like a cough.

"You must get out of that habit, Percy. If you are going to laugh, laugh. If you're going to cough, cough."

"Anything you say, old gel."

"And do stop calling me 'old gel.' I'm only twenty-three, and my parents endowed me with a perfectly acceptable Christian name."

"Anything you say, old gel," repeated Percy.

"You haven't been listening to a word I've said." Daphne checked her watch. "And now I do believe it's time we were on our way. Better not be late for this one."

"Quite right," he replied, and called a waiter to bring them their bill.

"Do you have any idea where we are going, Hoskins?" asked Daphne, as he opened the back door of the Rolls for her.

"Yes, m'lady, I took the liberty of going over the route when you and his lordship were up in Scotland last month."

"Good thinking, Hoskins," said Percy. "Otherwise we might have been going round in circles for the rest of the afternoon, don't you know."

As Hoskins turned on the engine Daphne looked at the man she loved and couldn't help thinking how lucky she had been in her choice. In truth she had chosen him at the age of sixteen, and never faltered in her belief that he was the right partner—even if he wasn't aware of the fact. She had always thought Percy quite wonderful, kind, considerate and gentle and, if not exactly handsome, certainly distinguished. She thanked God each night that he had escaped that fearful war with every limb intact. Once Percy had told her he was going off to France to serve with the Scots Guards, Daphne had spent three of the unhappiest years of her life. From that moment on she assumed every letter, every message, every call could only be to inform her of his death. Other men tried to court her in his absence, but they all failed as Daphne waited, not unlike Penelope, for her chosen partner to return. She would only accept that he was still alive when she saw him striding down the gangplank at Dover. Daphne would always treasure his first words the moment he saw her.

"Fancy seeing you here, old gel. Dashed coincidence, don't you know."

Percy never talked of the example his father had set, though The Times had devoted half a page to the late marquess' obituary. In it they described his action on the Marne in the course of which he had single-handedly overrun a German battery as "one of the great VCs of the war." When a month later Percy's elder brother was killed at Ypres it came home to her just how many families were sharing the same dreadful experience. Now Percy had inherited the title: the twelfth Marquess of Wiltshire. From tenth to twelfth in a matter of weeks.

"Are you sure we're going in the right direction?" asked Daphne as the Rolls entered Shaftesbury Avenue.

"Yes, m'lady," replied Hoskins, who had obviously decided to address her by the title even though she and Percy were not yet married.

"He's only helping you to get accustomed to the idea, old gel," Percy suggested before coughing again.

Daphne had been delighted when Percy told her that he had decided to resign his commission with the Scots Guards in order to take over the running of the family estates. Much as she admired him in that dark blue uniform with its four brass buttons evenly spaced, stirrupped boots and funny red, white and blue checked cap, it was a farmer she wanted to marry, not a soldier. A life spent in India, Africa and the colonies had never really appealed to her.

As they turned into Malet Street, they saw a throng of people making their way up some stone steps to enter a monumental building. "That must be the Senate House," she exclaimed, as if she had come across an undiscovered pyramid.

"Yes, m'lady," replied Hoskins.

"And do remember, Percy—" began Daphne.

"Yes, old gel?"

"—not to speak unless you're spoken to. On this occasion we are not exactly on home ground, and I object to either of us being made to look foolish. Now, did you remember the invitation and the special tickets that show our seat allocation?"

"I know I put them somewhere." He began to search around in his pockets.

"They're in the left-hand inside top pocket of your jacket, your lordship," said Hoskins as he brought the car to a halt.

"Yes, of course they are," said Percy. "Thank you, Hoskins."

"A pleasure, my lord," Hoskins intoned.

"Just follow the crowd," instructed Daphne. "And look as if you do this sort of thing every week."

They passed several uniformed doorkeepers and ushers before a clerk checked their tickets, then guided them to Row M.

"I've never been seated this far back in a theater before," said Daphne.

"I've only tried to be this far away in a theater once myself," admitted Percy. "And that was when the Germans were on center stage." He coughed again.

The two remained sitting in silence as they stared in front of them, waiting for something to happen. The stage was bare but for fourteen chairs, two of which, placed at its center, might almost have been described as thrones.

At two fifty-five ten men and two women, all of whom were dressed in what looked to Daphne like long black dressing gowns with purple scarves hanging from their necks, proceeded across the stage in a gentle crocodile before taking their allocated places. Only the two thrones remained unoccupied. On the stroke of three Daphne's attention was drawn to the minstrels' gallery, where a fanfare of trumpets struck up to announce the arrival of the visitors, and all those present rose as the King and Queen entered to take their places in the center of the Senate. Everyone except the royal couple remained standing until after the National Anthem had been played.

"Bertie looks very well, considering," said Percy, resuming his seat.

"Do be quiet," said Daphne. "No one else knows him."

An elderly man in a long black gown, the only person who remained standing, waited for everyone to settle before he took a pace forward, bowed to the royal couple and then proceeded to address the audience.

After the vice-chancellor, Sir Russell Russell-Wells, had been speaking for some considerable time Percy inquired of his fiancée, "How is a fellow expected to follow all this piffle when he gave up Latin as an option in his fourth half?"

"I only survived a year of the subject myself."

"Then you won't be much help either, old gel," admitted Percy in a whisper.

Someone seated in the row in front turned round to glare at them ferociously.

Throughout the remainder of the ceremony Daphne and Percy tried to remain silent, although Daphne did find it necessary from time to time to place a firm hand on Percy's knee as he continued to shift uncomfortably from side to side on the flat wooden chair.

"It's all right for the King," whispered Percy. "He's got a damned great cushion to sit on."

At last the moment came for which they had both been bidden.

The vice-chancellor, who continued to call out a list of names from the roll of honor had at last come to the T's. He then declared, "Bachelor of arts, Mrs. Charles Trumper of Bedford College." The applause almost doubled, as it had done so every time a woman had walked up the steps to receive her degree from the visitor. Becky curtsied before the King as he placed what the program described as a "hood of purple" over her gown and handed her a parchment scroll. She curtsied again and took two paces backwards before resuming to her seat.

"Couldn't have done it better myself," said Percy as he joined in the applause. "And no prizes for guessing who tutored her through that little performance," he added. Daphne blushed as they remained in their places for some time to allow all the U's, V's, W's and Y's to receive their degrees, before being allowed to escape into the garden for tea.

"Can't see them anywhere," said Percy, as he turned a slow circle in the middle of the lawn.

"Nor I," said Daphne. "But keep looking. They're bound to be here somewhere."

"Good afternoon, Miss Harcourt-Browne."

Daphne spun round. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Salmon, how super to see you. And what a simply charming hat; and dear Miss Roach. Percy, this is Becky's mother, Mrs. Salmon, and her aunt, Miss Roach. My fiancé—"

"Delighted to meet you, your lordship," said Mrs. Salmon, wondering if anyone from the Ladies' Circle at Romford would believe her when she told them.

"You must be so proud of your daughter," said Percy.

"Yes, I am, your lordship," said Mrs. Salmon.

Miss Roach stood like a statue and didn't offer an opinion.

"And where is our little scholar," demanded Daphne.

"I'm here," said Becky. "But where have you been?" she asked, emerging from a group of new graduates.

"Looking for you."

The two girls threw their arms around each other.

"Have you seen my mother?"

"She was with us a moment ago," said Daphne, looking around.

"She's gone to find some sandwiches, I think," said Miss Roach.

"Typical of Mum," said Becky, laughing.

"Hello, Percy," said Charlie. "How are things?"

"Things are spiffing," said Percy, coughing. "And well done, Becky, I say," he added as Mrs. Salmon resumed carrying a large plate of sandwiches.

"If Becky has inherited her mother's common sense, Mrs. Salmon," said Daphne as she selected a cucumber sandwich for Percy, "she ought to do well in the real world, because I suspect there won't be many of these left in fifteen minutes' time." She picked out one of the smoked salmon variety for herself. "Were you very nervous when you marched up onto that stage?" Daphne asked, turning her attention back to Becky.

"I certainly was," replied Becky. "And when the King placed the hood over my head, my legs almost gave way. Then, to make matters worse, the moment I resumed to my place I discovered Charlie was crying."

"I was not," protested her husband.

Becky said nothing more as she linked her arm through his.

"I've rather taken to that purple hood thing," said Percy. "I think I'd look quite a swell were I to sport one of those at next year's hunt ball. What do you think, old gel?"

"You're expected to do rather a lot of hard work before you're allowed to adorn yourself with one of those, Percy."

They all turned to see who it was who had offered this opinion.

Percy lowered his head. "Your Majesty is, as always, quite correct. I might add, sir, that I fear, given my present record, I am unlikely ever to be considered for such a distinction."

The King smiled, then added, "In fact I'm bound to say, Percy, that you seem to have strayed somewhat from your usual habitat."

"A friend of Daphne's," explained Percy.

"Daphne, my dear, how lovely to see you," said the King. "And I haven't yet had the opportunity to congratulate you on your engagement."

"I received a kind note from the Queen only yesterday, Your Majesty. We are honored that you are both able to attend the wedding."

"Yes, simply delighted," said Percy. "And may I present Mrs. Trumper, who was the recipient of the degree?" Becky shook hands with the King for a second time. "Her husband, Mr. Charles Trumper, and Mrs. Trumper's mother, Mrs. Salmon; her aunt, Miss Roach."

The King shook hands with all four before saying, "Well done, Mrs. Trumper. I do hope you're going to put your degree to some useful purpose."

"I shall be joining the staff of Sotheby's, Your Majesty. As an apprentice in their fine art department."

"Capital. Then I can only wish you continued success, Mrs. Trumper. I look forward to seeing you at the wedding if not before, Percy." With a nod the King moved on to another group.

"Decent fellow," said Percy. "Good of him to come over like that."

"I had no idea you knew—" began Becky.

"Well," explained Percy, "to be honest, my great-great-great-great-grandfather tried to murder his great-great-great-great-grandfather, and had he succeeded our roles might well have been reversed. Despite that he's always been jolly understanding about the whole affair."

"So what happened to your great-great-great-great-grandfather?" asked Charlie.

"Exiled," said Percy. "And I'm bound to add, quite rightly. Otherwise the brighter would only have tried again. "

"Good heavens," said Becky, laughing.

"What is it?" said Charlie.

"I've just worked out who Percy's great-great-great-great-grandfather was."

Daphne didn't get a chance to see Becky again before the marriage ceremony, as the last few weeks of preparation for her wedding seemed to be totally occupied. However, she did manage to keep abreast of the goings-on in Chelsea Terrace, after bumping into the colonel and his wife at Lady Denham's reception in Onslow Square. The colonel was able to inform her, sotto voce, that Charlie was beginning to run up a rather large overdraft with the bank—"even if he had cleared every other outstanding creditor." Daphne smiled when she recalled that her last payment had been resumed in typical Charlie fashion several months before it was due. "And I've just learned that the man has his eye on yet another shop," added the colonel.

"Which one this time?"

"The bakery—Number 145."

"Becky's father's old trade," said Daphne. "Are they confident of getting their hands on it?"

"Yes, I think so—although I fear Charlie's going to have to pay a little over the odds this time."

"Why's that?"

"The baker is right next door to the fruit and vegetable shop, and Mr. Reynolds is only too aware just how much Charlie wants to buy him out. However, Charlie has tempted Mr. Reynolds with an offer to remain as manager, plus a share of the profits."

"Hmmm. How long do you think that little arrangement will last?"

"Just as long as it takes for Charlie to master the bakery trade once again."

"And how about Becky?"

"She's landed a job at Sotheby's. As a counter clerk."

"A counter clerk?" said Daphne on a rising note. "What was the point of taking all that trouble to get a degree if she ends up as a counter clerk?"

"Apparently everybody starts off that way at Sotheby's, whatever qualifications they bring to the job. Becky explained it all to me," replied the colonel. "It seems that you can be the son of the chairman, have worked in a major West End art gallery for several years, possess a degree or even have no qualifications at all, but you still start on the front desk. Once they discover you're any good you get promoted into a specialist department. Not unlike the army, actually."

"So which department does Becky have her eye on?"

"Seems she wants to join some old fellow called Pemberton who's the acknowledged expert on Renaissance paintings."

"My bet," said Daphne, "is that she'll last on the front desk for about a couple of weeks."

"Charlie doesn't share your low opinion of her," said the colonel.

"Oh, so how long does he give her?"

The colonel smiled. "Ten days at the most."

Chapter 15

When the morning mail arrived at Lowndes Square, Wentworth, the butler would place the letters on a silver tray and take them to the brigadier in his study, where his master would remove those addressed to himself before handing the tray back to the butler. He, in turn, would deliver the remaining letters to the ladies of the house.

However, since the announcement of his daughter's engagement in The Times and the subsequent sending out of over five hundred invitations for the forthcoming wedding, the brigadier had become bored with the sorting-out process and instructed Wentworth to reverse his route, so that he would be handed only those letters addressed to him.

Thus it was on a Monday morning in June 1921 that Wentworth knocked on Miss Daphne's bedroom door, entered when bidden and handed her a large bundle of mail. Once Daphne had extracted the letters addressed to her mother and herself, she returned the few that remained to Wentworth, who bowed slightly and proceeded on his anti-clockwise route.

As soon as Wentworth had closed the door behind him Daphne climbed out of bed, placed the stack of letters on her dressing-table and wandered into the bathroom. A little after ten-thirty, feeling ready for the rigors of the day, she returned to her dressing-table and began slitting open the letters. Acceptances and regrets had to be placed in separate piles before they could be ticked or crossed off on a master list; her mother would then be able to calculate the exact numbers to cater for and proceed to work on a seating plan. The breakdown of the thirty-one letters that particular morning produced twenty-two yeses, including a princess, a viscount, two other lords, an ambassador and dear Colonel and Lady Hamilton. There were also four nos, comprising two couples who would be abroad, an elderly uncle who was suffering from advanced diabetes and another whose daughter had been foolish enough to select the same day as Daphne on which to be married. Having ticked and crossed their names off the master list, Daphne turned her attention to the five remaining letters.

One turned out to be from her eighty-seven-year old Aunt Agatha, who resided in Cumberland and had some time previously stated that she would not be attending the wedding as she felt the journey to London might prove too much of a strain. However, Aunt Agatha went on to suggest that perhaps Daphne should bring Percy up north to visit her just as soon as they returned from their honeymoon, as she wished to make his acquaintance.

"Certainly not," said Daphne out loud. "Once I am back in England I shall have far more important things to worry myself with than aging aunts." She then read the P.S.:

Wicked old lady, thought Daphne, well aware that Aunt Agatha wrote an identical P.S. to every one of her relations, however distant, thus guaranteeing that she rarely spent a weekend alone.

The second letter was from Michael Fishlock and Company, the catering specialists, who enclosed an estimate for supplying tea to five hundred guests in Vincent Square immediately preceding the wedding. Three hundred guineas seemed an outrageous sum to Daphne, but without a second thought she placed the estimate on one side, to be dealt with by her father at some later date. Two other letters addressed to her mother that were from friends and no concern of Daphne's were also placed on one side.

The fifth letter she saved until last, because the envelope was enriched by the most colorful stamps, the King's crown set in an oval on the right-hand corner above the words "Ten Annas."

She slit the envelope open slowly and extracted several sheets of heavy notepaper, the first of which was embossed with the crest and legend of the Royal Fusiliers.

"Dear Daphne," the letter began. She hurriedly turned to the last page in order to check the signature, which lead, "Your friend, as always, Guy."

Returning to the first page, she glanced at the address before beginning to read Guy's words with apprehension.

Daphne placed the unread pages back on her dressing-table, wishing that the letter had arrived a few days after she had set out on her honeymoon rather than before. She fiddled around with the guest list for some time, but realized she would eventually have to find our what Guy expected of her. She returned to his letter.

Daphne turned the page and stopped to look at herself in the mirror. She had no desire to find out what Guy expected of her. He had even forgotten in whose room he had been discovered. Yet it was only seconds before her eyes returned to the top of the next page and she began reading again.

Daphne placed the letter back on the dressing table, and began to brush her hair as she considered what should be done next. She did not want to discuss the problem with her mother or father and certainly had no desire to drag Percy into it. She also felt certain that Becky should not be made aware of Trentham's missive until she had thought out exactly what course of action needed to be taken. She was amazed at how short a memory Guy assumed she must have as he distanced himself from reality.

She put down the hairbrush and looked at herself in the mirror before resuming to the letter for a second and then a third reading. Eventually she placed the letter back in the envelope and tried to dismiss its contents from her thoughts; but whatever distraction she turned her attention to, Guy's words continued to prey on her mind. It particularly aggravated her that he should imagine she was so gullible.

Suddenly Daphne realized from whom she should seek advice. She picked up the telephone, and after asking the operator for a Chelsea number, was delighted to find the colonel was still at home.

"I was just off to my club, Daphne," he told her. "But do let me know how I can be of help."

"I need to talk to you urgently but it's not something I feel I can discuss over the telephone," she explained.

"I understand," said the colonel, who paused for a moment before adding, "If you're free why don't you join me for lunch at the In and Out? I'll just change my booking to the Ladies' Room."

Daphne accepted the offer gratefully, and once she had checked her makeup Hoskins drove her to Piccadilly, arriving at the Naval and Military a few minutes after one.

The colonel was standing in the entrance hall waiting to greet her. "This is a pleasant surprise," said Sir Danvers. "It's not every day I'm seen lunching with a beautiful young woman. It will do my reputation at the club no end of good. I shall wave at every brigadier and general I come across."

The fact that Daphne didn't laugh at the colonel's little aside brought about an immediate change in his demeanor. He took his guest gently by the arm and guided her through to the ladies' luncheon room. Once he had written out their order and handed it to a waitress, Daphne removed Guy's letter from her bag and without another word passed it over to her host.

The colonel fixed the monocle to his good eye and began to read, occasionally looking up at Daphne, only to observe that she hadn't touched the Brown Windsor soup that had been placed in front of her.

"Rum business this," he said, as he placed the letter in its envelope and handed it back to Daphne.

"I agree, but what do you suggest I do?"

"Well, one thing's for certain, my dear, you can't discuss the contents with Charlie or Becky. I also don't see how you can avoid letting Trentham know that should the question of who fathered the child be put to you directly you would feel beholden to tell the truth." He paused and took a sip of his soup. "I swear I'll never speak to Mrs. Trentham again as long as I live," he added without explanation.

Daphne was taken aback by this remark; until that moment she had not been aware that he had ever come across the woman.

"Perhaps we should use our combined efforts to come up with a suitable reply, my dear?" the colonel suggested after some further thought. He broke off to allow a waitress to serve up two helpings of the club's dish of the day.

"If you felt able to help, I would be eternally grateful," said Daphne nervously. "But first I think I ought to tell you everything I know."

The colonel nodded.

"As I'm sure you're only too aware it is I who am to blame for the two of them meeting in the first place . . ."

By the time Daphne had come to the end of her story the colonel's plate was empty.

"I knew most of that already," he admitted as he touched his lips with a napkin. "But you still managed to fill in one or two important gaps for me. I confess I had no idea Trentham was that much of a bounder. Looking back on it, I should have insisted on further collaboration before I agreed to allow his name being put forward for an MC." He rose. "Now, if you'll be good enough to amuse yourself for a few minutes by reading a magazine in the coffee room, I'll see what I can come up with as a first draft."

"I'm sorry to be such a nuisance," said Daphne.

"Don't be silly. I'm flattered that you consider me worthy of your confidence." The colonel stood up and strode off into the writing room.

He didn't reappear for nearly an hour, by which time Daphne was rereading advertisements for nannies in the Lady.

She hastily dropped the magazine back on the table and sat bolt upright in her chair. The colonel handed over the results of his labors, which Daphne studied for several minutes before speaking.

"God knows what Guy would do if I were to write such a letter," she said at last.

"He'll resign his commission, my dear, it's as simple as that. And none too soon, in my opinion." The colonel frowned. "It's high time Trentham was made aware of the consequences of his misdeeds, not least because of the responsibilities he still has to Becky and the child."

"But now that she's happily married that's hardly fair to Charlie," Daphne pleaded.

"Have you seen Daniel lately?" asked the colonel, lowering his voice.

"A few months ago, why?"

"Then you'd better take another look, because there aren't many Trumpers, or Salmons for that matter, who have blond hair, a Roman nose and deep blue eyes. I fear the more obvious replicas are to be found in Ashurst Berkshire. In any case, Becky and Charlie will eventually have to tell the child the truth or they'll only store up more trouble for themselves at some later date. Send the letter," he said, tapping his fingers on the side table, "that's my advice."

Once Daphne had returned home to Lowndes Square she went straight up to her room. She sat down at her writing desk and, pausing only for a moment, began to copy out the colonel's words.

When she had completed her task Daphne reread the one paragraph of the colonel's deliberations that she had left out and prayed that his gloomy prognosis would not prove to be accurate.

Once she had completed her own version she tore up the colonel's transcript and rang for Wentworth.

"Just one letter to be posted" was all she said.

The preparations for the wedding became so frantic that once Daphne had passed over the letter to Wentworth she quite forgot about the problems of Guy Trentham. What with selecting the bridesmaids without offending half her family, enduring endless dress fittings that never ran to time, studying seating arrangements so as to be certain that those members of the family who hadn't spoken to each other in years were not placed at the same table—or for that matter in the same pew as each other—and finally having to cope with a future mother-in-law, the dowager marchioness, who, having married off three of her own daughters, always had three opinions to offer on every subject, she felt quite exhausted.

With only a week to go Daphne suggested to Percy that they should pop along to the nearest register office and get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible—and preferably without bothering to tell anyone else.

"Anything you say, old gel," said Percy, who had long ago stopped listening to anyone on the subject of marriage.

On 16 July 1921 Daphne woke at five forty-three feeling drained, but by the time she stepped out into the sunshine in Lowndes Square at one forty-five she was exhilarated and actually looking forward to the occasion.

Her father helped her up the steps into an open carriage that her grandmother and mother had traveled in on the day they were married. A little crowd of servants and well-wishers cheered the bride as she began her journey lo Westminster, while others waved from the pavement. Officers saluted, toffs blew her a kiss and would-be brides sighed as she passed by.

Daphne, on her father's arm, entered the church by the north door a few minutes after Big Ben had struck two, then proceeded slowly down the aisle to the accompaniment of Mendelssohn's Wedding March.

She paused only for a moment before joining Percy, curtsying to the King and Queen, who sat alone in their private pews beside the altar. After all those months of waiting the service seemed over in moments. As the organ struck up "Rejoice, rejoice" and the married couple were bidden to an anteroom to sign the register, Daphne's only reaction was to want to go through the entire ceremony again.

Although she had secretly practiced the signature several times on her writing paper back at Lowndes Square, she still hesitated before she wrote the words, "Daphne Wiltshire."

Husband and wife left the church to a thunderous peal of bells and strolled on through the streets of Westminster in the bright afternoon sun. Once they had arrived at the large marquee that had been set up on the lawn in Vincent Square, they began to welcome their guests.

Trying to have a word with every one of them resulted in Daphne's almost failing to sample a piece of her own wedding cake, and no sooner had she taken a bite than the dowager marchioness swept up to announce that if they didn't get on with the speeches they might as well dispense with any hope of sailing on the last tide.

Algernon Fitzpatrick praised the bridesmaids and toasted the bride and groom. Percy made a surprisingly witty and well-received reply. Daphne was then ushered off to 45 Vincent Square, the home of a distant uncle, so that she could change into her going-away outfit.

Once again the crowds flocked out onto the pavement to throw rice and rose petals, while Hoskins waited to dispatch the newlyweds off to Southampton.

Thirty minutes later Hoskins was motoring peacefully down the A30 past Kew Gardens, leaving the wedding guests behind them to continue their celebrations without the bride and groom.

"Well, now you're stuck with me for life, Percy Wiltshire," Daphne told her husband.

"That, I suspect, was ordained by our mothers before we even met," said Percy. "Silly, really."

"Silly?"

"Yes. I could have stopped all their plotting years ago, by simply telling them that I never wanted to marry anyone else in the first place."

Daphne was giving the honeymoon serious thought for the first time when Hoskins brought the Rolls to a halt on the dockside—a good two hours before the Mauretania was due even to turn her pistons. With the help of several porters Hoskins unloaded two trunks from the boot of the car—fourteen having been sent down the previous day—while Daphne and Percy headed towards the gangplank where the ship's purser was awaiting them.

Just as the purser stepped forward to greet the marquess and his bride someone from the crowd shouted: "Good luck, your lordship! And I'd like to say on behalf of the misses and myself that the marchioness looks a bit of all right."

They both turned and burst out laughing when they saw Charlie and Becky, still in their wedding outfits, standing among the crowd.

The purser guided the four of them up the gangplank and into the Nelson stateroom, where they found yet another bottle of champagne waiting to be opened.

"How did you manage to get here ahead of us?" asked Daphne.

"Well," said Charlie in a broad cockney accent, "we may not 'ave a Rolls-Royce, my lady, but we still managed to overtake 'Oskins in our little two-seater just the other side of Winchester, didn't we?"

They all laughed except Becky, who couldn't take her eyes off the little diamond brooch that looked exquisite on the lapel of Daphne's suit.

Three toots on the foghorn, and the purser suggested that the Trumpers might care to leave the ship, assuming it was not their intention to accompany the Wiltshires to New York.

"See you in a year or so's time," shouted Charlie, as he turned to wave at them from the gangplank.

"By then we will have traveled right round the world, old gel," Percy confided to his wife.

Daphne waved. "Yes, and by the time we get back heaven knows what those two will have been up to."