Superfluous Women (3 page)

“A bit groggy. I always do if I nod off during the day. The doctor said the wheeze might last a few weeks even after I stop coughing. But I'm all right, really. I'd love another cup of tea.”

Isabel now wore a moss-green wool dress, but still no makeup. She lifted the tea cosy and felt the teapot. “It's still hot. You were only out for a few minutes.” She passed the cup and saucer and, unasked, another slice of parkin.

They let Daisy eat and drink in peace, discussing household matters. Isabel was clearly in charge of domestic business, and Vera, at least, seemed grateful not to have to deal with shopping, cooking, laundry, cleaning, and coping with Mrs. Hedger. Sally's aunt was not only grim-faced but pigheaded, it seemed.

“She has her own way of doing things,” said Isabel, “and nothing I say can make her stop straightening the stuff on your desk, Vera. You can try talking to her yourself. If that doesn't work, you'll have to put up with it or do your own room.”

“I could have killed her when she stacked those books on top of the one paper I needed urgently. I spent half an hour hunting through the other papers, then biked back to school to look for it.”

“Perhaps it's revenge for the kirby grips you lose all over the house. I found a couple myself today and put them on the mantelpiece.”

“Oh, thanks. Sorry, they
will
fall out, no matter what I do.” Vera went to the fireplace, found and pocketed a couple of hair grips, and returned to her chair.

“Well,” Isabel sighed, “I'll keep checking the notices in the newsagent's window, but chars are hard to come by here, as I was telling Daisy earlier. We were lucky to inherit her.”

“I inherited my treasure of a cook-housekeeper from my mother-in-law,” said Daisy, and instantly regretted her words. She hoped she didn't sound as if she were bragging about her marriage, her “treasure,” or being able to afford a cook-housekeeper, not to mention other servants. “Mrs. Hedger seems to be a mixed blessing,” she added quickly. Perhaps the woman had been soured by losing a close relative in the war, one or even both of the two Hedgers on the memorial.

But that was another topic best avoided. The chances were that Vera or Isabel or both had lost people they loved. Kind and friendly as they were, Daisy had only just met them. They were still strangers. She didn't know what subjects they were touchy about.

Vera sighed. “I suppose it'll teach me to keep my desk clear. I'm glad you're the one who has to deal with her.”

“She's more of a holly hedge than a beech hedge,” said Isabel, “but I'd rather cope with her than with a classroom full of children. Daisy, you have twins? They must be a handful. Do they go to school yet?”

“No, they're just toddlers. I have help with them, thank goodness, and talking of prickly, their nanny qualifies as a gorse thicket! My stepdaughter is fourteen and away at school except for the holidays. She's a darling, though, not at all difficult.”

“I seem to remember being at my worst at fifteen. That's why I trained for primary teaching, not secondary.”

“My mother claims I was always difficult,” said Daisy, “and still am, come to that.”

Vera laughed. “Tell us about your babies, Daisy, if it won't set you coughing.”

Daisy was always ready to talk about Oliver and Miranda, and both women seemed genuinely amused by stories of the twin's antics. Given that Vera and Isabel had little chance of becoming mothers, Daisy included a tale or two of naughtiness and illness, to remind them that having children wasn't all sunshine and roses.

“I miss them,” she said. “I haven't seen them for weeks, except for blowing kisses from the door, for fear of infection.”

Vera shook her head. “Believe me, I'm pretty good at judging when a child with the sniffles is going to spread them to the whole class! I doubt you're infectious still.”

“That's what my doctor told me before I came away, or I wouldn't be visiting you.”

“Is Daisy here?” Willie breezed in, bringing a breath of cold air. “Daisy, old top, it's good to see you! How are you?” She stood, hands on hips, looking down at Daisy.

“Much better, darling.”

Wilhelmina Chandler ran one hand through pale blond curls as exuberant as her personality. Even in her grey business costume, her makeup discreetly unobtrusive, she managed to bubble. “Looking a bit pale and wan, but I see Isabel's been feeding you up nicely. Izzie, pour us a cuppa, would you? I'm parched. Picked up a nail in the front tyre and had to run for the train, pushing my bike.”

Isabel felt the teapot. “It's barely lukewarm. I'll make another pot.”

“Don't bother. As long as it's wet. Ta.” She gulped down the tepid tea. “Now, Daisy, how long are you staying in Beaconsfield?”

“At least till Sunday evening.”

“Oh, good, then we'll see you again.”

“Izzie and I thought you might like to come to lunch on Sunday,” Vera proposed.

“Good idea,” said Willie. “Do say you will, Daisy.”

“I'd have loved to, thank you, but my husband is coming to join me on Saturday morning, if he can get away.”

The other three consulted with a glance.

“He's welcome, too,” said Isabel, “if he doesn't mind an excess of female company.”

“Of course he wouldn't. I won't be sure he's actually coming, though, till he arrives. Alec's working hours are … erratic.”

“Never mind,” said Isabel, “we'll expect him if we see him. I was thinking, to even out the numbers, we might invite the Cartwrights, but—”

“No!” Vera exclaimed vehemently.

“All right, keep your hair on! It was just a thought.”

Willie finished her tea. “Daisy, are you up to staying for supper tonight, or shall we set out?”

“I'd better head back, or you might have to push me in a wheelbarrow.”

A few minutes later, with Daisy carefully wrapped up against the night air, she and Willie started up the gentle slope of Orchard Road.

“Who are the Cartwrights?” Daisy asked. “Isabel said she hadn't had time to make any friends here yet.”

“Vera's headmaster and his wife. They invited her over for drinks one Sunday soon after the beginning of term, and we haven't returned their hospitality. Partly because we've only just got the house sorted out. Also, we haven't really been able to afford any halfway decent sherry, let alone spirits for cocktails.”

“She—Vera—didn't sound frightfully keen.”

“No-o.” Willie's expression was invisible as they were still some distance from the next street lamp, but she sounded as if she were frowning. “I don't know what that's about. She hasn't talked about any trouble with Mr. Cartwright. Bosses can be difficult in a million ways, though, as I know from experience. Be glad you're your own boss.”

“Editors can be awkward, too, believe me, but on the whole I've been lucky. As for Alec's superintendent, the less said the better. By the way, did you tell the others he's a policeman?”

“No, you asked me not to, though I didn't gather why. He's not in some top secret undercover branch, is he?”

“Heavens no, a common-or-garden detective chief inspector.”

“Tall, dark, and handsome, is what I've heard.”

“Handsome? Well, he has the most adorable hair, dark and springy. It just won't lie down flat as he'd like.”

“I'd want to boast about him, to friends.”

“It's just that most people badger me about what it's like being married to a detective, or they want to hear about his cases, or they go silent.”

“I didn't reveal
your
ventures into sleuthing, either,” Willie said, her voice mischievous.

“I'd like to know who told you, because I didn't.”

“I can't remember. More than one Old Girl, I think. Always with a ‘top secret' caveat attached.”

Daisy laughed—and doubled up coughing. Willie helped her to the bench at the end of Orchard Road, and they sat there for a few minutes while she recovered. Few people were out and about at half past six on a chilly weekday evening. A couple of cars passed, going towards the new town; an errand boy on a bicycle zipped by in the opposite direction, whistling, his basket laden and his front light casting a weak and erratic beam.

A moment later, a motor roared behind them. Daisy glanced round to see a black car speeding up Orchard Road, only its side lamps lit. It barely slowed at the intersection, narrowly missing a van as it swung into the main road, towards the old town.

“Something something eight seven four,” said Willie.

“What? Oh, the number plate?”

“Yes. If I see him driving like that again, I'll report him. Did you notice the letters?”

“No, sorry. And it's no good asking me what kind of car it was, either.” Daisy stood up. “I'm all right now. Let's go.”

By the time they reached the Saracen's Head, she was worn out, though pleased with herself. In the brightly lit lobby, Willie took one look at her and said, “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“My treat. I've already been royally entertained to tea and I have high hopes for Sunday lunch.”

Daisy would have gone to the ladies' parlour, but Willie pushed open the door to the saloon bar.

At their entrance, half a dozen men at the bar and three at a table looked round and fell silent. They looked like a mixture of prosperous farmers, shopkeepers, possibly a lawyer's clerk or two, and the better kind of commercial traveller. Every face instantly registered disapproval, from raised eyebrows to scowls.

Respectable women unescorted by a male were still taboo in a barroom. The barman said gruffly, “You ladies'd be more comfortable in the parlour.”

Willie gave him a bright smile as she marched over to the bar. “Thanks, but this will do us very well. What's yours, Daisy? A hot toddy?”

“Vermouth and soda, please.” She delved into her bag for money.

“And I'll have a half of draught mild.”

Stony-faced, the man poured and siphoned Daisy's drink and drew Willie's. Daisy paid. Willie, her point made, carried the glasses to a table as far removed from all the others present as possible. Hidden by the high-backed settle, she burst into giggles.

“They'll learn,” she said tolerantly. “These days, there are too many of us to be ignored or shunted off into a backroom.”

*   *   *

Next time Daisy saw Sally, the waitress had heard the story and was full of admiration for “that Miss Chandler.”

“She put him in his place proper, didn't she, madam! And as polite and ladylike with it as you please.”

“She took him by surprise and he was flummoxed.”

Sally's giggle sounded just like Willie's. “Men! Too big for their boots they are, the most of 'em. Good for her telling our Mickey where to get off. He's cross as scissors, he is.”

 

THREE

Alec had
been sent to Oakham, to help the minuscule Rutland county force. Two simultaneous investigations had overwhelmed their meagre resources. By late afternoon on Saturday, three people had been arrested on a variety of charges. Alec left Detective Sergeant Ernie Piper to deal with the paperwork, his forte. After sending Daisy a wire to say he'd be with her by dinnertime, he set out cross-country for Beaconsfield in his new royal blue Austin Twelve.

Before leaving London for Oakham, he had received two cheerful letters from Daisy recounting the immediate improvement in her health and continuing progress. All the same, he was worried about her. She was so seldom ill she was inclined to belittle her own symptoms, besides not wanting to worry him … Yet here he was worrying anyway.

He concentrated on driving, through a light but relentless drizzle, the complicated route from Rutland to Beaconsfield that Ernie had mapped out for him.

It was dark when he reached the Saracen's Head, to find himself expected. The
ping
of the bell on the reception desk brought a young woman from the room behind it. On hearing his name, she exclaimed, “Oh, Mrs. Fletcher will be ever so happy to see you, sir. She's ever so much better than when she came. Hardly ever coughs and none of them terrible coughing fits yesterday.”

“Thank you, Miss…?”

“Hedger. Sally Hedger, sir. Mrs. Fletcher's in her room—your room. Number eleven, turn right at the top of the stairs. She has a key, and here's another one for you, in case you need it.”

“Thanks.”

“Any bags to be brought in, sir?”

“This is it.” He hefted his valise. “I can manage, thanks.” Luckily he'd taken an extra clean shirt to Rutland. He went upstairs and found the room. Knocking, he called, “Daisy, it's me,” while trying the handle.

The door wasn't locked. As it opened, Daisy cried, “Darling!” and jumped up from a chair by the fire, dropping a book on the floor.

He dropped his valise as she flung herself into his arms. Kicking the door closed behind him, he kissed her. Her enthusiastic response lasted long enough to prove she no longer suffered from severe breathlessness.

“Darling, I've missed you. I'm so glad you managed to get away.”

“Ernie Piper knows where I am. The Yard doesn't.”

“Good.”

He held her away from him and scrutinised her face. “You don't look quite as like a death's head as you did.” Still a bit wan, but the curl was returning to golden-brown shingled hair that had lain limp and drab when she left London.

“How kind of you! I'm perfectly well, I promise, and trying not to regain too many pounds.”

“I like you with the pounds,” Alec said firmly, remembering that, at their first meeting, “cuddlesome” had been the word that came to mind.

“That's a great relief, but I'm trying anyway. Did you get my last letter? When did you leave town?”