‘Has all the rest of the party arrived?’ asked Jane.
‘All except Lord and Lady Prague. The general, whom you saw downstairs, Admiral Wenceslaus and Mr Buggins were all here last night,’ said Walter. ‘We had about half an hour’s conversation with them before going to bed. Mr Buggins seems rather nice and Sally has quite fallen for the admiral.’
‘As I have for the general,’ remarked Albert; ‘but then I have always had a great penchant for soldiers. It fascinates me to think how brave they must be. Sometimes one sees them marching about in London, all looking so wonderfully brave. I admire that. Sailors, too, must be very courageous, but somehow one doesn’t feel it in quite the same way. Perhaps the fact that they are clean-shaven makes them more akin to oneself. This particular admiral certainly fixed upon me an extremely fierce and penetrating eye; instinctively I thought here is the hero of many an ocean fight, a rare old sea-dog.’
‘His eye,’ said Walter, ‘is glass. At least, one of them is. I don’t want to disillusion you, Albert dear.’
‘How fascinating!’ cried Albert. ‘I knew the moment I saw him that the admiral was not quite as we are. This accounts for it. How d’you think he lost it, Walter? I suppose it hardly could have been plucked out by pirates or the Inquisition? Do you think he is sensitive about it? Will he, for instance, mind if he sees me looking closely at him to discover which eye is which? I must find out how he lost it. I suppose it would be tactless to ask him right out? But the general may know. I don’t despair. Or Mr Buggins. I like Mr Buggins. He appears to be a man of some culture. He saw my picture “Tape Measures” reproduced in the Studio and was kind enough to mention it appreciatively.
‘Now, my dears, I am going to dress, as I can hardly wait to begin exploring this house, which promises, in my opinion, to be very rewarding to the intelligent student of the nineteenth century. What do you intend to put on, Walter? I fear I have no tweeds, so shall be obliged to wear some trousers and a jersey. Will that be suitable, do you think?’
He picked up his black taffeta wrap and left the room.
Meanwhile, General Murgatroyd escorted the Chadlingtons to the dining-room where they made a hearty breakfast of sausages, eggs, ham and strong tea. The general, who some two hours since had eaten enough for three, kept them company with a plate of brawn. They all spoke in monosyllables, their mouths full.
‘Bad luck for poor old Craig.’
‘Oh, rotten.’
‘When did the Monteaths get here?’
‘Last night – late.’
‘Anybody else?’
‘Stanislas is here and Buggins.’
‘Anybody else?’
‘Yes; namby-pamby chap called Gates – artist or something. Came with the Monteaths.’
‘Who’s to come?’
‘Only Floss and Prague. Coming tonight.’
‘Does Monteath shoot?’
‘No, nor Gates. Just as well, from the look of them.’
‘What’s Mrs Monteath like?’
‘Oh, all right. Better than the others, I should say.’
‘Pretty, isn’t she?’
‘Too much dolled up for me, otherwise quite handsome.’
‘Finished your breakfast?’
‘M’m!’
‘Come and look at the river, then.’
‘Wait a moment. We’ll get our rods put up.’
‘Not much use, too bright.’
‘Oh, we might as well have a try, all the same.’
About two hours later, Jane, having bathed and changed out of her travelling clothes, wandered downstairs, where she came upon Albert, exquisitely dressed in bright blue trousers and a black sweater. He was roaming about, notebook in hand.
‘My dear Jane,’ he said, ‘this house is unique. I am in ecstasies. Most of it seems scarcely to have been touched for the last fifty years. Nevertheless, we are only just in time. The hand of the modern decorator is already upon it. The drawing-room, alas! I find utterly ruined. Our absent hostess would appear to have that Heal cum Lenigen complex so prevalent among the British aristocracy. Happily, in this case, it has been muzzled, presumably by lack of funds, but its influence is creeping over the whole house. The oak, for instance, on these stairs and in the entrance hall has been pickled – a modern habit, which one cannot too heartily deplore – and much exquisite furniture has been banished to the servants’ hall, some even to the attics. On the other hand, the boudoir, stone hall, billiard- and dining-rooms appear to be quite unspoilt. Come with me, my dear.’
Albert led the way to the dining-room, where the table was being laid for luncheon. It was a huge room with dark red brocade walls and a pale blue-and-yellow ceiling covered in real gold stars. At one end there arose an enormous Gothic mantelpiece of pitch-pine. Several Raeburns and two Winterhalters adorned the walls.
‘Winterhalter,’ murmured Albert, ‘my favourite artist. I must call your attention to this clock, made of the very cannon-ball which rolled to the feet of Ernest, fourth Earl of Craigdalloch during the battle of Inkerman. Shall we go and look at the outside of the castle? We have just time before lunch.’
They went into the garden and walked round the house, which was built in the Victorian feudal style, and rather resembled a large white cake with windows and battlements picked out in chocolate icing. Albert was thrown into raptures by its appearance.
When they returned to the front door they found Walter and the general standing on the steps.
‘Ah! this house! this house!’ cried Albert. ‘I am enchanted by it. Good morning, General.’
‘Good morning, Gates.’
‘Walter, have you ever seen such a house? General, you agree, I hope, that it is truly exquisite?’
‘Yes; I’m attached to the place myself. Been here, man and boy, for the last fifty years or so. Best grouse moor in the country, you know, and as good fishing as you can
