Black Ship (28 page)

“Oh yes.”

“Knowing Sergeant Tring, I’m sure he was perfectly polite.”

“Yes, he asked my permission first. I’d have given it for my own room, and perhaps Patrick’s, but I couldn’t let them poke around in Aidan and Audrey’s, when they aren’t even in town.”

“I do understand.” Daisy sipped her drink, wishing she had made it stronger. What on earth could she say to bring comfort when everything she knew confirmed Alec’s belief that the Jessups were involved in Castellano’s death?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.” Mrs. Jessup put her brandy down, almost untasted. “It was thoughtless of me. I’d better—”

“No, don’t go. You’re very welcome to stay here until … until they’re finished in your house. Just think, the Bennetts are bound to be glued to their field glasses, and if they saw you leave so soon, they’d be convinced I’d thrown you out. You can’t want to give me such a reputation for inhospitability!”

Mrs. Jessup summoned up a smile. “No, it’s bad enough that they’ll be shredding our reputation.” She leant back wearily in her chair.

“Do you think anyone credits anything they say? Among people who know them, I mean.”

“Those who want to. And there are those who wouldn’t dream of inventing nasty stories about people but can’t resist passing them on. At least, so far, I haven’t had neighbours dropping in to ask nosy questions.”

“What about reporters? They haven’t discovered you yet?”

“No.” She looked aghast. “I hadn’t thought of that possibility. I suppose they’re bound to come?”

“We had one earlier, but Elsie got rid of him very quickly. She’s simply marvellous. I dare say he told the rest there was nothing doing. I’ll tell her to explain the technique to your Enid. I’m so glad Enid mentioned her sister needing a position when we first came here.”

“I’m glad you’re happy with her. So many people never stop complaining about their servants. We’re very lucky in ours.”

“Luck’s a big part of it, but in my opinion, how you treat them makes a huge difference.” Daisy had started simply ages ago doing research for a serious article on domestic service, concentrating on the contrasts between the way servants were regarded by the middle class and by the aristocracy. Though she hadn’t made much progress, having been diverted by other matters, she was still interested in the subject. Discussing it with Mrs. Jessup not only gave her further material but distracted Mrs. Jessup from her woes for quite forty minutes.

When they started to run down, Daisy said with a laugh, “I told Belinda she’d better prepare for a day when there are no more nannies.”

“How is Belinda doing at school?” Mrs. Jessup asked.

“Very well. She’s learning science, and Latin, and all sorts of things girls weren’t supposed to be capable of in my day.”

And there was another fruitful topic, that lasted another quarter of an hour. Unfortunately, in the end it reminded Mrs. Jessup that her grandchildren were far away.

“I hope they arrived safely,” she fretted.

“Haven’t you heard from Audrey?”

“They have no telephone. It’s … not primitive, but very
rural.
The village is several miles away. I’m sure she’ll write as soon as they get settled.”

“I’d like to write to her. I know Alec has the address—”

“That fool Jonathan Irwin!”

“But I’d rather get it from you than from him.”
Pour la politesse
, and because he might refuse to give it to her.

Listlessly, Mrs. Jessup told her. “You won’t mention that the police are looking for Aidan, will you? In her condition … That’s why we didn’t want to tell your husband where she is, of course.”

“Of course,” Daisy agreed, but hadn’t the refusal—or rather, claim of ignorance—come before the hunt was apparent?

“Though I suppose she’ll find out soon enough from the police.”

“I’m afraid so. You haven’t heard from Aidan since he left?”

“No.” She frowned. “No, not a word. I hope … But he’ll have been on the road all day. Sometimes the people he calls on offer him a bed for the night, but usually he just stops at the nearest inn. Even in this day and age, not all wayside inns have telephones.”

“Does he usually ring up when he stops for the night, if there’s a phone nearby?”

“If Audrey were at home, he would. As she’s not … I can see it looks odd, both of them leaving at such a moment, but they honestly had been planning their trips for ages. How could they guess there had been a murder, let alone that the victim was someone I’d met? I didn’t know myself until they showed me the photograph, didn’t even know his name until they told me. Neither Aidan nor Patrick had ever seen him before. I suppose Enid had to say she recognised the man in the photo.” She sighed.

“She really had no choice, and no reason not to. She couldn’t have guessed it would cause so much trouble for you,” Daisy assured her.

“Nor could I, or I might have insisted she was mistaken. I’d
better be getting home. I only hope the servants don’t all depart when they see the mess the police leave behind.”

“Tom Tring—Sergeant Tring—won’t leave a mess. You’ll find everything just as it should be.”

Mrs. Jessup looked sceptical. “Thank you for lending a sympathetic ear,” she said. “And for the brandy. I didn’t notice it going, but I see I’ve finished it! Good night, Mrs. Fletcher.”

Daisy saw her out. The wind had died and the sky was clear, as bright with stars as ever a London night could be. There would be a frost tonight.

No reluctance to face the police was apparent in Patrick’s jaunty step as he came down the stairs. He sat down opposite Alec without waiting for an invitation, and started talking before Ross was ready with notebook and pencil.

“To think I was afraid I’d be bored coming home to the business! No fear of that with a ‘tec moving in next door in my absence.”

“You had an exciting time in America?”

Patrick considered. “Not so much once I was ashore. The voyage had its moments.”

“You seem to have brought a spot of excitement home with you. A curious coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The world is full of coincidences.”

“But it was no coincidence that your brother left within an hour of your return. Did you quarrel with him?”

“With Aidan? Lord no! None of that prodigal son stuff, with the disgruntled older brother. I was on business, remember, even if it involved a spot of fun. Besides, old Aidan and I get on quite happily together. He’s a bit of a stodgy sort of chap. I tease him about it, and he reads me the odd lecture when I’m not stodgy enough, but that’s about it.”

“Then why did he leave in such a hurry?”

“Aren’t you bored with the story, Mr. Fletcher? I’m sure my parents have both told you, and likely the servants, as well.”

“Detective work is often boring, believe it or not. I’d like to hear your version.”

“Duty called! It’s not a call Aidan is capable of disregarding. Some old geezers up north have to have their hands held when it comes to choosing their booze, and Aidan’s elected. He’s very good at it, I understand.”

“Tell me whose hands he’s gone to hold.”

“Their names? You forget, I’ve been out of things for a couple of months. I haven’t the foggiest.”

“And did he happen to mention, in the brief hour you had together after a two-month parting, where he intended to begin his peregrination of the northern reaches of the kingdom?”

“He did not. We had other things to talk about.”

“Such as?”

“Why, the success of my mission, of course.”

“Of course. And was it successful?”

“It was indeed. Sold all the goods, brought home the shekels, and paved the way for the next venture. If this chappy getting done in doesn’t put paid to the whole thing.”

“Why should it?”

“Well, if you were an American … let us say ‘businessman,’ and you heard that an American had been murdered just outside the house of the people you were doing business with, how keen would you be to continue the association? Especially as he happened to be an Italian American. I don’t know if you’re aware that the Italians are rapidly taking over the bootlegging business? At any rate, it’s certainly not going to help the firm, so it hardly makes sense to suspect us of having a hand in his death.”

“I’ll bear it in mind. Did you ever hear the name Michele Castellano while you were in America?”

“Not that I recall. I don’t think so. I wasn’t actually there very long, you know. That kind of voyage is apt to be a lengthy affair. As a matter of fact, the people I was with didn’t go in for introductions on the whole, and those names I did get, I’m not at all sure they were their real ones.”

“Fair enough. Come to that, we can’t be sure Castellano is the real name of the deceased. Tell me about coming home. Where did you land?”

“Liverpool. We ran into a squall in the Irish Sea that slowed us down, so I was glad I’d sent a wireless cable telling the parents not to try to meet the boat train. And as they weren’t expecting me at any particular time, I simply couldn’t resist popping into the Flask—”

“The pub just off the High Street?”

“That’s the place. Not that I’d been deprived of alcohol for two months. I came home on a British ship, and over there, there was no shortage of ‘hooch,’ as they call it. But speakeasies and ships’ bars just don’t measure up to the local pub.”

“I suppose they know you there?”

“Oh yes. Ask the proprietor or any of the regulars. I was there from—oh, I don’t know—about six till half past or thereabouts. Just time enough for a pint and a chat. Then I went on home.”

“You walked up through the garden?”

“Well, yes. It doesn’t make sense to go round by the street, does it? Not to our house, or yours. I didn’t see any bodies, nor anyone hanging about.”

“Was it raining?”

“Coming down cats and dogs.”

Alec nodded. He thought he heard the merest breath of a sigh of relief. He was pretty sure nine-tenths of what Patrick had said was true. The other tenth was hogwash. He suppressed a sigh of his own. No hope of getting home for dinner.

In the offices above, a telephone bell rang. Piper would answer it.

Alec took out his fountain pen and wrote down reminders to himself: The pub must be checked, and the time it had started raining, and the time of arrival of the delayed boat train.

“What ship did you sail back on?”

“The—”

“Chief!” Piper came running down the stairs. “Sorry to interrupt. It’s the Manchester Royal Infirmary on the line, the head almoner. Aidan Jessup was taken ill at his hotel and he’s in hospital.”

After showing
Mrs. Jessup out, Daisy decided not to change for dinner. If Alec came home in time, which she rather doubted, he wouldn’t want to change, and a man should be allowed to be comfortable in his own home, when there are no guests.

She went back to the sitting room, kicked off her shoes, and curled up in a chair, sipping the remaining half of her vermouth and soda. She had a feeling Mrs. Jessup had said something important, but she simply could not pin it down. She went back over their conversation. As far as she could recall, no new information had emerged.

The doorbell rang.

“Again!” she groaned aloud. “Who now, for pity’s sake?” It was too early for dinner guests, even if she had expected any, and much too late for anyone else.

She heard Elsie come through the baize door and tap-tap along the hall. The fire flickered in the draught under the sitting room door as the front door was opened.

Elsie’s voice came to her loud and clear, and firm. “Madam is not receiving.”

A murmur of voices. Reporters?

“No, there’s not a policeman in the house, neither. Not at the moment, there isn’t.”

Although the voices were slightly raised, Daisy couldn’t quite make out the words, nor recognise the voices.

“Well, really!” Elsie sounded thoroughly put out. “You can just wait right here and we’ll see what madam has to say about this!” The front door closed with a thud.

What on earth had ruffled the polite, well-trained parlour maid to the point of being rude? As Elsie’s footsteps approached, Daisy stood up and started to go to meet her. Then she changed her mind: Discretion was the better part of knowledge—or rather, vice versa. Better to wait and find out what she was going to face before she went to face it.

“Oh, madam!” Elsie closed the door behind her. “It’s them Bennetts. I said you’re not at home, but they up and pushed right past me. Worse than that reporter they are, and that’s saying something. They want to see the master. I told ’em he’s not here, but they won’t take no for an answer. I’m that sorry, madam.”

“Oh, BH! if you’ll pardon my language. I’ll go.”

“I left ’em in the hall, madam, but I wouldn’t put it past them to go into the drawing room without an invitation.”

This measure of the Bennetts’ iniquity proved all too accurate. Daisy found them in the drawing room. They had turned on the electric light. Miss Bennett was sitting by the unlit fire, and her brother stood with his back to it. As Daisy entered, Miss Bennett said in a voice meant to be overheard, “Too penny-pinching for a fire in every room, I dare say.”

Since the room had not been in use—and, in any case, the radiators made it quite warm enough for comfort—the remark was quite uncalled-for. Daisy ignored it.

“I understand you hoped to see my husband,” she said. “I’m afraid he is not here and I don’t know when he’ll return.”

“Some men are so inconsiderate about letting their households know when they’re going to be late.”

That was a bit of cheek, in view of Mr. Bennett’s claim that she hadn’t told him when, or even whether, she’d be home tonight! Daisy nearly pointed out that it was inevitable in Alec’s job, but once again she decided not to rise to the bait.

“I presume you wish to see him in his professional capacity,” she said sweetly—was there such a word as
saccharinely?
“If you have a statement to make, may I suggest you either ring up the local police or go directly to Scotland Yard?”

“It’s not the local bobbies we want,” snapped Mr. Bennett, “and I should have thought you could see I can’t possibly be dragging myself down to Whitehall with my arthritis. We’ll tell you what we saw and you can pass it on to your husband.”