by Carola Dunn
“Much as I’d like to, it’s far too late to organize a police presence.”
“And you won’t none of you go near this here quarry.” Arbuckle glanced around. “Hey, where’s young Petrie?”
Bincombe, silent so far, opened his mouth.
Alec gave him a warning look. “Petrie and Miss Fotheringay went to keep an eye on Crawford. Since they haven’t telephoned, we assume they haven’t seen anything significant.”
“At this point, it don’t matter a hoot if it’s Crawford or some hoodlum. There’s damn-all to do but follow instructions.”
“All the same,” said Alec, “you’ll telephone if they change your instructions, won’t you? Or if you think of anything we can do to help?”
“Surely.” Arbuckle took back the letter and shook Alec’s hand. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the support you folks been giving me.”
Daisy jumped up and gave him an impulsive hug. “Gloria will be all right,” she said. “This is England, not America.”
He gave her a weary smile. Alec walked with him to the door and closed it behind him.
“I say, Fletcher, what about Lucy?” Binkie burst out at once. “It’s all very well agreeing with Arbuckle, but they’ve been gone since before lunch. Are we just going to sit on our hands?”
“Steady, old man,” Tommy soothed. “No sense getting the poor chap upset about Lucy as well as his daughter, don’t y’know. And if I’m not mistaken, Fletcher’s one step ahead of us.”
“I wish I were,” Alec said ruefully. “There really isn’t much we can do without more information. I don’t imagine you know that bit of country, Daisy. It’s rather far from here.”
“I don’t know the quarry,” Daisy admitted unhappily. She had brought her friends into this thoroughly nasty business by claiming her knowledge of the countryside would help. A fat lot of use it had been so far. “We used to cycle that way sometimes, but it’s on the outer edge of our range. Oh, blast, I should have copied down the directions. I can’t remember them properly.”
Alec promptly recited them.
“Map,” said Binkie, and disappeared.
He returned a few moments later and they were all poring over a map of the north Cotswolds when Lucy sauntered in.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” she drawled.
Binkie bounded to her and engulfed her in a hug which made her squeak. “Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Let me breathe, darling, and I’ll tell you.” Released—though Binkie kept her hand in his—she joined the others and gazed down at the map. “The Cotswolds? You already know?”
“Only where Mr. Arbuckle’s to take the money,” said Daisy. “Lucy, where’s Phillip?”
“All in good time, darling. Now let me see. No, it’s no good. I never could read a map. Phillip swore you’d remember the place, Daisy: Brockbarrow Hill.”
“Brockberrow.”
“Here,” said Tommy, planting a forefinger on the map. “It’s right next to the slate-pit I’m sure must be the quarry.”
“At least half a mile,” Lucy protested, subsiding with languid grace onto the nearest chair and kicking off bespattered shoes. “More to the top. Daisy, I’m simply ravenous. You’re none of you dressed. Is dinner going to be late?”
“No. Lucy, for pity’s sake, what’s this about Brockberrow Hill? Did Phillip go there? Without you?”
“Let’s hear the story, please, Lucy,” Alec seconded Daisy with a smile. “If you’ve brought the information we need, time is of the essence.”
Lucy grinned at him. “Oh, very well, Chief Inspector, though I was rather enjoying keeping you all in suspense. What it boils down to is that we followed Crawford from Cowley to Brockberrow Hill and Phillip found the kidnappers in some sort of ancient fort at the top.”
“And Miss Arbuckle?” Alec asked sharply.
“He didn’t see her, but from the way they talked, he was sure she was there.”
“She’d be in the shepherd’s hut,” Daisy said.
“That’s right.” Lucy waved the magazine she had brought in with her. Opening it, she said in dismay, “Oh gosh, it’s frightfully smeared. I hope you remember the place well enough to make sense of this, Daisy.”
“Let’s see.”
Both pages were a mess of lipstick, but between Daisy’s memory and Lucy’s and what they could make out, Daisy reconstructed Phillip’s diagram.
“This is the fort itself,” she pointed out to the others as they clustered around. “All that’s left is a high bank, of course.”
“How high?” Tommy wanted to know.
“Gosh, I don’t know. You couldn’t see out from the inside, only sky, but then it’s the highest point for quite a way.”
“Could you see the roof of the hut from outside?” Alec asked.
“N-no, I don’t think so. No, I’m sure the bank’s higher than the hut, so it’s much higher than a man. Perhaps ten feet?” she hazarded. “Twelve? Fourteen?”
“Good enough. How steep?”
“Steep enough to persuade one to go round and through the gateway—here—after bicycling from here and tramping up the hill. But we used to climb it after the picnic, for the view.”
“Phillip must have climbed it,” Lucy said, “because he saw inside the circle and I hardly imagine he’d have trotted through the gap like a lamb to the slaughter.”
“You didn’t go up with him?”
“You’re joking, Alec. In those shoes? No, he came down to tell me what he’d found and overheard, then went back to keep an eye on Gloria.”
Alec groaned. “Understandable, I suppose.”
“I tried to stop him. He did promise not to try any solo attempt to rescue her unless she was in immediate danger.”
“Which means, I take it,” said Madge, “he expects a mass rescue attempt.”
Tommy nodded. “If we don’t go, goodness only knows what he’ll do.”
“He heard them threaten to harm Gloria even if the ransom’s delivered as instructed.”
In shocked silence, everyone turned from Lucy to Alec.
“We’ll go,” he said crisply. “I said I don’t like this business of Arbuckle having to return to the quarry at dawn to get directions for finding his daughter. I meant it, and now we know Crawford’s our man and that threats have been made, I like it still less. Lucy, what else did Petrie overhear?”
“He didn’t tell me much. He saw three men besides Crawford, but he thought there were probably at least four. More than one man will go to pick up the ransom, because they don’t trust each other. It’s to be delivered tonight, but I gather you know that.”
“At the quarry at sunset,” Alec confirmed. “When does the sun set?”
“Nine thirtyish,” Tommy said, “with Summer Time.”
They all looked at the clock. Quarter to eight.
“It’ll take an hour to get there,” Lucy said uneasily. “Maybe more if this rain gets any worse. The lane’s in a frightful condition, and then there’s the hill to climb. Phillip said there’s probably a man watching the track, so you’d have to go round. That’s assuming you’re heading for the hilltop, not the quarry.”
Alec thought for a moment. “If they have hidden men watching the drop-off, it’s too risky to try to grab Crawford there, besides leaving Miss Arbuckle in danger from the others.”
“Start from this side of the hill,” Daisy advised. “Take the path from Brock Farm. That’s the way we always used to go. It could cut off ten or fifteen minutes.”
“All right, Daisy,” said Alec, “I’ll take your word for it. You can explain later. First, does Morgan live in at the Dower House?”
“Yes. I’ll go and telephone. Do you want Truscott, too? If he’s not up here I can get him on the extension to the lodge.”
“Please. Pearson, find that young footman, Ernest.”
“Was you wanting me, sir?” Ernest advanced eagerly, tray in hand. “Her ladyship said to bring sherry.”
Daisy hurr
ied out, leaving Alec to recruit the footman and deal with the question of sherry.
In the hall she met Lowecroft, coming from the direction of the family sitting room, where Edgar and Geraldine must have taken refuge.
“Will Mr. Arbuckle be dining, miss?” he asked, obviously put out. “And do you expect Mr. Petrie to return in time for dinner?”
“No, and no, and I should think Mrs. Pearson and Miss Fotheringay will be the only ones joining my cousins. If you could organize sandwiches for eight in a big hurry—say ten minutes?—it would be much appreciated. Oh, and we’ll be taking Ernest with us, I’m afraid.”
She dashed on to the ’phone, leaving the butler with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
Truscott promised to be ready to be picked up at the lodge in fifteen minutes, and Morgan would wait at the Dower House gates. Daisy sped up to her bedroom and flung on a warm tweed skirt and jacket and walking shoes. Alec was bound to try to stop her going along. After all her efforts she was determined to see the thing through, and Gloria would surely be glad to see a female face. Daisy refused to be left behind because they would not wait while she changed.
She had other cards up her sleeve.
Grabbing her mac, she headed for the drawing-room. She entered on the heels of Ernest, whose arms were full of electric torches.
He glanced back at her with a grin. “Sandwiches coming up, Mr. Lowecroft says, miss. I never seen him in such a pother.” He laid the torches on a table.
“Thanks, Ernest,” said Alec. “Go put on your oldest clothes and stout boots now. Hurry.”
“Yessir!”
“You two bring the Lagonda and my Austin round to the front, please,” he directed Tom and Binkie, who strode out. They had already changed, as had Alec. “Daisy, come and show me … .” He stopped as he noticed her costume. His fearsome eyebrows lowered. “Oh no, you’re not coming with us!”
“I can’t show you on the map. It’s too complicated. I’m not even sure I remember the way to Brock Farm well enough to describe it, but I know I’ll recognize it when I see it.”
Alec turned on her the piercing grey eyes which made crooks quiver and subordinates leap to attention. Daisy was glad she was telling the truth. Nonetheless, she brought out another ace.
“Even if you found Brock Farm without me,” she said persuasively, “the farmyard’s the only place to leave the cars and the people there don’t know you. They’ll remember me. Besides, you’d never find the path without help. It’s easy to get lost in the wood before you get to the hillside.”
“Oh no, if you come as far as the farm, you go no further. Someone there will show us the way.”
“How long would it take to explain the situation to them?”
Alec glanced at the clock and grimaced.
Ten minutes later, Daisy sat in the front passenger seat of the Austin as Alec drove down the avenue. The little car shuddered as wild gusts of wind hit it. Though dark, ragged clouds raced overhead against the paler grey overcast, the rain had stopped for the moment.
The Lagonda was close behind, Tom driving, Binkie next to him, Ernest in the back. At the lodge, Truscott stood at the door with another man, older, grizzled, but still robust.
“Carlin,” said Daisy. “Father’s gamekeeper.”
The chauffeur stepped up to the Austin. “Mr. Carlin dropped by for a chat, sir, and wants to know can he go too?”
“The more the merrier. You two join the Lagonda—the extra weight won’t slow it. We’ll take Morgan.”
They picked up the gardener at the Dower House gates and drove on. Daisy fed sandwiches to Alec as they continued through Pershore and Evesham and up the flank of the Cotswolds to Broadway.
“Turn right at the church,” she said as they entered the village, its amber stone drab dun in the gloom of the early twilight beneath the clouds.
“Off the main road already?”
“There might be a quicker way turning off further on, but I don’t know it. We’d only get lost.”
“You’re in charge. Morgan, the Lagonda’s still there?”
“Chust behind us it iss, sir.”
Alec stuck out his hand and turned. They plunged into a labyrinth of serpentine lanes. For a while Daisy was frightfully afraid she had bitten off more than she could chew, but as crossroads and forks fell behind them, she grew more confident.
“Sharp left at the end of this hamlet,” she said as they came to a huddle of cottages, “and then the first right. There used to be a finger-post … . Yes, there it is! ‘Brock Farm Only.’”
“Well done! I can see why you couldn’t have explained the route.”
The farmhouse and its outbuildings stood close to the edge of the wood where dwelt the badgers which had given the farm its name. The moment the Austin pulled up next to the barn, Daisy jumped out and ran to the house. Barking dogs announced her before she knocked.
A hefty young man came to the door. Daisy didn’t recognize him, but he knew her at once in spite of the years and the shingled hair.
“Why, it’s Miss Daisy! Mother, Dad,” he called, “it’s Miss Daisy.”
“Good gracious, you can’t be little Charlie?”
He grinned. “That’s me, miss, and not so little no more, neither. Step in, do.”
“Not just now, if you don’t mind. Good-evening, Mrs. Clay, Mr. Clay,” Daisy said to the couple who came up behind Charlie. “I’ve brought my fiance and some friends to see the old camp. We’re running late and it’ll be dark soon. May we leave the cars in the yard and cut through your wood?”
“O’ course, Miss Daisy,” said the farmer’s wife. “You just hurry along afore the rain come down again, and stop in for a glass o’ cider on the way back, if ye’ve time enough.”
“Spiffing,” said Daisy.
With a wave, she dashed off, but not before she heard Mr. Clay observe sagely, “They’m all barmy as new beer, the gentry.”
An ominous splatter of rain struck Daisy’s face. Shivering, she turned her mind at last to their real errand. If the farmer knew they were out not for a jaunt but to tackle a vicious gang of kidnappers, would he think them less barmy—or more?
20
“All right,” said Alec, coming to a halt at the edge of the dank, dark wood,”show us the way through and set us on the right path up the hill, then come back to your friends at the farm.”
Brock Wood was very different from Cooper’s Wood. The beeches stood tall and straight, well spaced, with little undergrowth. Instead of narrow, twisting paths which came to deadends, the difficulty lay in distinguishing a path from the general openness.
Daisy took Alec’s hand and they led the troops under the trees. To hide her uncertainty, Daisy enquired meekly, “How are you going to find Phillip?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” Tommy said, coming up on Alec’s other side. “If he doesn’t know we’ve arrived, we not only lose a man to help carry out your plan, Fletcher, he’ll very likely wreck it.”
“It’s a problem,” Alec admitted. “We can’t go hunting for him without the risk of alerting the kidnappers.”
“He’ll be hiding in the hawthorns,” said Daisy. “It’s the only place he can watch from without being seen. You’ll never find him without me.”
“You’re not coming, Daisy,” Alec said firmly and patiently. “With your facility with words, I’m sure you can describe his position well enough for us to follow.”
“If you manage to stick to the direct path up the hill. There are countless sheep paths to lead you astray, so that you come out at a different point on the circle. Ah, here we are,” she said with relief.
Just ahead their path was crossed by a shallow ditch and low bank, perhaps once part of the fortification on the hill above. They climbed over, turned right, and followed the bank, barely visible in the gloom. Alec and Tommy discussed tactics, with Binkie listening in and the four servants following.
They came to a stile in a post and rail fence. Daisy cli
mbed over. Alec followed, then stopped on the top step.
The fence marked the end of the wood. Beyond it rose the bare hillside, its truncated summit standing out against a darkening sky.
“We can find our way without you, love,” said Alec. “Tell me where to find Petrie and you go on back to the farm.”
Glancing back, past the pale faces of the men to the murk beneath the trees, Daisy remembered her lonely trek from the witch’s cottage to Fairacres. She shivered. “Don’t make me go through the woods alone.”
“Make you?” The tender laugh in his voice caused a quite different sort of shiver to run down Daisy’s spine. “When have I ever succeeded in making you do anything? All right, come with us, but please, I beg of you, stay close to me until we storm them, and then stay behind. If you insist on going in with us, you’ll get in the way and divert our attention to protecting you.”
“I’ll keep out of the way,” Daisy promised.
“Good girl.” Alec turned to face his troops. Raising his voice to be heard above the patter of rain on leaves, the sough of tossing branches, he said, “I take it you all know by now what we’re here for. The idea is to rescue Miss Arbuckle while at least one of her captors has gone to fetch the ransom, improving the odds on our side.”
“Already in our favour,” Tommy put in.
“As far as we know. What we don’t know is whether someone has already left, and whether they have a look-out watching the track on the far side of the hill. I’m hoping to learn that from Mr. Petrie, who’s up there somewhere.”
“If so be there’s a guard to be took out, sir,” said Carlin, “’e’ll not find a better man nor I at creeping up on poachers.”
“Thank you, Carlin, I’ll remember that. I’ll give you all further instructions when we see what Mr. Petrie has to say. For now, we follow Miss Dalrymple up the hill. If you must speak, keep your voice down. Let’s go.”
Outside the shelter of the trees, the blustering wind swooped upon them, flinging random salvoes of rain. Daisy grabbed her hat. As she tugged it down further over her ears, a mighty gust sent her tottering. She clutched Alec’s arm.
