Heirs of the Body (33 page)

“Ernest?”

“The footman. He’s been very helpful. And Derek’s such a help with Belinda and Ben, but of course if you’d rather he came back here…”

Violet glanced at their mother, who had obviously had quite enough of toddler antics. “No. He’d better stay with you. I wish John were here!”

“He’ll be back tomorrow, won’t he? Martha was in the seventh heaven when Sam turned up at last. I presume the bush telegraph brought you the news?”

“Yes. I look forward to meeting him. Mother’s dying of curiosity, too, though she won’t admit it.”

“You’ll meet at Edgar’s birthday party.” If Sam hadn’t been arrested by then. “If not before—Martha’s feeling a bit seedy today and wondered whether you might be able to drop in later.”

“I will, but it won’t be till after tea. We have a luncheon invitation, and then Mother’s dragging me on a round of calls.”

“Rather you than me. Oliver, Miranda, it’s time to go. Say bye-bye nicely to Grandmother and Aunt Violet.”

“We go home now, Mama?” Miranda asked.

“To Uncle Edgar’s house, darling.”

“Go now,” Oliver said firmly and darted towards the door.

“Master Oliver!” Mrs. Gilpin’s stern voice, from the corner where she lurked, stopped him in his tracks. “Say good-bye like a gentleman.”

Whatever her drawbacks, there were times when Daisy was very, very grateful for Nurse Gilpin.

When they returned to the house, Nurse whisked the babies upstairs for a nap. Daisy went to see Martha. She was lying on the chaise longue, wan and woebegone.

“It’s awful being so miserable when Sammy just arrived,” she said forlornly. “I told him it’s no good sitting here worrying, he should go and get to know his new relations. So he went away.”

Though she sympathised, Daisy couldn’t find a good response to that. “Isn’t the tea helping?” she asked, gesturing at the pot and cup on the table at Martha’s side.

“No. Lady Dalrymple—Cousin Geraldine—came to see me and she suggested hot water bottles, but they’re no help either. I’m too hot already. I just feel … awful. Sick, and standing up makes me dizzy.”

“I’m going to call the doctor. If Dr. Hopcroft is still stuck in the floods, he’ll have arranged for a locum by now.”

Daisy went down to the telephone in the hall and got through to Mrs. Hopcroft.

“Yes, the water’s gone down already, Mrs. Fletcher, leaving several inches of mud in the streets. The doctor is out on his morning round but I’m expecting him back any minute for his lunch. I’ll tell him about … Mrs.
Samuel
Dalrymple, is it?”

“That’s right. A sort of family gathering.”

“So I’ve heard.” Mrs. Hopcroft paused, as if hoping for further information. Daisy did not oblige. “The doctor will call at Fairacres this afternoon without fail.”

Daisy thanked her. As she hung up, Ernest appeared.

“The chief inspector has returned from Worcester, madam, with two detectives from Scotland Yard. He’d like to see you in his lordship’s study when convenient.”

Surprised and pleased, Daisy hurried to the den. She had rather expected to be shut out of the investigation when Tom Tring and Ernie Piper arrived.

“Ernest said you asked for me, darling. Hello, Tom; hello, Ernie. How nice to see you.”

DS Tring was wearing his summer suit, a vast acreage of robin’s-egg blue-and-white check, topped with an expanse of forehead that continued hairless to the nape of his neck. His flourishing moustache half hid a broad smile. He loomed over Ernie Piper, a slight figure, barely regulation height, in his dark blue flannel suit. Just seeing the two of them—Tom so good with people, Ernie so good with facts—made Daisy feel better.

Greetings were exchanged, enquiries made after Tom’s godson Oliver and his sisters.

“If you’re
quite
ready,” said Alec, a bit snarky. They all sat down. “Daisy, I want you to tell Tom and Ernie everything you can remember about the visit to Worcester, from the moment we parted in the cathedral. I’m hoping either the telling will remind you of something you saw or heard that you missed out when you reported, or one of them will spot something
I
missed.”

Daisy dredged her memory for details. The three men listened in silence, Ernie writing down her words verbatim—his recent promotion to sergeant had not diminished his supply of well-sharpened pencils.

“The road was flooded,” she finished, “so we turned round and came back here. Alec arrived a few minutes later.”

Alec clarified: “Having been informed by Laurette—Mrs. Vincent Dalrymple—of Raymond’s accident.”

“Can we come back to that in a minute, Chief?” said Tom. “Mrs. Fletcher, you didn’t catch even a glimpse of any of the suspects as you and Mrs. Vincent wandered about the city?”

“No. She dragged me from shop to shop, none of which satisfied her. She went on about London or Paris being the only places to buy clothes. I don’t know how she survives in Scarborough.”

“Did she buy anything?”

“Some aspirin, a hairnet, and a magazine, that she could have bought in any of a dozen shops.”

“Was she hunting for anything in particular?”

“Not that she mentioned. She looked at clothes mostly. We went into a toy shop but she didn’t seem to be particularly interested.”

“Ah,” said Tom profoundly.

Ernie took his turn. “Mrs. Fletcher, can you estimate how much time passed between your first awareness of something happening ahead and when you dropped Mrs. Vincent at the hotel?”

“Heavens no. I suppose it was at least fifteen minutes. Less than half an hour, though. That’s the best I can do, and I wouldn’t swear to it.”

“You heard the deceased say he was pushed?”

“Yes. ‘Someone pushed.’ He was mumbling, not speaking clearly. He was in a daze. The bobby who’d helped him to the pavement assumed he was referring to the person who pushed him out of the way of the trams, so I did too. Now I come to think of it, he repeated the phrase. He might have been trying to say he didn’t mean that person.”

“Maybe. Mrs. Vincent offered to go and tell the rest of the party? Or did you suggest it?”

Daisy frowned. “I’m pretty sure she offered. But she wanted a lift to the hotel in Raymond’s car.”

“Chief,” said Tom, “you haven’t described their reactions when they heard.”

“We’ll discuss that later,” said Alec, to Daisy’s annoyance.

“What about Mrs. Vincent, Mrs. Fletcher? Was she very upset?”

“I was concentrating on Raymond, not Laurette. When we first realised there had been an accident, neither of us was keen to get close. Then the crowds sort of relaxed—it was really crowded, the first shopping day after the bank holiday—so I assumed nothing too serious had happened and we walked on the way we’d been going. Of course, when I saw it was Raymond, I hurried forward. I was concentrating on Raymond, not on Laurette’s emotions.”

“But she was tut-tutting at your side?” Tom suggested patiently. “After all, from what I gather, she was more closely related to him than you were.”

“Slightly closer. Not at all close. And Raymond really didn’t make any effort to get to know anyone at Fairacres, wouldn’t you say, darling?”

“I agree, except for his one kindness to Belinda.”

“Oh yes, at the fair. So out of character as to be memorable! He wasn’t a very congenial person. No, Laurette wasn’t ‘tut-tutting at my side,’ Tom. She stood back a little. There wasn’t much room at his side, though, what with me and the coppers.”

“And in the car?”

“Sorry, I really wasn’t paying much attention to her. It was only a couple of minutes’ drive to the Talbot. Alec, have you asked Geraldine what she observed at the hotel when Laurette told you all about Raymond?”

“No, that’s a good point. I will. All right, if you can’t think of anything else.… Do you know where the kids are?”

“No, but wherever, I’m sure they have Edgar or Frank or one of the Worcester bobbies, or all three, on guard and doubtless cramping their style. That reminds me, I promised to go and look at the river, to see whether it looks safe for boating.”

“You’re the expert, Mrs. Fletcher?” Tom teased, grinning.

“Experienced in the Severn’s moods, at least. My brother and I used to do quite a bit of boating.”

“Ah.”

“Thanks, Daisy. I’ll probably be asking you to go back over your impressions of the other incidents, but Raymond’s being the only death—”

“So far.”

“The
only
death, I trust. We’re concentrating on it for the moment.” Alec stood up and the others followed suit, so Daisy reluctantly accepted her dismissal and left them to their cogitations.

The all-knowing Ernest told her the kids had set up a badminton net on the lawn. Bel and Derek were teaching Ben and Frank to play. Daisy went upstairs to tell Martha that Dr. Hopcroft would call after lunch.

Sam was in their bedroom, reading poetry to Martha. She looked a bit brighter, whether because of the poems or the attention.

“John Masefield,” Sam announced cheerfully. “Lady Dalrymple recommended him. Do you know
Sea Fever
? It’s a cracking good poem.”

“Does it begin, ‘I must go down to the sea again’?”

“Seas, with an s.”

“Very appropriate for you, Sam. How clever of Geraldine to think of it. I always liked that one.”

“It’s pretty,” said Martha, clutching Sam’s hand, “but I don’t want you to go to sea again till the baby’s born.”

“I can’t promise, sweetheart, but I’ll do my best.”

Daisy told them about the doctor, which made Sam look anxious. He went with her to the door and whispered, “Do you think she’s really ill?”

“No, not for a minute. I just think it won’t hurt to have him take a look. Perhaps she needs a tonic or something like that.”

Satisfied, he returned to Martha’s side. Daisy went down to the garden. She waved to the badminton players, but went straight on down the lawn to the river. The comparative coolness of the air near the water made her realise how hot the day was growing.

Though the river was well below the banks, swirls and eddies in the brown torrent made it too dangerous for a small rowing boat with kids at the oars. A narrow boat was barely making way upstream, the boatman standing in the bow with a boat hook to fend off floating branches, while his wife steered. She waved to Daisy. The superstructure was painted with the usual cheerful, colourful roses and castles, but Daisy thought it must be a hard life. She couldn’t imagine living in such a tiny space.

She returned to the house via the backwater. The skiff looked spruce, either undamaged or repaired earlier. Clouds of midges danced about Daisy. She fanned her face with her hand to keep them away.

The winding path through the wood, along the little stream, was shady. Daisy peered into the brambles and nettle beds as she passed, not that she expected to spot a blade where Alec and his minions had failed. All the same, she walked a few yards along some of the narrow paths made by rabbits and foxes and badgers, hoping to see a glint of metal.

The soft leaf mould underfoot changed to gravel when she reached the laburnum alley. Dappled sunlight filtered through the close-woven, well-leaved vines overhead, with their dangling pods full of poisonous seeds. She must remind Nurse never to bring the little ones here in search of a shaded place to run.

Coming to the break in the alley, with the footpath leading across the park on her left and the lawn on her right, Daisy paused before stepping out into the full sun.

This was where Vincent had been stabbed. As he left the deep gloom under the laburnums for the sunset twilight, or as he moved back into the shadowy continuation of the alley? Laurette had babbled about it but Daisy couldn’t remember.

It was really an odd place to choose for a stroll at dusk. Very little light would have penetrated the dense foliage above.

She looked about, trying to envisage exactly what had happened.

The attack must have occurred as Vincent and Laurette moved out of the shelter, as Daisy was about to now, because if the attacker had been lurking ahead, outside the laburnums, they might well have spotted him. Vincent had been on Laurette’s left, because the cut had been on his left side. The attacker would not risk waiting on the right, the lawn side. At the time, Alec and Daisy had been walking there, where the kids and Frank were still busy with shuttlecock and battledore.

So Vincent was on Laurette’s left. He had heard a sound and turned towards it.…

No, he had been stabbed from behind, not from the side, not in the shoulder or upper arm. It only made sense if he had mistaken the direction of the sound and swung to his right.

Unless, perhaps, the crunch of the couple’s footsteps on the gravel had covered the sound of the attacker’s steps, and Vincent had just happened to turn slightly towards Laurette at the moment he was struck. It wouldn’t be surprising if they had been flustered enough to persuade themselves they had heard the attacker.

The attacker was certainly not a very effective murderer. Frank? Sam? Daisy had been almost convinced of Raymond’s guilt until he became a victim. That demonstrated the peril Alec was always warning her about, of assuming someone one liked could not possibly be a villain, and vice versa.

Now the list of suspects had shortened to Sam and Frank.

THIRTY-ONE

The atmosphere
at lunch was uneasy.

Alec, Tom, and Ernie Piper ate in Edgar’s den. Vincent and Laurette persisted in their resolution not to leave their room.

“Has a tray been taken to them?” Geraldine asked Lowecroft when he delivered this news.

“Naturally, my lady.”

“At least they trust my staff, it would seem! Martha’s not coming down, Samuel?”

“She’s feeling rotten, my l—Cousin Geraldine. Not hungry, but I made her promise to try to eat a bite or two.”

“I rang Dr. Hopcroft,” Daisy put in. “He’s going to call this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Daisy. Lowecroft, I wish to speak to the doctor after he’s seen Mrs. Samuel.”

“I shall inform him, my lady.”

The children were present. Belinda asked anxiously, “Will Aunt Martha be all right, Mummy?”

“I’m sure she will, darling. Dr. Hopcroft will know how to make her more comfortable. Remember how he stopped your nosebleed?”