As the Crow Flies

“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 returning 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 fiancé—”

“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 returned 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 returned 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.