Chapter One
"And I suppose this is the approach-course," said Charles Malcolm. "Full of natural hazards." His wife, Celia, replied with dignity: "That is the tennis-court." Charles made a derisive noise. "All it needs," she said, eyeing him, "is a little levelling."
"All it needs," said Charles rudely, "is a hay-cutter and a steam-roller. And this is the place you wouldn't sell!"
His sister-in-law took up the cudgels. "It's perfectly lovely, and you know it. As soon as Celia and I set eyes on it we fell for it."
"That I can believe," said Charles. "A mullioned window or two, and a ruined chapel, and I'd expect you two to go over at the knees. But Peter was with you. What did he fall for? Beer at the local pub?"
"There's a trout-stream at the bottom of the garden," Margaret pointed out.
"So there is," Charles agreed. "And another in the servants' hall for wet days. Bowers showed it to me."
"Simply because there was a pane of glass out of one of the windows!" Celia said hotly. "Of course the rain came in!"
Margaret tucked her hand in Charles' arm. "Wait till you've seen your bedroom. It's got linen-fold panelling, and there's a cupboard which is all part of it, and which takes you ages to find."
"That really is jolly," Charles said. "Then if anyone burgles our room he won't be able to find my dress-coat. I suppose I can mark the place with a cross."