Heirs of the Body (13 page)

At last the butler succeeded in ushering everyone out of the heat and glare of the July afternoon into the cool dimness of the hall, lit only by the clerestory and lantern of the cupola high above.

“Her ladyship is in the drawing room,” Lowecroft announced. “Tea will be served shortly. Perhaps the ladies would like to go to their rooms first?”

“I’ll go up too,” Alec said firmly.

Ernest was waiting by the stairs to escort them, and upstairs a maid was in attendance. Belinda was thrilled to find she had risen to the dignity of a guest room of her own, instead of one of the nursery bedrooms. In fact, she was in Daisy’s old room, as Daisy and Alec had the second-best bedroom.

“Mummy, do you think that means I’m supposed to have tea with the grown-ups, not with the babies?” she asked anxiously.

“I expect so, darling. You can come down with us to say hello to Aunt Geraldine, and if it looks as if you’re not expected you can quietly fade out, all right?” Daisy turned to the maid. “Are the other … guests already here?”

“Lord and Lady John will be staying at the Dower House, madam. There’s others as came yesterday,” she added in an ominous tone, “but who they may be, I’m sure it’s not my place to say.”

She made sure they had everything they needed, then departed.

“It sounds as if the servants don’t approve of the heirs of the body,” said Alec.

“Darling, it sounds to me as if they strongly
dis
approve.”

“They’re your relatives.” He was determined not to be drawn into Daisy’s family affairs. “I’m not going to get involved. I’d rather face a gang of thugs than massed Dalrymples, unless you’re by my side to protect me.”

Daisy giggled. “Then hurry up, do. I’m dying to see how Vincent and Raymond get on with each other.”

They washed off the inevitable grime of a train journey. When Belinda tapped on the door, Daisy sent her to see if Martha was ready.

Meeting on the landing, Alec saw that Martha was wide-eyed with apprehension, daunted by the prospect of facing a roomful of strangers. He was not a little apprehensive himself—of a week of boredom or, alternatively, of hordes of squabbling relatives whose ruffled feathers Daisy would expect him to help to smooth. With a certain fellow feeling, he gave Martha his arm and escorted her down the wide stairs to the hall.

Daisy followed with Belinda, doing her best not to act as if Fairacres were still her home. She wondered whether Martha found the mansion any more intimidating than she had—at first sight—the Hampstead house.

“I wish Derek was here,” Bel whispered to her.

As they reached the foot of the staircase Lowecroft, adept in the magical art of butlerdom, appeared from nowhere and ushered them into the drawing room.

Geraldine came to greet them. Behind her, three men stood up: Raymond, Vincent, and a stranger. Belatedly Edgar followed suit. With him rose a boy he had been chatting to, a dark lad of about Belinda’s age. An unknown lady remained seated.

Daisy presented Martha to Geraldine, who welcomed her kindly though with a distracted air. General introductions followed, not without some difficulty, as many of those present had the same surname.

Raymond Dalrymple favoured Daisy with a half bow, shook hands with Alec, gave Martha a nod and a hard stare, and ignored Belinda.

Vincent Dalrymple was all smiles and complaisance. The unknown woman turned out to be his wife. Mrs. Vincent Dalrymple was a handsome woman who spoke excellent English with a slight French accent and was dressed and made up with the Parisian chic attained without effort by so many Frenchwomen. Her manner was graciously condescending to Daisy, as if she already knew her husband to be the true heir. She couldn’t—could she?

To Martha, Mrs. Vincent didn’t bother to be gracious. She was coldly polite, after a glance with narrowed eyes at the younger woman’s obvious pregnancy. After an appraising look at Belinda, she bent enough to say, “My elder daughter must be about your age.”

“What’s her name? Is she here?” Bel asked eagerly.

“Certainly not. The children are
en vacances
on the Continent with their governess.”

Geraldine swept onwards. “Daisy, this is Mr. Crowley.”

So the stranger was the one who had told Tommy he was escorting a Dalrymple scion to England. In his late thirties, Mr. Crowley was dark haired, extremely good-looking, with green eyes and an engaging smile that displayed very white teeth. Altogether too much of a good thing, Daisy thought. What was his association with the unknown Dalrymple and why was his attendance necessary?

He grinned at Daisy and, as if reading her mind, said, “I’ve brought my stepson over to take his chances in the Dalrymple stakes.”

Doubtless he had had to answer the same question, spoken or implied, over and over again, she realised crossly.

He turned to the boy beside him, between him and Edgar. “Benjamin Dalrymple, son of my late wife and her first husband, Lucas Dalrymple, of Port-of-Spain, Trinidad.”

An orphan, then. Benjamin, a lanky lad about Bel’s age, was as dark skinned as Daisy’s Indian friend Sakari. Though his features were more European than African, his short-cropped hair was crow-black and tightly curled. Daisy had been vaguely aware of these facts since her first glance at the assembled company, but she hadn’t paid much attention, concentrating on the adults. It hadn’t crossed her mind that he was one of the would-be heirs.

He bowed slightly, looking apprehensive.

“Hello,” said Belinda, eschewing the formal “how do you do” with which she had addressed the grown-ups. She went straight to the question that most interested her: “How old are you?”

“Twelve, miss.”

“I’m thirteen. So’s Derek. My name is Belinda but you can call me Bel.”

He beamed. “You can call me Ben. Or Benjie, but I like Ben better.” His voice had an attractive lilt, rather like Martha’s, though less strong and with a mixture of other elements. It sounded almost Welsh to Daisy’s ears.

“Bel and Ben. I bet people will get confused.”

“Who’s Derek?”

“My cousin. My stepcousin, really. And my friend. You’re a sort of stepcousin too, I expect. You came from Trinidad?”

Daisy heard no more, as Ernest bore in the tea tray and Geraldine bustled her and Martha away to sit down. However, she was glad to see the two heads, ginger and black, remaining close together. Belinda’s coeducational school had made her quite at ease with boys, unlike many girls her age, and Sakari’s daughter was one of her best friends, so dark skin was no impediment.

However, it didn’t seem remotely possible that a half-caste child could be a legitimate “heir of the body.” That was not the boy’s fault. Crowley was responsible for his claim. Daisy wondered whether he really was Benjamin’s stepfather.

The ramifications were so complex she soon stopped wondering, in favour of answering Geraldine’s polite enquiries about the rigours of the train journey and the health of the twins. Geraldine was always meticulous about asking after the babies, though Daisy was pretty certain she really preferred older children, in spite of—or perhaps because of—having spent years as unpaid housemother to a horde of adolescent boys.

Mr. Crowley came over to have his teacup refilled, and stayed to talk to Daisy. “Let me get this straight,” he said with his charming smile, “you’re the daughter of our illustrious host’s predecessor?”

Ingratiating, Daisy thought. Was he a bit of a bounder, out to make something from his stepson’s possible good fortune? Perhaps even something of a con man? However, presumably he’d satisfied Tommy Pearson that Ben really was a Dalrymple, though, like the others, without proof that his was the eldest line.

“That’s right. Lord Dalrymple is my cousin.” Daisy looked round the room. “One of my cousins, I should say.”

“Oughtn’t you to be Lady something, then?”

“No.” She didn’t bother to explain the ramifications of her honorary “honourable” title. “Benjamin is an orphan, I gather?”

“Yes. His father was Lucas Dalrymple, son of John Dalrymple, who came to Port-of-Spain from Jamaica when he was a child, it seems, with his father Josiah. John married Dolores—I brought their marriage cert so that part’s all legit. That’s why I thought there’s half a chance…” He glanced round the room, with a wry face, while Daisy tried to memorise the names so as to create Ben’s family branch. “Quarter of a chance for the lad. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see the old country, though I didn’t expect to do it in such luxury!”

“How did you come to be responsible for Ben?”

“Luke was a pal of mine. He volunteered for the West India Regiment and before he left I promised to look out for Susanna and the kids if he didn’t come back.”

“Kids?”

“Ben has two older sisters and a younger brother.”

“Luke Dalrymple was killed in the war, I assume.”

“The Palestine Campaign. Your brother, too, I heard?”

“In Flanders.” Ten years later, Gervaise seemed to belong to another world. “Hence the search for an heir. A legitimate heir,” Daisy added.

Crowley grinned. “Don’t worry, Susanna and Luke were properly married, I assure you. In church. I was Luke’s best man. Susanna was a mulatto, a beauty. Her father was a Frenchman. We’ve got all sorts at home. I won’t say mixed marriages are common, but matches between white men and black women aren’t as uncommon as you may think.”

“You married Susanna, after Luke died?”

“A couple of years later. She was going to have my baby. They both died.” After a sombre pause, he went on, “I don’t know why I’m boring you with all this.”

“You’re not boring me, I’m interested. I’m so sorry about Susanna and your child. How on earth have you managed with the children?”

“My brother’s wife’s sister, Carlotta, has been helping, taking care of them after school and so on, and I’ve paid her what I can. But now … Look here, if I tell you something, you won’t pass it on? It’s personal, nothing that will change Ben’s prospects.”

Why people insisted on confiding in Daisy she had no idea. Alec blamed her deceptively guileless blue eyes, which she considered very unfair. More likely it was because her insatiable curiosity, her besetting sin, made her interested in whatever people told her, and in turn her interest made them want to confide. Was that circular reasoning, such as Alec had been known to reproach her for? She was still never quite certain.

“Tell me,” she invited. “I won’t gossip.”

“I want to marry Carlotta. I’m fond of Susanna’s brood, and we’ve done our best for them, but we want to settle down and have a family of our own. Carlotta won’t marry me if it means becoming mama to four kids from eleven to fifteen.”

“It’s quite a lot to take on,” Daisy said doubtfully.

“Carlotta thinks Anita, the eldest, is old enough to take responsibility for them all—with a hand from the family. But Anita won a scholarship to Bishop Anstey High School and she wants to get her School Certificate, even the Higher Cert. The rest are bright, too. I promised Luke … To cut a long story short, when I heard about the lawyer looking for a Dalrymple heir, I decided it was worth a gamble. I reckoned that if Ben turns out to be a lord, or an honourable or whatever, they’ll all be taken care of.”

“I’m sure they would be, if…”

“If.” Crowley nodded ruefully. “I didn’t count on so much competition. I don’t like the odds. What happens if the lawyer man can’t find the proof he needs?”

“I can’t imagine.” Daisy looked up as Belinda came towards her, Ben trailing behind. “What is it, darling?”

“Mummy, Uncle Edgar wants to go and look at the butterflies right now because Ben’s been telling him about the giant butterflies in Trinidad, so may I go and fetch the twins and then afterwards is it all right if Ben and I go to the Dower House to see Derek? Ben hasn’t met him yet. I wish Derek was staying here. Do you think Aunt Violet would let him? We—”

“Slow down! You may do all that
provided
you get permission from Aunt Geraldine to leave the room and to invite Derek; and from Nurse Gilpin to take the twins; and from Grandmama Dalrymple as well as Aunt Violet to ask Derek to move up here. I take it you’ve already consulted Benjamin, not dragged him along in your wake?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. If I may go with Miss Belinda, Uncle Frank?”

Crowley gave his permission.

“Bel, let me know when you’re going to the Dower House. I’ll go with you. I want to see your Aunt Violet. And I must say hello to Mother.” She hoped Belinda hadn’t noticed her priorities.

From what little she’d seen of him, Benjamin’s manner and manners appeared to be excellent, perhaps due to the influence of the male equivalent of Bishop Whatsit’s High School. All the same, if he was Edgar’s heir, a black viscount would be a real turnup for the books!

Crowley watched Bel and Ben cross the room to Geraldine, who was now engaged in laborious conversation with Mrs. Vincent Dalrymple. Daisy thought Crowley looked part speculative, part calculating, and part satisfied. She wasn’t sure how much of his story she believed. Was he a plausible rogue, or a man in a difficult position trying to do his best for his wards? Or a bit of both? Though his relationship with Benjamin seemed to be good, at best his motives were decidedly mixed.

She couldn’t make up her mind whether she liked him or not, far less whether she’d trust him an inch further than she could see him.

THIRTEEN

The Vincent
Dalrymples decided it behooved them to make their bows to the dowager viscountess and so proposed to join the walk to the Dower House. Daisy didn’t particularly want their company, but their presence might deflect attention from herself, always a good thing. What her mother’s reaction to Ben’s dark face might be she resolutely put out of her mind.

“Should I come along?” Alec asked her, when she told him of the expedition. “I ought to make my bow to your mother, too.”

“Do, darling. You know how it is. She has to complain about something, and given a choice of your negligence or too many people invading her tiny house, I’d prefer the latter. Especially as the house is quite big enough to absorb all of us. Besides, she does have some respect for you. Perhaps you can prevent her being rude to the Vincents and poor Ben.”