Die Laughing

by Carola Dunn

  “She knew,” said Daisy. “Which doesn’t mean she’d told him.”

  “How do you know she knew?”

  “Ummm. I’m not sure, darling, but I definitely have that impression.”

  “An impression’s not evidence, Daisy.”

  “It must have been something she said. I expect I’ll remember if I just think through the scene again—which I’d far rather not. It was dreadful.”

  “Poor love, but you do rather let yourself in for these things when you start meddling,” Alec said callously. “All right, I’ll accept your impression for the moment. I wonder if she consulted Curtis? Or some other practitioner? I must talk to her as soon as possible. Is she still under sedation?”

  “No, but she’s in the middle of a medical emergency!”

  “Oh, right-oh. I’ll send Mackinnon over to keep an eye on the situation, and I’ll have another go at Lord Henry.”

  “He doesn’t have an alibi?”

  “Not one that’s easy to check. Ernie’s working on it now. Didn’t I tell you about it?”

  “By the time you came in last night, you were dog-tired and only said you’d seen him before you fell asleep.”

  “Strictly speaking I shouldn’t even have said that. And I’d better ring off before I say any more. You go home.”

  “Darling, I can’t possibly. I’d feel as if I was deserting a sinking ship. I must at least wait to find out if she lost the baby. What about Gwen Walker? Do you think she’s a red herring?”

  “I’ve no idea. Daisy, don’t you dare go and call on her next.”

  “I can’t go running about the neighborhood without an umbrella. Try and bring mine home with you, will you? Do you think you’ll make it for the Randalls’ dinner tonight?”

  “The Randalls?”

  “I did tell you, but I suppose you were already half asleep.”

  “In the unlikely event that I get home for dinner,” Alec said grimly, “I’ll be damned if I turn out again before morning.”

  “Right-oh, darling. Toodle-oo, then,” said Daisy, and rang off, her own red herrings having succeeded admirably. She rang Marianne Randall and left a message with a maid, then, with a sigh, rang home.

  “Still looking for your umbrella?” enquired her mother-in-law waspishly.

  “Alec’s men impounded it. I hope he’ll be able to get it back for me, or I’ll have to buy another. I’m still at the Talmadges’, though. I’m going to be here a while yet, I’m afraid. There’s a bit of an emergency and—”

  “Not another murder!”

  “Gosh, no! A medical emergency. I can’t in good conscience leave till I find out how Mrs. Talmadge is doing.”

  A muted “Conscience? Pshaw!” came over the wire. Daisy had never heard anyone say “pshaw” before, though they were always doing it in books, to indicate contempt or incredulity.

  Fortunately Mrs. Fletcher muttered it softly enough to allow Daisy to ignore it. “The doctor’s come already,” she said. “I don’t suppose I’ll be here much longer. ’Bye.”

  She sat for a moment examining her conscience. Of course it was mostly the “’satiable curtiosity” she shared with Kipling’s Elephant’s Child which urged her to stay, but she did feel desperately sorry for Daphne. To lose a baby must be perfectly dreadful. She had never really understood when Johnnie was so worried about Violet; since Vi had presented her with an adorable baby niece, she had been thinking about giving Belinda a brother or sister. Now the whole business had become a matter of personal concern.

  Yes, to lose a baby must be perfectly dreadful—whoever the father. Perhaps because Daphne’s secret life with Lord Henry had precluded close friendships, she had chosen to confide in Daisy, although she knew Alec was a policeman. Either Daphne was innocent of her husband’s murder, or she was confident of her ability to mislead Daisy.

  Or else she was just in such a state she was quite unable to think clearly.

  Whichever way Daisy looked at the situation, sympathy, curiosity, and a duty to find out what she could for Alec all led to the same course of action. She headed back to the kitchen.

  “Your tea’s cold,” Mrs. Thorpe growled at her. “I’ve made another pot.”

  “How kind.” Meekly Daisy sat down and drank a cup of Earl Grey, which she didn’t care for at all.

  The cook was opening a package neatly wrapped in newspaper, with an inner wrap of butcher’s paper. “Them newspapermen, were it, on t’telephone?” She took out a pound of pale pink chipolata sausages.

  “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of telling the press anything.”

  Staring at the sausages, Mrs. Thorpe turned pale and sat down suddenly. “Ooh, I’ve come over all queer. The master liked his sausages for breakfast, well browned he liked ’em. ‘They’re best if the skins split,’ he used to tell me, ‘so’s they get a bit crispy.’ So I wouldn’t prick ’em afore I cooked ‘em. ‘You do ‘em just the way I like ’em, Cook,’ he’d say. Ee, he won’t be saying that to me niver again, will he?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “What am I going to do with these here, that’s what I want to know. T‘mistress don’t care for ’em much. They’ll go off afore they get ate. I better parboil ’em.” Her queer turn apparently over, she set a pot of water on the stove to heat and started to snip apart the string of sausages.

  “Mr. Talmadge was a good master, was he?” Daisy asked.

  “I’ve known worse. Niffy-naffy about his food but if you did it to his liking, he’d say so. Careful of his figure, he were. No cakes and pies for him. He were getting to t’age when men start to get a bit of a belly on, if you know what I mean, madam, and he didn’t want to go that way.”

  “A ladies’ man?”

  “Nay, I niver said so! Don’t you go putting words in my mouth. Him and Mrs. T. had their differences, I don’t deny, but there wasn’t never any funny business in this house and to that I’ll give my affydavy.” She stabbed viciously at the sausages with a fork. “I’m a respectable woman, I am. I wouldn’t stay at a house where there was carryings-on.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Daisy said soothingly.

  “And I don’t hold wi’ murder in t’house, neither. If it wasn’t that the mistress is poorly, I’d be thinking about giving my notice.”

  “Oh, don’t do that.”

  “Well, I won’t. But she needn’t think I’ll put up with carryings-on in the house now t’master’s gone, lord or no lord, for I won’t, and so I’ve told Hilda.”

  The pricked sausages went into the boiling water with a hiss. Daisy poured herself another cup of the pale, scented tea. If she sat here making sympathetic noises for long enough, she might learn something useful.

  “If you ask me—Drat that doorbell! Back door. Who can it be? I’m not expecting no more deliveries today.”

  “I’ll get it. You keep your eye on those sausages.” Standing up, Daisy saw them bobbing amid the roiling water like so many pallid sea bathers. Would she ever be able to eat sausages again?

  She opened the door to Detective Sergeant Mackinnon. “Hello, Sergeant! I forgot, Alec said he’d send you over.”

  “I got a message from the Chief Inspector, ma’am. They didn’t say you’d be here. Just something about …” He turned fiery red. “About … I mean … They said Mrs. Talmadge … That is …”

  Daisy rescued him. “She’s not at all well. You won’t be able to talk to her.”

  “Oh no!” said Mackinnon, aghast. “I wouldna dream … I’m just supposed to make sure she doesna get in touch with Lord Henry Creighton. And just sort of generally keep an eye on things. Though I’m not quite sure what he means by that. The message wasna very clear.”

  “I expect it got garbled in transmission,” said Daisy. She suspected Alec wanted the sergeant to keep an eye on her in particular rather than “things” in general, but he couldn’t very well have said so to whoever passed on the message.

  “And I’m to talk to the doctor, if he’s still here.”r />
  “He’s with her, upstairs. I expect you have to make sure she’s really having a … that what I told Alec is what’s actually going on?”

  “Yes,” he said, grateful for her circumlocutions. “We have to consider the possibility that she’s faking a … pretending to be ill to avoid being questioned.”

  “She’s not faking,” Daisy asserted, remembering all too clearly Daphne’s agonized face. “Apart from anything else, she’d never have persuaded Nurse Hensted to go along. They hate each other.”

  “The nurse was there when … it happened?”

  “Yes. It was she who realized Mrs. Talmadge was having a … what was happening. You’d better come into the hall to catch Dr. Curtis when he comes down. Oh, blast, is that the ’phone ringing again?”

  “I’ll get it,” Mackinnon volunteered. “Maybe it’s the Chief Inspector. I’ll leave the door open so I see the doctor when he passes.” He headed for the front of the house.

  About to turn back into the kitchen, Daisy paused as she heard him speaking to someone. A moment later, Gladys arrived.

  “Oh, good, you’re still here, m’m. The doctor wants to speak to you.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “No, m’m, he’s just coming down. In the droring room, maybe?”

  “Right-oh, tell him I’m expecting him there, Gladys.”

  She went into that oddly impersonal room, a room to take pride in for entertaining, but not one to relax in. Crossing to the French windows onto the garden, she gazed out at the ranks of flowers. The tulips were closed against the rain, the hyacinths bowing before its onslaught, the pansies downright bedraggled.

  At the sound of footsteps, she turned, as Dr. Curtis came in.

  “How is Daphne, Doctor?”

  “She’ll do. We saved the baby, though she’s not out of the woods yet.” Frowning at Daisy, he took off his gold-rimmed eyeglasses and stabbed towards her with the earpiece to punctuate his words. “If I’d known she was pregnant, I’d never have prescribed Paral. Not that I’ve ever heard of it producing an abortion, but severe stomach cramps are not unknown. Violent contractions of the abdomen—but any strong drug is to be avoided, especially in the early months, and when you add the horror of Talmadge’s death … Did you know she was expecting a child?”

  “I? Heavens, no! She knew, I take it?”

  “She consulted a Harley Street man,” he said with a touch of resentment. “I’ll have to write up my notes and send him a copy, I suppose. Common courtesy, though she says she doesn’t intend to continue seeing him. It’s all most unfortunate, her husband dying at such a time. She ought to have a relative to stay with her. I know she was an only child, and her parents have both passed on, but there must be someone suitable?”

  “I’m sorry, I know nothing about her family. Hilda Kidd would be the one to ask.”

  “She says there’s no one. But I wondered … umm …”

  “Whether she just doesn’t want anyone horning in between her and Daphne? She does seem to be frightfully jealous of their relationship. You didn’t ask Daphne about relatives?”

  “Not after the maid said there are none. She is not to be emotionally disturbed.” The doctor eyed Daisy with some severity.

  “I’m afraid that’s a bit of a nonstarter, considering her husband was murdered yesterday!”

  “Yes, well, as I said, it’s all most unfortunate.”

  “The police are going to want to talk to her, if you don’t absolutely forbid it.”

  “She may see your husband. I would take him to be capable of delicacy in the situation. But you should be present to make sure she doesn’t become agitated, and that she stays lying flat in bed.”

  “And for propriety’s sake,” Daisy said primly, tongue in cheek.

  To her surprise, Dr. Curtis gave her a wry smile. “If anyone cares for propriety in this degenerate day and age.”

  “But I can’t imagine Daphne will want me there when she’s being questioned.”

  “Perhaps not. At any rate, she would like to see you now. I left her quite calm but very tired, so don’t stay long. Good day, Mrs. Fletcher.” He bowed slightly and departed.

  So Daphne wanted to see her? What luck! Daisy followed him out and made for the stairs.

  Since the baby had been saved, she didn’t have to feel quite so sympathetic. And according to the doctor, the mother-to-be was now calm, no longer in such a state she couldn’t think straight. Daisy could concentrate on trying to decide whether Daphne was actually innocent of murder or just sure she’d be able to hoodwink Daisy.

  12

  On her way upstairs, Daisy thought of another possibility. Even if Daphne was herself innocent, she still could know, suspect, or simply fear that Lord Henry had killed her husband, in which case she must be desperate to protect him.

  Daisy tapped on the bedroom door and was invited to enter. In spite of her resolve, she felt a pang of sympathy at the sight of Daphne’s wan face, pale as her pillows, with its pitiful attempt at a smile.

  “I’m so glad the baby is all right.”

  “Yes, we managed to save the poor, fatherless little mite,” said Miss Hensted complacently.

  Hilda Kidd glared at her. The maid’s face was creased with fatigue after the emotions of the past hour following her watchful night. She opened her mouth to retort, but Daphne forestalled her, her tone authoritative despite the weakness of her voice.

  “Hilda, you really must get some rest. Bring that chair over here for Mrs. Fletcher, then off to bed with you. And Nurse, you can leave me with Mrs. Fletcher. I promise I won’t try to sit up.”

  “I’ll stop her if she does.” Daisy reopened the door she had closed behind her and stood holding it to usher out the reluctant pair.

  The door firmly shut again, Daisy went to sit on the chair Hilda had moved close to the bed.

  “I suppose I must be grateful to Nurse Hensted,” said Daphne, “much as I dislike her. Dr. Curtis says she may have stopped me bleeding to death, as well as saving my baby. Oh, Daisy, what must you think of me?”

  “I think you’ve got yourself into a fearful mess,” Daisy said candidly. “And I know that now you’re no longer under sedation, you’re going to have to talk to the police.”

  “Even if I tell you everything?”

  “Gosh, yes. I may have given Alec a hand with one or two cases, and he does occasionally listen to what I have to say, but I have no official standing. You’ll have to see him. Or he’d send someone else if you prefer, I expect. I can see it might be a bit awkward baring your soul to a policeman you’ve been socially acquainted with for ages.”

  “Very, but probably no worse than to a stranger. On the whole I’d rather have your husband, especially if you can stay with me. But I want to explain to you first anyway. You’ve been so kind.”

  Daisy thought guiltily of her ulterior motives. “Not really,” she felt obliged to demur.

  “Kinder than anyone else.”

  “There are stacks of condolence cards downstairs.”

  Daphne pulled a face. “All of which I’ll have to answer politely though I can guess what some of those cats are saying behind my back. I can’t imagine you going off and repeating what I’ve told you to the neighbours.”

  “No, I wouldn’t do that.” Daisy recalled with distaste Miss Cobb’s glee as she passed on her tidbit of gossip, while Mrs. Grantchester watched avidly. “I wouldn’t even tell Alec in ordinary circumstances, but—”

  “Poor Raymond! I still can’t quite believe it’s happened.” She sounded more bewildered than shattered. “Are the police absolutely sure it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Pretty sure. You said something before about it happening just when you thought you’d sorted everything out. Did you mean he’d agreed to let you divorce him?”

  “No, on the contrary. Divorce would have ruined his practice, and having a divorced mother would be a rotten start in life for my baby. No, he’d agreed to accept the child as his own.”

&nb
sp; “Did he really?”

  “Noble of him, wasn’t it?” Daphne’s smile was twisted. “He wasn’t a bad man. I was madly in love with him once. And, you know, not having children was one of the things that drove us apart in the first place. No, not drove. We weren’t driven, we drifted. Don’t let it happen to you, Daisy.”

  Daisy couldn’t imagine drifting apart from Alec, but she said, “I’ll do my best.”

  “We were going to try to put our marriage back together. He promised to drop his latest mistress, and I told Harry I couldn’t see him again.” Her eyes filling with tears, Daphne turned her head away.

  “Oh, please, you mustn’t upset yourself. Dr. Curtis said … I’d better go.”

  “No, please stay. I’ll go mad if I can’t talk about it. I’ll try to be calm. Only it was perfectly awful, you can’t imagine.”

  “You told him everything? I mean, about why you and your husband were going to try to salvage the marriage? About the baby?”

  “His baby, as I expect you must have guessed. Yes, I told him. We’ve known each other for nearly twenty years, you see. I would have married him, but Father wouldn’t let me. He said he was an effete aristocrat barely capable of tying his own shoelaces.”

  “Oh dear!”

  “It’s not true. And I can tell Harry anything, knowing he’ll understand. He was so kind, and so sad.”

  “It must have been very painful.” Daisy tried to imagine the dilettante-about-town finding himself in that awkward situation. She would expect him to be extremely relieved that his mistress intended to stay with her husband rather than attempting to saddle him with the responsibility for the child. Nothing seemed less likely than that he should rush off to murder said husband.

  Admittedly Daisy didn’t know Lord Henry at all well. His long liaison with Daphne Talmadge was surprising enough in itself. One would have expected him to dally with actresses.

  Reaching out a pleading hand, Daphne said passionately, “I have to see him!”

  “Oh dear, I don’t see how—”

  “I can’t go out, so Harry must come here.”