much with his business affairs.’
‘No, and not the children either. You’d expect him to talk to Mark about such things, since Mark is so very clever. But I don’t think he ever does. Cherry is his favourite, you know, and I believe he does sometimes talk to her. I’ve known her be quite worried at times by things he seems to have let fall to her. Isn’t that funny?’
Appleby thought that it was at least worth remembering. He also thought that not much more was going to be got out of Cherry’s mother, who clearly had a large talent for vagueness over business affairs. It was quite likely, for example, that she was unaware of that emergency meeting (or whatever it had been) which had taken such a bizarre company into her husband’s library an hour ago.
‘I mustn’t monopolize you further,’ he said. ‘And I think I must make my way to that Mystery of the Golden Dawn.’
‘I’ll just say a word or two to the caterers, Sir John, and follow you almost at once. You’re sure to find Richard at the theatre now, although the people from Basingstoke aren’t quite his thing. And I’m certain he’ll be delighted to meet you.’
Appleby’s own certainty of this was not at all pronounced, but he murmured an appropriate reply before moving away. He himself decidedly wanted to meet Chitfield. And after that it seemed to him that another conference with Colonel Pride would be much in order.
10
But first there was an encounter (which Appleby had known would be inevitable) with the Birch-Blackies. Jane Birch-Blackie had got herself tricked out as a dairymaid of the spruced-up sort to be found in the art of George Morland. Her husband, not at all in the true spirit of fancy dress, had taken it into his head to don his black hunting-coat and buff Bedford cord breeches – thus presenting a most unseasonable appearance to any instructed person who cared to give thought to the matter. Master William Birch-Blackie (shortly to withstand 217 days of siege in an obscure township in Bechuanaland) glowered darkly in his parents’ rear. He plainly regarded himself as having been ruthlessly conscripted for this disagreeable duty in the interest of cultivating his father’s constituency, and would greatly have preferred to be out shooting rabbits.
‘Well, well, my dear John!’ Ambrose Birch-Blackie exclaimed with instant cordiality. ‘Under the greenwood tree, eh? Tommy Pride, too. Two souls with but a single thought. I’d hardly have expected to see either of you at this show. Where’s Judith?’
‘Judith’s at home, and I’ve been haled here by one of the daughters of the house. Why Tommy has come, I’ve no idea.’
‘Tommy’s a real archer,’ Mrs Birch-Blackie said, glancing at Appleby’s useless bow. ‘I expect he hopes to win a coconut.’
‘You don’t win coconuts at archery,’ William Birch-Blackie said from his retired station and in the special voice employed by children when correcting the ludicrous misapprehensions of their elders. ‘Coconuts are at fairs, not fêtes. And fairs are rather better fun.’
‘Nice day for the thing,’ Ambrose Birch-Blackie said, ignoring this evidence of disaffection. ‘I haven’t spotted Chitfield yet, or I’d have congratulated him. Big effort, this, and in aid of something or other, of course. I believe it’s the Retired Gardeners.’
‘Retired Gardeners is at the Brothertons’ on Friday,’ Mrs Birch-Blackie pronounced decisively. ‘This is Distressed Gentlefolk. But Ambrose says we have to go to the Retired Gardeners, too. I’m bound to say we work uncommonly hard.’
‘As the gardeners did in their time, no doubt.’ Appleby offered this thought with gravity. ‘I’ve never met Richard Chitfield, but I thought I’d introduce myself. Do you know him well, Ambrose?’
‘Not exactly. Pass the time of day, and all that. Nice simple wife, with no nonsense to her.’
‘Nice and simple, certainly.’ Appleby didn’t think he could go all
‘No, and not the children either. You’d expect him to talk to Mark about such things, since Mark is so very clever. But I don’t think he ever does. Cherry is his favourite, you know, and I believe he does sometimes talk to her. I’ve known her be quite worried at times by things he seems to have let fall to her. Isn’t that funny?’
Appleby thought that it was at least worth remembering. He also thought that not much more was going to be got out of Cherry’s mother, who clearly had a large talent for vagueness over business affairs. It was quite likely, for example, that she was unaware of that emergency meeting (or whatever it had been) which had taken such a bizarre company into her husband’s library an hour ago.
‘I mustn’t monopolize you further,’ he said. ‘And I think I must make my way to that Mystery of the Golden Dawn.’
‘I’ll just say a word or two to the caterers, Sir John, and follow you almost at once. You’re sure to find Richard at the theatre now, although the people from Basingstoke aren’t quite his thing. And I’m certain he’ll be delighted to meet you.’
Appleby’s own certainty of this was not at all pronounced, but he murmured an appropriate reply before moving away. He himself decidedly wanted to meet Chitfield. And after that it seemed to him that another conference with Colonel Pride would be much in order.
10
But first there was an encounter (which Appleby had known would be inevitable) with the Birch-Blackies. Jane Birch-Blackie had got herself tricked out as a dairymaid of the spruced-up sort to be found in the art of George Morland. Her husband, not at all in the true spirit of fancy dress, had taken it into his head to don his black hunting-coat and buff Bedford cord breeches – thus presenting a most unseasonable appearance to any instructed person who cared to give thought to the matter. Master William Birch-Blackie (shortly to withstand 217 days of siege in an obscure township in Bechuanaland) glowered darkly in his parents’ rear. He plainly regarded himself as having been ruthlessly conscripted for this disagreeable duty in the interest of cultivating his father’s constituency, and would greatly have preferred to be out shooting rabbits.
‘Well, well, my dear John!’ Ambrose Birch-Blackie exclaimed with instant cordiality. ‘Under the greenwood tree, eh? Tommy Pride, too. Two souls with but a single thought. I’d hardly have expected to see either of you at this show. Where’s Judith?’
‘Judith’s at home, and I’ve been haled here by one of the daughters of the house. Why Tommy has come, I’ve no idea.’
‘Tommy’s a real archer,’ Mrs Birch-Blackie said, glancing at Appleby’s useless bow. ‘I expect he hopes to win a coconut.’
‘You don’t win coconuts at archery,’ William Birch-Blackie said from his retired station and in the special voice employed by children when correcting the ludicrous misapprehensions of their elders. ‘Coconuts are at fairs, not fêtes. And fairs are rather better fun.’
‘Nice day for the thing,’ Ambrose Birch-Blackie said, ignoring this evidence of disaffection. ‘I haven’t spotted Chitfield yet, or I’d have congratulated him. Big effort, this, and in aid of something or other, of course. I believe it’s the Retired Gardeners.’
‘Retired Gardeners is at the Brothertons’ on Friday,’ Mrs Birch-Blackie pronounced decisively. ‘This is Distressed Gentlefolk. But Ambrose says we have to go to the Retired Gardeners, too. I’m bound to say we work uncommonly hard.’
‘As the gardeners did in their time, no doubt.’ Appleby offered this thought with gravity. ‘I’ve never met Richard Chitfield, but I thought I’d introduce myself. Do you know him well, Ambrose?’
‘Not exactly. Pass the time of day, and all that. Nice simple wife, with no nonsense to her.’
‘Nice and simple, certainly.’ Appleby didn’t think he could go all
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