The buildings consisted of a cottage and a long stable or coach-house contiguous. This presented a blank white-washed wall to the road, but a Gloire de Dijon rose spread itself over the cottage front, almost smothering a board with the inscription: S. Holly and Son, Carters and Hauliers.
Tilda knocked, and her knock was answered by a sour-visaged woman.
"Well, an' what can I do for you?" asked the woman, staring down from her doorstep on the children.
"If you please, ma'am, is Mr. 'Olly at 'ome?"
"No, he ain't."
"I knew it," said Tilda tranquilly. "But by all accounts 'e's got a son."
"Eh?"
The woman still stared, divided between surprise and mistrust.
"You're mistakin'," Tilda pursued. "I ain't come with any scandal about the fam'ly. A grown-up son, I mean—with a 'orse an' cart. Because, if so, there's five gallopin' 'orses down at the wharf waitin' to be taken over to Henley-in-Arden."
"Oh?" said the woman. "My 'usband left word Gustavus was to fetch 'em along if they arrived. But who sent you with the message?"