The old duffer was interrupted as the door to the study opened. It was Miriam. She was excited.
‘It’s happening,’ she said.
*
Vaughn hurried us all through the house, shouting as we went.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘if you’ll be so good as to gather your drinks, we’ve got an adventure in the gardens for you.’
‘The gardens?’ an old matron sitting in a cosy spot by the fire complained.
‘Bring your outdoor shoes, and you might want an overcoat if you feel the chill,’ Vaughn said.
It was getting dark outside. Servants bustled about, providing burning torches, lending the affair a medieval, pagan feeling. There was a ripple of excitement in the air, at the prospect of being handed a flame.
‘When does the blackout come in?’ Constance asked, shoving her feet into a pair of muddy boots.
Washington, the butler, emerged from the shadows. He consulted the day’s paper.The Times, of course. The blackout times, start and end, were on the masthead.
‘Fifty-seven minutes’ time,’ he said, as if pronouncing a complicated legal opinion.
‘Plenty of time,’ Vaughn said. ‘Come on!’
We trooped solemnly down the steps at the edge of the terrace, into the ornamental gardens, filled with towering rhododendrons in full bloom. The grassy paths were already damp with dew. The air was heady with jasmine, and bats flew above us in the dark.
Washington brought up the rear, and I dropped back to walk with him.
‘Didn’t have you down as a blackshirt, Cook,’ he said, keeping his voice low.
‘I’m looking for a parachutist,’ I said. ‘Any ideas?’
We slowed our pace, letting the party get ahead of us, until we were alone in the darkness.
‘Not here,’ he said, under his breath.
‘You know what’s going on?’ I asked.
‘Not here,’ he repeated.
I stopped in his path.
A twig cracked in the trees, a few yards into the undergrowth. A deer perhaps. Or perhaps someone was keeping an eye on us.
‘I believe it’s a surprise,’ he said, projecting his voice into the darkness. ‘Lord Matheson’s quite excited to show you all. We should hurry.’
We moved on. The path took us onto an ornamental bridge across a waterfall, linking two lakes. The rushing water gave us cover to talk.
‘The Green Man,’ he said. ‘I get off early tomorrow night.’
Footsteps from behind us heralded the arrival of a latecomer. It was Freddie.
‘Come on, Cook, don’t want to miss this,’ he said.
*
We caught up with the party at the far end of the lake. A haze of mist rose from the water. If Excalibur had appeared from the mist, held aloft by a ghostly arm, it wouldn’t have looked out of place.
Margaret found me and slipped her arm into mine.
