As the Crow Flies (29 page)

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 fiancee, “How is a fellow expected to
follow all this Riffle 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 Ts. 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
Us Vs. Ws and Ys 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 fiance... “

“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 turnd 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.”

W
hen the
morning mail arrived at Lowndes Square, Wentworth, the louder, 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 rum, 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 thirtyone letters that particular morning produced twentytwo 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.