"What about Arthur Puckston, over at the Dragon's Rest?"
The wrinkles round Lady Brayie's mouth deepened, as though she were about to say she had no interest whatever in the Dragon's Rest But human curiosity, it appeared, would not be stifled.
"Incongruous as it seems," she conceded, "Puckston does.
He is… one of our fine old yeomen. He is not well off, as few of us are; but be wants genuine antiques for his inn."
"Uh-huh. It was a possibility. I see…"
Aunt Cicely herself, in what seemed to Martin some informal pinkish robe with lace over it, interrupted them men. Her entrance was flurried and apologetic, but with such real charm that it seemed to lighten the chill of Fleet House. Though she had perhaps a trick of archness and rapid speech, not quite in keeping with her faded beauty, the personality triumphed.
Ricky sprang forward.
"Mother, I want to present—"
"Of course. How delightful of you all to come!" smiled Aunt Cicely, sweeping aside introductions, new ones or forgotten ones, by giving each of them a look of such pleasure that they all felt warmed.
"You must forgive me," she raced on, "for popping in here, like a cuckoo out of a clock, and not even dressed. But I do so want to have a word with Sophia, and she didn't come upstairs."