Free Sheer Folly by Carola Dunn

trips and lands in the water.” He suited action to the words and fastidiously dusted his gloved hands together. “There, one hazard the less. Gas lamps or no gas lamps, you’d better slow down, Mrs. Fletcher.”
    They proceeded round the bend at a more decorous pace, joining the first arrivals on a sort of paved landing.
    â€œOh!” Daisy echoed Julia in the only possible reaction to the spectacle before her.
    A waterfall plunged twenty feet or so into a dark pool. The cascade itself was anything but dark, because the ingenious plumber had somehow placed lamps in niches behind it. The sheet of falling water glowed, flinging out droplets that flashed and glinted as they caught the light.
    â€œIsn’t it wonderful, Daisy?”
    â€œIt is. How very clever, Mr. Pritchard. I wish Lucy could take a photo of it.”
    â€œOf what?” Lucy came round the bluff, with Owen Howell. “Mr. Howell refuses to tell me—” She fell silent, contemplating the luminous cascade. “That’s quite a sight, Mr. Pritchard,” she said with a sigh.
    â€œI could go back to the house and fetch your camera, Lady Gerald,” Howell offered.
    â€œBelieve me, if I thought I could do it, I’d fetch the camera myself. But I’m afraid a photograph simply wouldn’t do it justice.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    Lucy started to explain about long exposure times and moving subjects. Meanwhile Daisy, who had heard it all before, looked up at the source of the waterfall. Issuing from a dimly lit cavern, the stream was split in two by a plinth on which posed a marble female in Greek draperies, rather like the statue in the fountain at home. Instead of water streaming from her urn, however, she poured forth a marble river. She had small wings on herhead and the lower part of her gown was decorated with a relief of bulrushes. Daisy racked her brain.
    â€œTethys!” she said triumphantly, and scribbled a few descriptive words in the notebook she had, of course, brought with her. Her version of Pitman’s shorthand was at the best of times rather hit and miss. She hoped she’d remember what she’d written.
    â€œYou know your Greek mythology,” said Pritchard. “Most people ask me why not Poseidon.”
    â€œTethys?” Sir Desmond mused aloud. “Wasn’t she a goddess of the sea? So why not Poseidon?”
    â€œShe was the mother of rivers, sir,” Carlin said eagerly. “A minor figure. I’m not surprised you don’t remember her.”
    â€œHmph.” His superior was not pleased to be reminded of the gulf of years separating him from his education. “You’ve studied the classics, Mrs. Fletcher?”
    â€œWe read the myths at school, in English. I expect you concentrated on the gods, but I, at least, was always more interested in the goddesses.”
    Julia giggled. “Wasn’t Tethys the one who had an incredible number of children? As well as the rivers, I mean.”
    â€œCirce among them,” Carlin chortled, “if I’m not mistaken.”
    â€œMiss Harrison passed rather rapidly over Circe, d’you remember, Julia? I expect we missed a lot, reading the expurgated translations.”
    â€œI wonder where my wife’s got to?” Sir Desmond said abruptly. “I hope she didn’t turn her ankle, like Mrs. Fletcher. In those ridiculous shoes of hers, she’d certainly sprain if not break it. Perhaps I’d better go back and see. Don’t wait for us.” He turned on his heel and was gone.
    â€œDear me,” said Pritchard, “did you wrench your ankle, Mrs. Fletcher? I’m so sorry. The gardeners rake the path regularly, but I’m afraid bits and pieces keep rolling down the slopes.”
    â€œNo harm done. I can’t even feel it any longer. Do say we can go up to the grotto now.”
    â€œPerhaps I ought to make sure Lady Ottaline is all right. . . .”
    â€œSir