Heirs of the Body by Carola Dunn Page A

to use their christian names, she simply could not bring herself to refer to them as Lord and Lady Dalrymple. “However, it’s not for me to complain.”
    “They invited me.”
    “Only because Edgar is unfit to evaluate the claimants and Geraldine is unwilling. That lawyer friend of yours should have requested my assistance. I can’t think how you came to take it upon yourself—”
    “I didn’t, Mother. Geraldine asked me because I’m a Dalrymple by birth, which neither she nor you are.”
    “Well, I must say…!”
    For once Daisy had left her mother speechless. She took her leave with all possible celerity.
    Walking back across the park to the big house, she looked forward with dismay to the morrow. Bad enough that Cousin Raymond had not so far shown himself a sympathetic person; the prospect of the dowager viscountess and the present viscountess crossing swords over the teacups made Daisy cringe.
    *   *   *
    Saturday morning promised another sunny day and Daisy’s spirits rose. After breakfast, she went for a walk along the riverside path. Edgar’s spaniel, Pepper, went with her, as Wharton, the bailiff, had cornered his lordship and driven him into his study to accomplish several overdue tasks.
    The Severn slid by, reflecting the blue of the sky and the green of the willows leaning over it. A dark red butterfly with white edges to its wings flitted past. Swallows darted and swooped over the water. Daisy hoped they would confine their diet to midges and not go for the butterfly.
    The water level was about eight feet below the path, but Pepper, undeterred, scrambled down to go for a dip. Presuming he knew what he was doing, Daisy didn’t call him back until he started to paddle determinedly after a pair of crested grebes. He took no notice, giving up only when the birds submerged and swam off underwater. Then he turned downstream on a diagonal towards the bank.
    By the time Daisy caught up with him, he had climbed out onto a dilapidated floating landing stage. After shaking vigorously, he scampered up the equally dilapidated wooden steps and greeted her with more enthusiasm than she quite cared for.
    “Down, boy! I’d better ask your master if he wouldn’t mind having the steps and dock repaired. I bet Derek and Belinda are getting too old to be satisfied with puttering about the backwater. The boat probably could do with an overhaul, too.”
    A little farther on, they crossed a wooden footbridge over the backwater. Surrounded by willows and alders, it was overgrown with reeds and scummed with pondweed. Watching scarlet dragonflies dart and hover, Daisy realised Pepper’s intention too late. She grabbed for his collar but she missed. He took a flying leap from the bridge into the stagnant water, so he was both soggy and mucky when she left him—with apologies—with Bill Truscott in the stables.
    By that time, the day was growing hot and humid. The sky was hazy, with the feel of thunder in the air. After lunch, Geraldine told Lowecroft they would take coffee on the terrace. Ernest moved the wicker chairs and table into the wedge of shade provided by the house. Daisy, Geraldine, and Edgar settled there, looking out over the crazy paving and the low parapet to the lawn, with its huge chestnut, and the gardens, gently sloping down towards the river, marked by the willows on the bank. Daisy broached the subject of refurbishing boat, steps, and dock before the children came to stay in August.
    “Of course, my dear. I’ll write it down immediately.” He took out his fountain pen and his lepidopteran notebook.
    “And it might be a good idea to have the backwater cleaned up a bit, dredged perhaps. Though the dragonflies seem to like it as it is. Which reminds me, I saw a very pretty butterfly by the river. Dark reddish brown, with white edges. I think there were spots, too.”
    “Blue spots? Among the willows? Camberwell Beauty!” He jumped up and glanced about him. “Where’s Pepper?”
    “He got