Little as they loved or respected the memory of Miss Ford, they felt bound to remain in the island until the double interment had taken place at Guernsey of that lady and of old Mr Bayre, whose rude coffin was unearthed and transported with that of his cousin to the larger island, where the strange events of the past few months had caused such a buzz of scandal that the three young people were very glad when the sombre ceremony was over and they could get away to London.
It was on the Wednesday that they arrived in town, and Olwen accompanied Mrs Bayre to her rooms, where she was to stay with her and the famous baby for the present.
It was arranged before they left Bayre that the two ladies should honour the Diggings with their presence on the following afternoon, and that they should bring the heir of Creux with them.
The Diggings, therefore, on the day of the festivity, were a glorious sight. Cut flowers were not enough. Palms and ferns and other plants were bought, their pots were decorated with silk handkerchiefs of artistic colourings, and they were arranged about the room in every available space, until there was not a corner anywhere that you could find room to place so much as a book or a plate upon.
Although it was a mild day, the fire was made to roar up the chimney, with the well-meaning belief that ladies and children were hothouse flowers, who throve best in excessive warmth.
Tarts, cakes, sweets and delicacies of all kinds were ordered in such abundance (the young men considered it mean to order less than a dozen of any one thing) that Mrs Inkersole grew quite pathetic, and warned them that in a week of living on nothing but pastry they would never be able to eat it all up.
To suit the Gargantuan appetites they supposed the ladies to possess, tea was ordered, and milk and coffee, on the same magnificent scale, so that the preparations resembled rather those for a glorified school treat than the entertainment of two ladies and a child whose age was still reckoned in months.
But none of the three saw anything absurd or unnecessary in all this, but rather troubled their heads lest something should have been forgotten than asked whether they had provided too much.
Jan Repton’s bedroom-studio was transformed into a bower of strongly-perfumed hothouse flowers for the ladies to take off their hats in, although even Susan reminded them that ladies kep’ their ’ats on to tea.
They silenced her with scorn, and went their own way unheeding.