by Dunn, Carola
TWENTY-FIVE
Martha came down on Sam’s arm to tea on the terrace. She was radiant as, with obvious pride, she introduced him to everyone. Daisy felt happier just looking at her. Geraldine was every inch the gracious hostess. She invited him to sit beside her and plied him with tea and questions.
“I hope you had good weather for your voyage. When did you arrive in England?”
“Just a couple of days ago,” he said cheerfully, without hesitation. “I’ve been in America.”
“So I heard.”
Sam grinned. “Yes, well, a successful trip, though not without a bit of excitement. Then I had a fair amount of business to be done in Jamaica. I was lucky to get a first mate’s berth for an Atlantic crossing when I did. Sometimes you have to wait quite a while, or settle for second officer, but my friends were looking out for a place for me.”
Frank joined in the conversation. Vincent and Laurette listened, but they kept looked round, as if wondering where Raymond was. Martha, her fond gaze on her Sammy, sipped her tea and pulled a face, then drank it at a gulp, as if it were medicine. Either it was the wrong kind of mint again or her taste buds were still out of order, Daisy guessed.
Alec had asked Daisy, Edgar, and Geraldine not to announce Raymond’s death to the others. He wanted to see who would ask after him first, and how each would react to the news. Geraldine was to keep a close watch on Sam and Martha, Daisy on Vincent and Laurette, and Edgar on Frank Crowley, while Alec had a good view of everyone from his seat on the wall.
Laurette grew more and more disturbed and at last said, “Daisy, do you know how Raymond goes? It seemed to me that he was à peine—not much—shaken by his fall, but he hasn’t come to tea. Does he find himself unwell?”
“I’m afraid there’s bad news, Laurette. Edgar was going to tell everyone after tea, so as not to spoil Sam’s welcome, but since you ask…” She glanced at Edgar who, well-primed by Alec, nodded assent. “Raymond died on the way home.”
Laurette was aghast. “Mais, ma foi, c’est inouï! Impossible! A small fall, it does not cause the death.”
“Did you see him fall?” Alec asked.
“Non, non. I was with Daisy. We were not close and the tramway blocked our view. We saw that something happens. The policeman blows the whistle. All vehicles cease to move. But Raymond we did not see until a policeman helps him to the pavement. He felt himself weak from shock. This is natural. But to die … impossible.”
“Impossible,” Vincent echoed. His face was very pale. Daisy wondered if he was thinking of his own “accident” in the wood and whether it could have proved fatal.
“Nonetheless, he is dead.”
“Poor old chap!” said Frank, without much concern. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
Alec looked round. “You were all in Worcester this morning except for Martha and Lord Dalrymple. Did anyone see Raymond fall?”
Daisy kept her gaze on Vincent and Laurette as instructed, but from the corners of her eyes she saw the others shake their heads, as did Vincent.
“This whistle-blowing policeman,” said Frank, “he must have seen the whole thing.”
“Not clearly,” Alec said. “It’s a busy corner and directing traffic is his job. He glimpsed a pedestrian stumbling into the path of a tram. Thereafter he concentrated on stopping the traffic in every direction. He couldn’t provide any useful description of the person who saved Raymond from the wheels. All we know is that it was a man in a hat, an ordinary sort of bloke.”
“‘We know?’” Frank asked with lively interest. He made no effort to put on a show of mourning for Raymond.
“Mr. Fletcher is a copper,” Sam revealed. “A detective.”
“What?” Frank immediately looked shifty, casting a sidelong glance at Alec. “How do you know?”
“Martha stayed with the Fletchers in London for several weeks. She wrote to her sister at home, so I found out when I returned to Kingston. I’m a sailor by profession, if you didn’t know.”
“Someone mentioned it. Ever been to Trinidad?”
Sam had. The two young men were soon caught up in a comparison of Port of Spain and Kingston, Raymond’s death for the moment forgotten.
Vincent and Laurette, upon whom Daisy was supposed to be concentrating, talked to each other in undertones, looking decidedly glum. In fact, Laurette looked distraught. Daisy moved to sit beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a horrid thing to have happened. I wish I’d realised sooner how badly hurt he was. I’d have taken him straight to a doctor instead of bringing him back to Fairacres.”
“He didn’t tell you he felt really ill?” Vincent asked anxiously. “Did he say anything about the accident, how it happened?”
“No, he didn’t speak after the bobbies helped him into the car.”
“Then I don’t see how you can blame yourself,” he said with relief.
Daisy was touched by his concern. “Still, I can’t help hoping the postmortem will show even immediate medical care couldn’t have saved him.”
“Postmortem!” Laurette exclaimed in horror. “L’autopsie?”
“It’s required, as he didn’t have a doctor in attendance to give a death certificate. They have to find out what he died of so that they can report to the coroner.”
“You mean there will be an inquest?” Vincent was outraged. “Surely they can’t expect a viscount and his family to attend an inquest.”
“I can’t see any reason you would be expected to, unless you know something pertinent about his health.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Laurette might be called,” said Daisy, “as we were both with him waiting for his car, and in the car for a couple of minutes. I doubt it, though, as she won’t be able to tell them anything I can’t. I’m sure to have to give evidence, as I was with him when he died. Not necessarily right away, though, if the police ask for an adjournment to give them time to investigate.”
“I can’t see that there’s anything for the police to investigate.”
“Vincent, je ne puis supporter ça encore un instant.”
“Bien, chérie. If you’ll excuse us, Daisy, Laurette is very distressed, as you can see. She’ll be the better for a stroll in the garden.” He presented their excuses to Geraldine; the couple went down the terrace steps and headed for the shade of the pleached alley.
Daisy watched. Vincent hadn’t brought his stick. He was walking normally without it, even with Laurette leaning on his arm. He, at least, had recovered from his “accident.” She noticed that Alec, also, was watching them, with narrowed eyes. She went to sit beside him on the wall.
“What’s bitten those two?”
“It was rather insensitive of me, I suppose, when Laurette was obviously upset by what happened to Raymond. I mentioned the autopsy and the inquest, and she said she couldn’t stand it any longer.”
“Would you say she was genuinely upset?”
“Oh yes, and Vincent too. Not suffering from grief, I would say, but shocked and horrified. I wondered whether they were thinking that his accident could have been a serious attempt on his life.”
“I see he’s not using his walking stick. What about this morning?”
“He did say something about not wanting to tackle the steps up the tower. I don’t remember if he had his stick. “
“Damn, neither do I.”
“But he might have taken it in case of need for a walk of indefinite duration round the town, yet not for a stroll in the garden.”
“True.” He looked up as Ernest came out. The footman bore a silver salver on which reposed a pinkish-buff telegram envelope and a paper knife. “What now, I wonder?”
Ernest presented the telegram to Geraldine. “The evening post has come, my lady. Mr. Lowecroft said to bring you this immediately.”
“Thank you, Ernest. Fresh tea and hot water, please. Please excuse me,” she said to her immediate neighbours, slitting the envelope. The message took only a moment to read.
She refolded the form and asked Ernest to take it to Alec.
“With her ladyship’s compliments,” he said, lowering his voice to add, “If there’s anything doing, sir, you know as I’m game.”
“I do, Ernest. I’ve not forgotten your assistance. Nothing at present, but I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
The footman bowed with a grin, then wiped it from his face and, with a suitably impassive expression, took himself off to collect teapots and hot-water jugs.
“Pearson can’t make it down here till Thursday evening,” Alec told Daisy, showing her the telegram.
“Bother! That means we’ll have to wait till then to know what documents Sam has up his sleeve. Can you make him show you?”
“Questionable. Even if this turns out to be a case for the police, I’d probably have to get a court order. Unless there’s strong evidence that they’re relevant to a criminal investigation, which seems unlikely.”
“But it may show us who’s the real heir!”
“I must have a talk with him anyway.”
“I’ll take notes,” Daisy said eagerly.
“No notes. An informal chat to put him in the picture.”
“And winkle out as much information as you can.”
“Of course. Perhaps he’ll voluntarily tell me about the heirs. Assuming he knows. Pearson didn’t actually say so, I gather.”
“He’s a cautious lawyer. I’m sure … pretty sure that’s what he meant. I can’t see why Sam wouldn’t be willing to tell us—”
“Not ‘us.’ I don’t want you getting any deeper into this imbroglio than you are already.”
“But darling—”
“No. Great Scott, Daisy, most of these accidents have been minor, but now a man’s dead!”
“And that’s why we need to know who’s the heir. In fact, everyone should be told. Then we can concentrate on protecting that one person. As it is, we can’t possibly keep watch over all of them!”
“We can do a pretty good job with Ernest’s help. Has it dawned on you that if Sam is the heir, he’s not particularly keen to announce it and make himself a target?”
“Oh! No, it hadn’t occurred to me. It would apply to all of them, too.”
“Great Scott, Daisy, I hadn’t thought of that!” Alec admitted with a wry smile.
“So, you see, you need me.…”
Edgar came to join them, sitting on the wall beside Daisy. “Are you comparing notes?” he whispered.
“Not exactly, sir. It’s a bit too public out here.” Two could keep their voices low enough not to be overheard, but three made it difficult not to look conspiratorial rather than merely casually conversing. “Also, I’m hoping for a word with Samuel before I report my observations.”
“You won’t give him a hard time, will you, my dear chap? Don’t want to upset Martha.”
“I’ll do my best. Sometimes it’s difficult to judge what will—”
Ernest reappeared. “Mr. Fletcher, you’re wanted on the telephone, sir.”
“Who…? No, never mind, I’m coming.”
A chilly little breeze had sprung up. Martha shivered.
Sam jumped up at once. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you indoors. We can’t have you catching a chill.”
“If you don’t mind, Cousin Geraldine,” Martha apologised. The rough edges natural to her upbringing had smoothed during her stay in Hampstead.
“Of course, dear, you mustn’t catch cold. Unless anyone would like some more tea, I shall go inside now myself.”
Martha gave Sam her hands and he hauled her out of her chair, undignified but effective. At six months, there wasn’t really a dignified way to get out of a seat.
In the couple’s wake, everyone straggled through the French window into the drawing room. Daisy glanced back and saw Vincent and Laurette coming up from the garden. Geraldine stopped to speak kindly to Laurette, suggesting she might like to lie down for a while before dinner.
“I believe I will,” said Laurette. “It is a great pity the English do not use tisanes. La camomille would be soothing to me now.”
“Camomile? I’ll ask Mrs. Warden, but wouldn’t mint do? It seems to help Martha.”
“Mint, no! Mint is not for the nerves.”
“I’ll send a maid with a hot-water bottle.”
Frank approached Daisy.
“I suppose I oughtn’t to go down to the Beetle this evening,” he said wistfully.
“Well, Raymond wasn’t a relative of yours, except in the widest sense, but he was a fellow guest.”
“Yes. Better not.” He sighed. “A quiet game of snooker? No money involved? No, I mustn’t drag Sam away from his wife.” He brightened as he spotted Vincent, at a loose end as Laurette went out. “Vincent, snooker?”
“All right,” said Vincent without enthusiasm.
Daisy had a vision of the two of them hitting each other over the head with the billiard cues. Not that Vincent could possibly have a motive for attacking Frank—unless in self-defence? Should she go with them? Or ought she to check up on the children’s whereabouts?
Seeing Ernest and a maid out on the terrace clearing up the tea things, she went out. “Does either of you know where Miss Belinda and the boys are?”
The maid curtsied. “I saw them in the nurseries a few minutes ago, madam. Miss Belinda was playing with the babies. Master Derek was teaching Bla—Master Benjamin, I mean, how to play Parcheesi.”
“Thanks.” It sounded as if they were safely settled for the present. “Ernest, Mr. Crowley and Mr. Vincent have gone to the billiard room. Would you go and offer them drinks, and pop in now and then to see that they have all they need?”
“Consider it done, madam,” said the footman, with a wink that Daisy hoped the maid hadn’t noticed.
She went back in just as Alec returned from taking the phone call. He came to meet her.
“Worcester super,” he answered her unspoken question. “He’s offered to send a motorcycle officer with the file on Raymond’s accident, including the initial medical exam. He wanted to know if it can wait till the pathologist’s report is also available. He’s doing the autopsy tomorrow morning.”
“What did you say?”
“That I can wait for an informal postmortem report but not until an official document has been typed up. Now for Sam.”
“Darling, can’t I—”
“No. Sam, I’d like a word with you if you don’t mind. We can use Lord Dalrymple’s study.”
“Sure thing.” Sam rose willingly, but Martha clung to him, looking frightened.
“I want to go with him!”
“It’s all right, sweetie. He’s not going to arrest me. Are you, Chief Inspector?”
“I have absolutely no cause to do so.”
“See?”
“Please, Alec! Let me go too.”
Daisy could see Alec swallowing a sigh. “All right, Martha. Come along.”
“And Daisy. Daisy, you’ll come, won’t you?”
This time Alec’s sigh was overt, and Daisy, though she tried not to look too triumphant, couldn’t hide her smile.
TWENTY-SIX
By the time Daisy, Alec, Sam, and Martha reached the study, Sam had reconsidered his initial willingness to cooperate.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, with a hint of belligerence.
“I wish I knew.”
“What the dev—deuce do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t understand the situation. Could you just take it on trust that I need details of your travels? If you’ll be so kind as to give me the information, then I’ll explain why I’m asking.”
“Go on, Sammy. Alec and Daisy have done so much for me, you can at least answer a few questions.”
He smiled and her and squeezed her hand. “All right, fire away.”
“I’m not going to ask about your adventures in America.”
Sam grinned. “Good.”
“When you made it back to Jamaica—When was that?”
“I
couldn’t tell you the exact date. It was what you might call an informal return. They dropped me off at night in a small cove near Runaway Bay, on the north coast. I walked most of the way to Spanish Town. Picked up a few lifts, but outside Kingston there aren’t many motor vehicles, it’s mostly mules and donkeys, so it was no faster. Then I took the train from Spanish Town to Kingston. End of June, that’s the best I can do.”
“When you reached Kingston and found Martha gone, did you write to her?”
“No.” A guilty glance at his wife, who smiled forgivingly.
“Sammy’s not much of a letter writer.”
“I would have, but I thought I’d be here as soon as a letter. Then I looked further into the legal business and I got caught up in sorting that out.”
“Sorting it out?”
“I had to go back north, to Cockpit Country in St. Elizabeth Parish, to dig up some information for the lawyer.”
“Were you successful? What information did you obtain?”
“Mr. Pearson told me to keep it to myself until he gets here.”
“Mr. Pearson didn’t foresee that I’d have to switch over from being a guest and relative by marriage to my rôle as a copper.”
“Sorry. What’s the good of getting advice from a lawyer if you’re going to ignore it?”
“You have a point,” Alec admitted. “I’ll try to contain my curiosity. On that point. When did you leave Jamaica again?”
“My ship sailed from Kingston on the tenth.”
“It’s a pity you didn’t bring your little girls.” Daisy said, ignoring Alec’s frown. She had ceased to find those dark eyebrows intimidating long ago.
“If I’d had to pay for the passage, I would have. As I was first officer, it just wasn’t practical. They’re quite happy with their aunt and uncle, though they miss their mama.”
Martha’s eyes misted over.
“It shouldn’t be too much longer before you see them, darling,” Daisy said hurriedly, to avert a storm of tears. Whether the family would be reunited in England or in Jamaica remained to be seen.
“The tenth of July?” Alec took up his interrogation. “And what date did you arrive in England?”
