As the Crow Flies

“I’ve rather taken to that purple hood thing,” said Percy. “I think I’d look quite a swell were I to sport one of those at next year’s hunt ball. What do you think, old gel?”

“You’re expected to do rather a lot of hard work before you’re allowed to adorn yourself with one of those, Percy.”

They all turned to see who it was who had offered this opinion.

Percy lowered his head. “Your Majesty is, as always, quite correct. I might add, sir, that I fear, given my present record, I am unlikely ever to be considered for such a distinction.”

The King smiled, then added, “In fact I’m bound to say, Percy, that you seem to have strayed somewhat from your usual habitat.”

“A friend of Daphne’s,” explained Percy.

“Daphne, my dear, how lovely to see you,” said the King. “And I haven’t yet had the opportunity to congratulate you on your engagement.”

“I received a kind note from the Queen only yesterday, Your Majesty. We are honored that you are both able to attend the wedding.”

“Yes, simply delighted,” said Percy. “And may I present Mrs. Trumper, who was the recipient of the degree?” Becky shook hands with the King for a second time. “Her husband, Mr. Charles Trumper, and Mrs. Trumper’s mother, Mrs. Salmon; her aunt, Miss Roach.”

The King shook hands with all four before saying, “Well done, Mrs. Trumper. I do hope you’re going to put your degree to some useful purpose.”

“I shall be joining the staff of Sotheby’s, Your Majesty. As an apprentice in their fine art department.”

“Capital. Then I can only wish you continued success, Mrs. Trumper. I look forward to seeing you at the wedding, if not before, Percy.” With a nod the King moved on to another group.

“Decent fellow,” said Percy. “Good of him to come over like that.”

“I had no idea you knew—” began Becky.

“Well,” explained Percy, “to be honest, my great-great-great-great-grandfather tried to murder his great-great-great-great-grandfather, and had he succeeded our roles might well have been reversed. Despite that he’s always been jolly understanding about the whole affair.”

“So what happened to your great-great-great-great-grandfather?” asked Charlie.

“Exiled,” said Percy. “And I’m bound to add, quite rightly. Otherwise the blighter would only have tried again.”

“Good heavens,” said Becky, laughing.

“What is it?” said Charlie.

“I’ve just worked out who Percy’s great-great-great-great-grandfather was.”

Daphne didn’t get a chance to see Becky again before the marriage ceremony, as the last few weeks of preparation for her wedding seemed to be totally occupied. However, she did manage to keep abreast of the goings-on in Chelsea Terrace, after bumping into the colonel and his wife at Lady Denham’s reception in Onslow Square. The colonel was able to inform her, sotto voce, that Charlie was beginning to run up a rather large overdraft with the bank—“even if h

e had cleared every other outstanding creditor.” Daphne smiled when she recalled that her last payment had been returned in typical Charlie fashion several months before it was due. “And I’ve just learned that the man has his eye on yet another shop,” added the colonel.

“Which one this time?”

“The bakery—Number 145.”

“Becky’s father’s old trade,” said Daphne. “Are they confident of getting their hands on it?”

“Yes, I think so—although I fear Charlie’s going to have to pay a little over the odds this time.”

“Why’s that?”

“The baker is right next door to the fruit and vegetable shop, and Mr. Reynolds is only too aware just how much Charlie wants to buy him out. However, Charlie has tempted Mr. Reynolds with an offer to remain as manager, plus a share of the profits.”

“Hmmm. How long do you think that little arrangement will last?”

“Just as long as it takes for Charlie to master the bakery trade once again.”