Heirs of the Body (2 page)

“I’ll bike. It’s fun going downhill, and I expect Mrs. Prasad will have Kesin put my bike in their car and drive me home.”

“All right, but if she doesn’t think to offer, make sure you set out in time to get home before dark. You’d better ring up right after breakfast to accept.”

Daisy had three postcards and a couple of letters from friends, which she read as she absentmindedly consumed several slices of buttered toast. When Alec left for the Yard, she and Belinda went up to the nursery to play with the twins.

At two and a bit, Oliver and Miranda were very active. Their stepsister was very good about letting them climb all over her, even when the dog, Nana, joined in. When they quieted down, Miranda liked looking at picture books and listening to stories, her dark head resting warmly on Daisy’s shoulder. Oliver’s rusty-brown head was more often bent over his wooden blocks. Belinda helped him build, fending off Nana and straightening his towers before they tumbled.

Belinda departed at ten. Daisy went to the kitchen for her daily consultation with the cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Dobson, then settled in her office to tackle the bills. As always, when she set about this task, she was grateful to Alec’s estranged great-uncle for the legacy that made it unnecessary to juggle creditors.

Business dealt with, she finished reading Cousin Geraldine’s letter. However, just looking at the envelope from her mother made her feel craven. She put off opening it till the evening. In Alec’s presence, she didn’t care a farthing for the Dowager Lady Dalrymple’s inevitable disapproval of her younger daughter’s every action.

Besides, she had to translate from shorthand to typescript the notes she had taken yesterday at Westminster Abbey, before she forgot what the squiggles meant. When she had sorted them out, she got down to writing the article for her American editor. She decided she had plenty of information to make two articles, one on famous people buried in the Abbey, from Oliver Cromwell and Henry Purcell to Charles Darwin and Alfred Lord Tennyson, and one on kings and queens. Americans, having rid themselves of the monarchy, apparently found it fascinating.

After lunch, she went for a walk on Hampstead Heath with the twins, the dog, and the nurserymaid. On their return a message was waiting for Daisy. Mr. Pearson had rung up and would like her to ring back, at her convenience.

Had he, too, received Geraldine’s suggestion? Was he about to squash any notion Daisy had of attending the interviews with the claimants to her father’s title? Surely not. He wouldn’t have telephoned to tell her in person that she was unwanted; he’d have written a polite, discouraging note.

Elsie had carefully written down his telephone number. Daisy sat down on the chair by the hall table, took the receiver from the hook, and dialled.

“Pearson, Pearson, Pearson, and Brown,” said a crisp secretarial voice.

Daisy knew that the first Pearson had retired, but she wasn’t sure about the second. “Mr. Tommy—Thomas Pearson, please. This is Mrs. Fletcher, Mrs. Alec Fletcher. He rang me while I was out.”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Fletcher, would you mind holding the line a moment while I see if Mr. Pearson’s free?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Daisy wondered what would have happened had she been given time to say yes, she’d mind, and Tommy could jolly well call her back. However, she wasn’t given much time for pique, either.

“Daisy? Tommy speaking. Thanks for ringing back so quickly.”

“Hello, darling. I—”

“Daisy, not ‘darling’ in business hours, please!”

“Sorry. Is ‘Tommy’ all right?”

“I suppose so, as I find myself addressing you as Daisy,” he said ruefully.

“No, let’s start again. I take it, Mr. Pearson, that you’ve heard from Cousin … from Lady Dalrymple?”

“Several times. And her latest suggestion is actually quite sensible. We can’t discuss it over the phone, though. Do you mind coming in to Lincoln’s Inn, or would you rather dine with us and talk afterwards? The invitation has Madge’s blessing, of course, and includes Alec.”

“Which suits you better?”

“You coming to chambers.” Tommy, a daring, much-decorated soldier in the war, had become rather staid and proper since joining the family firm, but Daisy heard the grin in his voice. “That way our meeting can be billed to the estate with a good conscience. Difficult to explain away a dinner party on the account.…”

“Besides, much as I love Madge and Alec, it will be easier without them putting in their two pennyworth.”

He laughed. “True, though I hope you’ll consult Alec before coming to a decision.”

“Assuming this is about what I assume it’s about, he’s already granted his approval.”

The cautious lawyer came to the fore. “Oh? I wouldn’t have expected … But that’s not my affair. Let’s set a date and time, and Madge will get in touch about a business-free date for dinner.”

Daisy checked her diary and suggested the following afternoon. Tommy was going to be in court all day.

“There’s no hurry,” he assured her. “This is going to drag on for months.”

“Jarndyce and Jarndyce?” she asked forebodingly.

“No, no. There’s no question about the will, or rather the letters patent.”

“Letters…? No, don’t tell me!”

“It’s just a matter of carrying on until we’re as certain as possible that we’ve heard from all claimants and discovered the proper heir.”

“More like the Tichbourne claimant, then. That dragged on for years, didn’t it?”

“We’ll just have to hope it won’t come to that.”

They made an appointment for the following week. Daisy returned to her office. Having decided to give famous people precedence over monarchs, she now had to write about Mrs. Aphra Behn, who died in 1689 and whose monument, according to Daisy’s notes, read
Here lies a Proof that Wit can never be Defence enough against Mortality.
She didn’t remember learning about Aphra Behn at school. She turned to
Nelson’s Encyclopædia
, Volume 3, B-Ble.

A spy for Charles II and a successful professional playwright, making her living by her writing in the seventeenth century! Daisy wanted to know more, but the encyclopædia entry was quite short. Reminding herself that all she needed was a snippet for a travel article, she moved on to Sir Isaac Newton.

His monument was much grander, with a much longer inscription, which unfortunately was in Latin. Her school had considered the study of Latin to be too much of a strain for the brains of young ladies. Science, also, and higher mathematics, so she didn’t understand Newton’s work any better than she understood his epitaph, but good old Nelson—the encyclopædic one, not the sailor—came to the rescue.

Elsie brought in tea and biscuits. “Lemon jumbles, madam. Mrs. Dobson made ’em because Miss Belinda does like ’em so. Only she rang up just now, Miss Belinda did, and said not to disturb you, madam, but Mrs. Prasad’s invited her to stay the night and could you please ring back.”

Daisy rang and talked to Sakari, who was dying to know all about Lord Dalrymple’s search for his heir. She’d picked up hints from Belinda, of course.

“I’d better not talk about it, darling,” Daisy apologised. “One never knows when legal business might turn out to be confidential. Don’t let Bel be a nuisance or overstay her welcome.”

“Belinda is never a nuisance, Daisy. But the zoological gardens are utterly exhausting! I confess, after half an hour I retired to the tearoom with a book and let the girls escort themselves.”

“I don’t blame you,” Daisy said, laughing. “Though I’m looking forward to taking the twins when they’re a little older.”

*   *   *

That evening, for once, Alec escaped from the Yard on time. He had spent a boring day on paperwork and meetings, with no interesting new cases on the horizon. Looking forward to spending some time with his children, he was disappointed to find Belinda away from home for the night.

A visit to the nursery and a romp with the twins cheered him up a bit. Having changed out of his suit, he played horsie and they took turns riding on his back.

Mrs. Gilpin was scandalised. “Fathers ought to command awe,” she told him, not for the first time. “How can they respect you, sir, when you let them—”

“They’re only babies. Down you get, Manda. Your turn, Oliver.”

At dinner, over Lancashire hotpot and broad beans, Daisy reported the second part of Cousin Geraldine’s letter. “Edgar wants the whole family to turn out to celebrate his birthday and to meet the three heirs—or rather, I presume, as many as haven’t been debunked by then.”

“Sounds like a jolly party,” Alec grunted. “More Geraldine’s idea than Edgar’s, I’ll be bound.”

“Oh yes, she loves playing Lady Bountiful, whereas August must be a prime season for moths and butterflies, don’t you think? Edgar will want to be out in the fields with his nets and jars.”

“If that’s where he wants to be, that’s where he’ll be, after gently agreeing with his wife that his place is with his guests. So this grand gathering is to be at Fairacres in August?”

“Yes, the first week. From the thirtieth of July, actually. His birthday is the sixth of August, but the first is August bank holiday and the village fête. There’s plenty of time for you to arrange to take a few days off.”

“Me! I’m not family, and I don’t want anything to do with games of ‘debunk the heirs.’”

“Darling, of course you’re family. Geraldine specifically says you’re expected, and the children, too. Johnny and Vi will be taking all three of theirs.”

“You mean they’ve already accepted? They were invited before us?” Alec pretended outrage.

“Idiot! As though you cared. No, Geraldine just says she’s inviting them. But Violet’s bound to accept. She’ll see it as a family obligation. And I have to agree, actually.”

“
Your
family. No, sorry! I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I should hope not,” Daisy said severely. “Edgar may be obsessed with lepidoptera but he’s a sweetie, and I wouldn’t dream of spoiling his birthday by refusing, even if the celebration is really Geraldine’s idea.”

“You’re right. You know I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try to get a few days off for it.” With any luck, he’d be unsuccessful, he thought. He’d much prefer to go to the New Forest with Daisy and the children.

“They owe you a holiday. You’re so often late for dinner that Mrs. Dobson never makes anything that can’t be eaten cold, unless it wouldn’t suffer from being kept hot or reheated! Not to mention last summer: We were supposed to have a week on the Isle of Wight and they called you back after three days.”

“It was an emergency.”

“It always is. Anyone would think you were the only detective chief inspector in the CID. Not that I’m not proud of you for being indispensable, but there ought to be a limit. I don’t suppose Mr. Crane would be impressed by Edgar’s title?”

“I’ve no intention of using it to impress him. On the other hand,” Alec went on thoughtfully, “if I told him my mother-in-law insists on my presence and I’m terrified of her…”

Daisy laughed. “What bilge, darling!”

“Not at all. Your mother can be very intimidating. Besides, can you think of any words more likely to strike fear into the average male breast than ‘mother-in-law’ and ‘dowager’? The Super would credit it.”

“I’m not at all sure whether Mother is planning to take any part in the affair. She still hasn’t forgiven Edgar for inheriting Fairacres, though he had no choice about it. One couldn’t describe her as being on neighbourly terms with them, even if the Dower House is all of half a mile away.”

“But she’s bound to want to vet the next heir, or claimants to heirdom, don’t you think?”

“
I
certainly do. It’s an intriguing situation. But you never can tell with Mother.” Daisy grimaced. “I’d better see if she has anything to say on the subject. I’ll open her letter after dinner.”

“You haven’t read it yet? Coward!”

Daisy wrinkled her nose at him. “I am,” she acknowledged, “when it comes to Mother. You deal with her much better than I do.”

“So that’s why you’re so determined to get me down to Fairacres?”

“She’s going to be breathing fire at these poor people Tommy’s digging up. Not that I’m too keen on them myself.”

“I don’t know why you want to go,” Alec grumbled, “when you’re already prejudiced against them.”

“I’m not!”

He merely raised his eyebrows, well aware that the simple change of expression always had the devastating effect of making her examine her conscience. It had much the same effect on suspects and recalcitrant witnesses, though for them he put enough ice in his stare to intimidate; some claimed he froze the marrow of their bones. With Daisy, he was laughing at her—usually.

“I can’t dislike them when I haven’t even met them yet. But I resent them,” she admitted. “I resent anyone who might take Father’s and Gervaise’s place. When it happened before, I didn’t have a chance to think about it beforehand so … it came as a shock but I didn’t have to participate. I expect it sounds silly, but I feel disloyal.”

“Not silly at all, love. Very natural.” Reluctantly he resigned himself to doing his best to be there to support her. “But if we’re committing ourselves to staying for several days, I hope you’ll try not to show your dislike.”

“I don’t dislike them, truly. I’m just a bit disgruntled.”

“Well, gruntle yourself, love, or I’ll conjure up an emergency at the Yard and go back to work.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I might.”

“You will come, then?”

“If I can wangle the time off, yes. I take it you’ve decided not to participate in Pearson’s interviews with the claimants.”

“Of course I shall. I’ve already made an appointment with him to talk about it. It’ll be easier to cope with meeting them one at a time, rather than facing a horde of strangers at Fairacres, don’t you think? And I might be able to help weed them out so there isn’t a horde by then.”

“‘A consummation devoutly to be wished,’” said Alec.

After dinner, when they were settled with coffee in the sitting room, Daisy picked up the Benares brass letter opener and attacked the dowager’s cream linen paper envelope.

“At least it’s short,” Alec remarked, as she took out a single sheet.