Heirs of the Body (17 page)

“I don’t see why not.”

“Daddy gave us each half a crown.”

“And so did Uncle Edgar, even when we told him Uncle Alec already had.”

“And I expect my father will, too,” Derek said hopefully. “So we can do
everything
. Coconut shies, fortune-teller, test your strength, shove-ha’penny, archery—”

“Egg-and-spoon race.”

“Three-legged race. It’s almost like Carnival at home, only different.”

“Ben told us about Carnival in Port-of-Spain, Mummy. They all dress up in fancy costumes and play music in the streets and dance.”

“Dance!” Derek was scornful. “I’d rather race a donkey. Father’s going to buy me a proper horse next birthday. I’m too big for my pony.”

“You’ll squash the poor little donkey,” said Belinda, and they all went off into gales of laughter.

As they quieted, Daisy overheard a censorious mutter from Laurette, behind her. She wondered whether the French in general disapproved of children having fun, or was it just Laurette? She hoped Laurette’s own children, on holiday with their governess, were enjoying themselves more than if their mama had gone with them.

They reached the gate and paid their sixpence apiece admission. Daisy knew most of the villagers—the population hadn’t changed much—so she was quickly surrounded by old acquaintances eager to admire the twins. Oliver and Miranda revelled in the attention, but inevitably they wanted to get out of the pushchair. Miranda ended up riding on Alec’s shoulders, and Frank obligingly hoisted Oliver to his. Along with the slow drift of the crowd, they made for the makeshift dais where Geraldine was to make her introductory speech.

Geraldine kept her remarks admirably brief. The vicar whisked her away to admire the winners of the various displays; during the lunch hour his wife had whipped round affixing blue rosettes to the longest runner beans, the biggest vegetable marrow, the most perfect rose, the greatest variety of wildflowers stuffed into a jam jar by some enterprising schoolchild.

Daisy found Martha and went with her to have her fortune told. As the fortune-teller was the district nurse, nicely got up in a black-and-red robe of shiny artificial silk, the fortune was vague but optimistic. Martha was happy to be told that someone dear to her would soon appear.

Coming out of the tent, she said, “She must mean Sam, don’t you think?”

Or the baby, Daisy thought, murmuring a sound that could be taken for agreement.

“Does she really know?”

“Darling, I haven’t the foggiest. I’ve heard her mother was a wise woman.”

“Wise woman?”

“A sort of village witch, regarded by many people as having uncanny powers, and often very knowledgeable about herbal medicines.” That might be why she had gone into nursing.

“Oh, a Myal-woman.”

Whatever a Myal-woman was, Martha was content with her acceptance of the perceived similarity, so Daisy didn’t upset the applecart by asking for an explanation.

They went to look at some of the stalls. One was selling knitted baby clothes: caps, jackets, leggings, mittens, and socks.

“Oh, Daisy,” Martha cried, “I haven’t started sewing for the baby! Do you think Mr. Pearson would let me buy some material?”

“Of course, or whatever clothes it’ll need.”

“I’d rather make them. But I don’t know how to make things like these, for cold weather.”

“It’s happy I’d be to teach you, madam.” The woman minding the stall, almost as pregnant as Martha, was the Welsh wife of a village shopkeeper. Her knitting needles clicked away busily as she spoke. “This very minute, if you like. I’ve spare needles and wool in my bag and a spare chair right here beside me.”

Martha looked at Daisy. “Would that be all right? Would anyone mind?”

“It sounds like an excellent idea. I’ll come back in a bit and see if you want to have a look at anything else, or go straight to have a cup of tea.”

Daisy went in search of her children. Miranda and Oliver were sitting on Alec’s and Frank’s laps, mouths agape at a Punch and Judy show. They didn’t even notice their mother’s arrival. Frank said he was quite happy to continue to help Alec with them, and Alec said if they got fretful, he’d take them back to Mrs. Gilpin. So Daisy went to find Belinda and the boys.

She came across Raymond. He was staring gloomily at a white elephant stall as though trying to decide whether there was anything among the bits and pieces he could conceivably bring himself to buy.

“Hunting for bargains, Raymond?”

He gave her a look that spoke volumes. Taking out his gleaming gold cigarette case with the diamond initials, he opened it and started to offer it to her. “Oh, you don’t, do you?” He lit one for himself and slid the case back into his breast pocket. Then he pointed at the display and said, “I’ll take that. Please.”

“Er, which was that, sir?”

“It really doesn’t matter.”

A joyful light came into the eyes of the stall minder. “Right you are.” Quickly, before he could change his mind, she picked up a pewter hand mirror, tarnished and dented, with blurry glass, optimistically marked at ten shillings. Among china dogs with chipped ears for fourpence, raffia napkin rings at a penny apiece, and a three-volume set of Victorian sermons (rejected by the book stall) for one-and-six, it was quite the most expensive item. “D’you want it wrapped, sir?”

Declining the sheet of newspaper she offered, he handed over a ten-shilling note and unenthusiastically took possession of the looking glass. He waited while Daisy spent half a crown on a travelling chess set with one bishop missing.

“The twins will invent games for it,” she said as they turned away.

“I suppose they’ve provided barrels somewhere for rubbish?”

“Don’t throw it away! That looking glass has provided increasing sums for good causes at least since I was a child. If you give it to the vicar’s wife, she’ll see that it goes back among the white elephants at the next jumble sale.”

Raymond shook his head in wonderment. “If you say so!”

“Mummy!” Belinda hurried up to them. “Hello, Uncle Raymond. Mummy, I’m glad I found you. Derek and Ben are having a go at the archery. They say girls aren’t allowed. Will you come and make them let me?”

“I’ve done some bow hunting,” Raymond said unexpectedly. “I’ll go with you. On the veldt, most women know how to shoot in case of necessity. I don’t see why you shouldn’t try your skill with a bow and arrows.”

“All right, pet?”

“Oh yes, Mummy. They’re bound to listen to Uncle Raymond.”

They left Daisy to contemplate Bel’s lack of confidence in her stepmama’s persuasive ability. She also gave some thought to Raymond’s sudden show of an amiable side to his nature, hitherto invisible. She couldn’t believe he’d been concealing a liking for young people. Perhaps he just wanted to show off, though she would have thought he considered himself too superior in every way to need to demonstrate the fact.

SIXTEEN

After chatting
with several people, Daisy decided she’d better go and check on Martha.

Martha was knitting. “A scarf to start with,” she said proudly, holding up a pale blue square. “Purl as well as plain. Mrs. Latchett says I can keep the needles and this ball of wool.”

“Very nice.” Knitting was another skill Daisy had never attempted. “Are you ready for a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please. Mrs. Latchett, I can’t thank you enough for teaching me.”

“Anytime you want another lesson,
bach
, just you have Bill Truscott run you down to the shop—Latchett’s, in the main street.”

“It’s very kind of you, Mrs. Latchett,” said Daisy. “I’ll have someone bring you a cup of tea.”

“That’s all right, thank you, madam. Someone’ll soon be taking over for me here.” She chuckled. “And thank you for making Mr. Raymond buy the looking glass! It’s all over the fair.”

They made their way to the tea tent. Daisy was pleased to see her sister sitting at a table to one side.

“Vi, you remember Martha. Mrs. Samuel.” They had met at lunch the day before.

“Yes, of course.” Violet smiled her gentle smile. “Do come and sit down, Mrs. Samuel—”

“Martha, please, Lady John!”

“As you wish. We’ll make Daisy fetch your tea. John’s getting mine.”

“Is Mother here?”

“Come and gone, like a whirlwind. The gardener was sent to spy for her, to let her know as soon as Geraldine left. She had a word with Edgar. I don’t know what was said. Then she departed, in case Geraldine should come back. Martha, you’re one of the family, so I know you’ll be discreet.”

Martha blushed with pleasure. “Oh yes, Lady John.”

“Violet,” Vi told her, smiling, just as her husband arrived with a tray of tea and pastries.

“Hello, Daisy. Hello, Cousin Martha. Just let me empty this tray and I’ll go back—Oh, here’s Owen. Be a good chap, and fetch tea for Mrs. Fletcher and me, will you?” He gave the dowager’s gardener a handful of coins. “And keep the change.”

Owen grinned. “Right away, m’lord.”

“Milk and sugar not optional, I’m afraid,” John said, passing a thick white cup of muddy liquid to Martha and one to his wife. “Have you seen Derek about, Daisy?”

“Belinda told me he and Ben are taking a turn at archery.”

“Bows and arrows?” Violet exclaimed. “Oh no! John, remember what happened last time Derek got his hands on bows and arrows? Will you go and—?”

“Darling, he was only seven when he put an arrow through the butler’s best bowler. Jolly good shot, too, and Mitchell wasn’t wearing it at the time. But I’ll track him down and see what he’s up to as soon as I’ve had my tea. Here it comes.”

Seeing that Vi was really worried, he drank his tea quickly, excused himself, and departed. Violet and Martha started talking about their children, subjects that had been thoroughly covered with each of them separately by Daisy. She was happy to see them getting on well together, but she had little to add.

Violet’s concern had to some extent infected her. She doubted that Derek was not by now to be trusted with a bow and arrows, but what about Ben? Was Frank keeping an eye on him or still helping Alec with the twins? He seemed to have a genuine liking for children. No doubt he would make as excellent a father as he was stepfather if Ben was the sought-after “heir of the body” and Frank was able to marry his Carlotta when he returned to Trinidad.

Ben as viscount—had there ever been a black peer? If so, no doubt Lucy would have the details at her fingertips. Daisy knew only of Lord Sinha, who was Indian, not of African descent.

Across the crowded marquee, Daisy saw Vincent standing in the line at the tea urns. He still favoured his left leg, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

Reminded of his accident, Daisy wondered again how accidental it had been. Had someone attacked him? A disgruntled hotel employee? Or someone who wanted to put Vincent out of the running as heir? Raymond? Frank—surely not! One thing was certain, not Martha. Unless her Sam was actually in England, known or unbeknownst to her.…

Because she liked Martha, Daisy had been assuming that Samuel Dalrymple was a pleasant man, but he was—at least in American terms—a criminal. Though rumrunning and bootlegging had a touch of the romantic allure of Robin Hood, some of those engaged in the illegal trade were violent ruffians. She must not forget that.

She watched as Vincent shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Then he limped past the queue to speak to the women dispensing the tea and cakes and collecting payment sixpences. Daisy couldn’t hear what he said over the general chatter and clatter, but she saw him making authoratitive gestures, like a bobby on point duty.

Vincent got results. The three volunteers and a couple of people from the queue started moving cups and saucers and plates and trays around. In no time the table was set up in a much more practical way, more like what Mr. Arbuckle, the American automobile magnate, would call an assembly line.

Balancing his own tray with the skill of a practised waiter, Vincent went to join Laurette. In no time, the queue was down to four people. One might not like the man, but his efficiency was undeniable.

On the other hand, everything now moved so smoothly that people were standing about waiting for somewhere to sit down, and the more considerate among those already seated were eating and drinking hastily to make room. Though Vincent had doubtless created the ideal conditions for a restaurant that wanted to keep its patrons moving so as to seat and feed as many as possible, the result was less satisfactory for leisurely country folk.

However, the ladies in charge were also leisurely country folk. By the time Vincent and Laurette left, a few minutes later, the usual muddle was restored.

“Don’t you think so, Daisy?” asked Violet.

“What? Sorry, my mind was wandering.”

Vi and Martha burst out laughing. “I told you so,” Vi said to Martha.

“She hasn’t heard a word we’ve said.”

“And ate and drank without tasting a morsel.”

Daisy was pleased to see them so much in sympathy. She had no qualms about leaving them together. She was feeling a bit anxious about Belinda having taken Raymond to the archery. John had gone to make sure Derek was being sensible and careful. No doubt he’d do the same for Ben—and for Belinda, come to that—but he wouldn’t be watching for an attack on Ben.

A surreptitious attack, made to look like an accident. The archery range seemed like an ideal spot. A demonstration shot from Raymond, going astray? Or someone concealed nearby and shooting from hiding.…

Suddenly Daisy was in a great hurry to inspect the setup, to make sure it was not a convenient spot for an ambush.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go and see what Belinda’s up to.”

“Do,” said Vi. “If you happen to see my younger ones, tell Nanny she can come and leave them with Martha and me for a few minutes while she has a cup of tea.”

On her way out of the marquee, Daisy crossed paths with the local GP coming in. Dr. Hopcroft was a slight, rather shy man. She had met him and his tubby wife two or three times as dinner guests at Fairacres, though she had never had cause to call for his medical advice.

“Hello, Doctor,” she greeted him. “Are you here in your professional capacity?”