Heirs of the Body

by Carola Dunn

  “I hope they’ve somehow got hold of carrots or apples,” said Daisy. “I don’t know how a donkey’s insides would react to toffees or cake.”

  “Aren’t they omnivorous, like goats?”

  “I don’t think so. Let’s pretend we didn’t see. There’s Edgar at the end of the course, ready to present the prizes.”

  “He must shell out a pretty penny. I must say I’m impressed by his lord-of-the-manor persona. He seems to know everyone by name.”

  “Easy names compared to his moths and butterflies. And dragonflies. He likes people. He just isn’t interested in running the estate except when it comes to leaving parts au naturel.”

  Quite a few spectators had gathered by now. The donkey man returned to his beasts and led them to their starting places. They seemed puzzled to be lined up side by side instead of nose to tail. Ears twitched and one brayed.

  Derek mounted his donkey in style. The farm boys clambered aboard with less style but equal confidence. The father helped his angry daughter with detailed instructions for every move. The donkey man gave Bel and Ben a hand. When everyone was settled, he stepped aside, raised a whistle to his lips, and blew.

  The riders dug in their heels, shook the bridles, and added their cries of encouragement to those of the spectators. The donkeys, used to being led, paid little heed. After a few indecisive moments, Derek’s superior technique got his mount to start walking. The others followed, except the one ridden by the girl in jodhpurs. Perhaps it caught her sulkiness. It stood unmoving, and when her father went to its head and pulled on the bridle, it dug in its heels.

  Meanwhile Derek had coaxed his donkey to a trot. Before the others made up their minds to copy it, he had opened a fair lead. Then the beast remembered the circles it had been doing for several hours and veered off course into an arc that took it into the path of both the farm lads. Derek hauled on the reins, but it was determined. The nearer of its blocked competitors made a slight detour to get past its rear end, speeding up. The second joined Derek’s mount. Scattering spectators, they circled back towards the start.

  The crowd was in an uproar, laughing and yelling advice. Ben was in the lead, with Belinda at his heels, and the remaining farmer’s boy fast closing the gap.

  “Go, Blackie!”

  “You can do it, Miss!”

  “Get a move on, our Jim!”

  Suddenly Ben raised one hand as if to shade his eyes. He must have pulled on the reins reflexively, because his steed slowed. Belinda caught up.

  The noise from the crowd redoubled.

  Without warning, Belinda’s donkey bucked. Her head swung forward and thumped against its neck. Blood streaming from her face, she slid to the ground.

  SEVENTEEN

  Ben, abandoning his donkey, was the first to reach Belinda. She lay flat on her back on the grass. He knelt at her side and leaned over her. Their donkeys calmly strolled off, nibbling the short turf.

  Inevitably people quickly gathered round, so Daisy, running, couldn’t see Bel. At her side, Alec rapped out in his policeman voice: “Let us through. And clear a space, please.”

  “Find Dr. Hopcroft,” Daisy begged, charging onward.

  Bel’s eyes were open, thank goodness. She was clasping to her face a large cotton handkerchief, sodden with blood.

  “I think I’ve got another one somewhere,” said Ben, searching feverishly through his pockets.

  Daisy knelt down beside Belinda, who promptly burst into tears. “Bubby, it hurts!”

  “What hurts, darling? A pain in your back? Arms, legs? Do try not to cry, sweetheart, it’ll make your nose worse. Does your head ache?”

  “By dose hurts. Daddy, ab I goi’g to bleed to death?”

  “Of course not, pet.” Alec squeezed the hand she held out to him, then put a clean hankie in it. “Here, press as hard as you can bear to. But try not to move otherwise in case you’ve hurt your back.”

  Dr. Hopcroft and Derek arrived.

  “I thought I’d better find the doctor first,” Derek panted. “Is Bel all right? Gosh, that’s quite a nosebleed!”

  “Let’s just make sure it’s all that’s wrong,” said the doctor as Daisy and Alec moved aside to give him room.

  A couple of minutes of “Move this,” and “Can you feel that?” sufficed to indicate no serious damage.

  “Whed will by dose stop bleedi’g?”

  “That I can’t tell you. But put the hankie aside and take this cotton wool instead. Let’s see if the flow is diminishing.”

  Belinda cautiously obeyed. The cotton wool showed seepage rather than the previous flood of blood.

  With the doctor’s arrival, most of the gawkers had scattered to find something else to gawk at. The donkey man had rounded up his animals and was tethering them. Edgar, having presented the winner of the race with his five bob, came over with anxious queries.

  Reassured, he said, “Given the alternative attraction, the lad had to make do without public acclaim. You’ll be a nine days’ wonder, Belinda.”

  “I do’t want to be a wonder,” Bel said crossly, starting to sit up.

  Dr. Hopcroft pushed her down. “Flat on your back for quarter of an hour,” he ordered.

  “But it’s trickling down my throat! It tastes disgusting.”

  “I’ve set my stopwatch for fifteen minutes, Bel.” Derek held up his watch for her to see.

  “Not a minute longer!”

  The doctor smiled down at her. “That should do it. Stuff a bit of cotton wool up each nostril. That will absorb some. And when you get up, if it starts bleeding seriously again, back down on your back at once.”

  Bel sighed. “I hope my nose won’t be swollen.”

  “Cold compresses, and send for me if it starts bleeding freely again.”

  “Have I lost a lot of blood?”

  “Good gracious, no! You could spare a pint or two yet. I’m off.” He strode away towards the fortune-teller’s tent.

  Ben examined Belinda’s nose gravely. “It looks all right. Apart from the blood.”

  “I’ll send someone with water and cloths to clean you up a bit,” said Edgar. “I have to go and present some more prizes. Good heavens, look, there’s a Scarlet Tiger!”

  They all looked round nervously, before reminding themselves who was speaking, and spotting the bright-coloured butterfly.

  “I don’t have my net with me,” Edgar lamented. “What’s it doing in this crowd? It should be by the water.”

  “It was attracted by your blood, Bel,” said Derek. “It looks as if it dipped its wings in it.”

  “Does not!”

  Attention was diverted by the arrival of the donkey man. Scowling, he demanded, “What did the young miss do to my Bonnie to make her behave so?”

  Alec said sharply, “My daughter did nothing. You shouldn’t be letting kids ride on such a dangerous animal.”

  “Ho, dangerous is it? I’d have you know Bonnie’s never done aught like it in her life before! Gentle as a lamb and calm as a dove, saving she don’t like flashing lights. I don’t never take her out at night, but ’tis broad daylight here and now. No one using ’lectric torches or them motor lamps, stands to reason.”

  Derek suggested, “Maybe some village brat in the crowd hit her with a peashooter.”

  “A pea wouldn’t bother her none,” the man said contemptuously. He narrowed his eyes. “Mind, I’m not saying a stone from a catapult wouldn’t make her shy.”

  Ben raised a tentative voice. “About flashing lights. That’s what happened to me. A light flashed in my eyes, and I put up my hand to block it.”

  “And that’s when Bel pulled ahead,” Daisy recalled.

  “I bet the same light flashed in the donkey’s eyes,” said Derek. “Don’t you think so, Uncle Alec?”

  “Could be.” He turned back to the donkey man. “Well, we’ll say no more about the beast’s manners.”

  “I’m not doing no more races. Talked me into it, they did. Rides for little kids, that’s what
my donkeys do. And a good day to you, sir.” He stalked back towards his patient beasts.

  The district nurse bustled up in her witchy costume, bearing a flask of water and a roll of lint. “His lordship sent me, Mrs. Fletcher. Well, now, Miss Belinda, looks like your poor nose copped it good and proper. Let’s get you cleaned up a bit. I never saw an accident like this in your future, I must admit.”

  Daisy and Alec and the boys stepped back to let her get at her patient.

  An accident? Daisy was beginning to wonder. “Alec, don’t you think it’s rather too much of a coincidence—”

  He gave her slight shake of the head, his lips compressed. She abandoned the subject for the present.

  A couple of minutes of scrubbing and one loud “Ow!” from Belinda left her face more or less normal, apart from the lint sticking out of her nose. Her yellow frock was a disaster, fit only for the rubbish bin. Admittedly, even before the nosebleed, after her various pastimes of the afternoon, culminating in riding the donkey, it hadn’t been fit for much but the rag bag.

  The nurse went back to more esoteric activities.

  “Derek, is it quarter of an hour yet? I want to get up.”

  “The alarm hasn’t rung yet. Three minutes.” He and Ben amused themselves with counting down the seconds until the watch chimed.

  Alec helped Belinda up. Ben picked up her hat, dusted it off, and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She put it on and pulled the brim down at the front. “I ache.”

  “I bet you’ll have whacking great bruises.” Derek’s tone suggested admiration.

  “Daddy, have you got an extra hankie, just in case?”

  “I always have an extra hankie.” Alec was usually well supplied, as his work often involved a lot of weepy people: witnesses, suspects, the friends and relatives of murder victims.…

  Relatives and murder. Daisy tried to find something else to occupy her mind.

  She and Ben followed Alec, Belinda, and Derek towards the gate. Frank caught up with them.

  “I just heard the news.” His breath smelled slightly of beer. The fête was supposed to be nonalcoholic but someone always managed to smuggle in a crate or two of bottles, all in a good cause. “No serious injuries, I take it.” He gestured at Belinda who was walking unaided.

  “Just a bloody nose, Uncle Frank,” Ben assured him. “And bruises. I might have won the race but I stopped when she fell off.”

  “Good for you, young ’un. Rotten luck for both of you!”

  The mention of Ben’s near win reminded Daisy of the crowd cheering him on. “Ben, do you mind them calling you Blackie? I can put a stop to it in the village.”

  “Not much point in minding, is there? At home there’s plenty more like me.” He glanced at his stepfather. “Uncle Frank says there’s some in London. But round about here—Well, I looked and looked and never another black face did I see.”

  Frank nodded.

  Daisy regarded Ben thoughtfully. “It’s not actually black, is it. A rather nice brown. Would Brownie be better?”

  “Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Don’t let it worry you, Aunt Daisy. I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you too old to be hugged and kissed? Because I’m going to hug and kiss you.” She suited action to the words. “I’m happy to have you as a nephew, or cousin, or whatever exactly you are.”

  Shyly he kissed her cheek. “Me too. And Belinda and Derek are bricks!”

  “I see you’re picking up Derek’s school slang,” said Daisy, laughing.

  “They sounded friendly to me,” Frank said thoughtfully. “Encouraging, not heckling. Wouldn’t you agree, Daisy?”

  “Absolutely.” Daisy refrained from elaborating. At present Ben had a certain novelty value. Many of the villagers had probably never seen a black—or brown—face before. Should Ben turn out to be heir to the viscountcy, the local people might be less receptive, and he’d have the wider world to face.

  Bill Truscott was waiting with the Vauxhall just outside the gate, in case anyone wanted to be driven back to the house. He had already been told about Belinda’s mishap. He swooped upon her and lifted her into the car. Alec handed Daisy in after her.

  “May we stay here a bit longer, Aunt Daisy?” Derek asked. “Ben and I have a couple of shillings left.” He put his hand in the pocket of his shorts and jingled his change.

  Daisy looked to Alec, who nodded.

  “All right. But please stay away from donkeys and bows and arrows!”

  “I’ll keep an eye on them,” said Frank.

  “Would you like me to go back with you?” Alec asked Daisy and Belinda.

  “No thank you, Daddy.”

  “We just have to get her cleaned up and changed, darling. Frankly, you’d be in the way. Truscott, does Mrs. Warden still make that wonderful salve for bruises?”

  “Yes indeed, Miss Daisy. Madam, I should say.”

  “It smells funny,” Bel complained. She had had cause to be annointed with the salve on previous visits.

  Daisy assumed she couldn’t be feeling too sore if she was concerned about the smell.

  * * *

  By the time Daisy, the housekeeper, and Geraldine’s maid had between them dealt with Belinda’s woes, the boys had come back from the fête. They were ravenous because, Derek explained, instead of spending their last sixpence on a couple of buns, they had bought Belinda a necklace.

  Inside the silver-gilt locket was a tiny, black-bordered photograph of a young man with a great deal of whisker about his face. Opposite, protected by a watch glass, was a braided coil of hair, the creation of which, Daisy thought, must have cost someone her eyesight. Privately she considered it rather morbid. At least it was oval, not heart shaped. Belinda was thrilled.

  “You can tell people it’s a picture of your sweetheart,” Ben suggested. “Well, not now, but when you’re old.”

  “It’s time for supper,” Derek intervened, and the three went off together.

  Daisy paid a visit to the nursery. After reading a story to the twins, she said goodnight and, feeling a bit limp after the events of the past few hours, she went downstairs to see if Alec had returned from the fête. In the entrance hall, Raymond was handing his hat to Ernest. He looked round at the sound of Daisy’s footsteps.

  “Ah, Mrs. Fletcher—Daisy. I’m told your daughter is not seriously hurt?”

  “Just a nosebleed and a bruise or two.” Where had he been when Belinda fell?

  “Happy to hear it. Could I have a word with you?”

  “Yes, of course.” Did he still have hopes of her providing financial information about Fairacres?

  “No one in the morning room at present, madam.”

  Daisy and Raymond made their way to the morning room. Daisy chose an armchair near the open window, glad of the cooler air wafting off the river, for the late afternoon was sultry. Raymond sat down nearby and took out his cigarette case, the ostentatious diamond monogram glittering coldly against the gleam of the gold. With an automatic gesture, he started to offer the open case to Daisy, then remembered she didn’t smoke. He took a cigarette and lit it, slipping the case back into his breast pocket.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  He seemed uncharacteristically uncertain. “Nothing, really. It’s just … I was watching Lord Dalrymple this afternoon. I hadn’t realised there was so much to this ‘lord of the manor’ business. I’m coming to have considerable respect for Cousin Edgar.”

  “You thought he was just a crackpot would-be entomologist—”

  “A typical useless sort of aristocrat. We get them visiting South Africa. All they want to do is kill the biggest, fiercest animals, not even for food, just so that they can boast about it. But it’s obvious the villagers respect Edgar.”

  “You didn’t know Edgar had a useful career before he inherited the viscountcy? He was a schoolmaster for twenty years or so.”

  “A teacher? No, I had no idea. No one told me.”

  “Anyone capable
of controlling a classroom, let alone a school house, full of adolescent boys is worthy of respect. The lord of the manor stuff is smooth sailing in comparison. Schoolboys and tenants both require the same friendliness and consideration combined with a firm hand and a certain distance, yet without condescension.” Not that Daisy’s father had viewed his position quite like that. “If you see what I mean,” she added.

  “Yes.” Raymond’s voice held a note of doubt. “It’s different from the blacks on the farms at home, I suppose.”

  “I daresay.” She did not want to get involved in a discussion of colonialism, still less to hear his opinion of the discovery that he had a coloured cousin who might be the heir. “Edgar manages to be on good terms with everyone, as far as I can see. And although he’s not interested in the running of the estate, he’s a good judge of character and employs an excellent bailiff.”

  “I gather he owns the village as well as the farms.”

  “Edgar doesn’t own it, Fairacres does. The estate. Most of the estate is in some sort of trust that can’t be broken without the agreement of both Edgar and his heir.” Too late, she wondered whether she had told him more than she ought. Were trusts a matter of public record? They were not uncommon, at least, so Raymond could have guessed.

  Or perhaps the new law Tommy had told her about had abolished the trust? In any case, it wasn’t worth worrying about.

  Raymond, momentarily silenced, started to say something when Edgar came in. “Pretty good show, eh?” he said jauntily. “Apart from poor little Belinda, but I went to see her just now and she’s eating like a horse, so not much harm done, I’d say. It’s a good job she gets on so well with the lads. I’m pleased with the lot of them, very pleased. Hope you enjoyed our little country festivity, Raymond?”

  “I found it interesting, sir.”

  “Sir? Sir? What’s this? Edgar to you, my dear chap. After all, you can give me ten years or more, what?” The twinkle in his eye was slightly malicious. “I say, has either of you seen my butterfly net? I seem to have mislaid it.” He pottered about the room, looking behind chairs. Having decisively put Raymond in his place at their first meeting, he now seemed to be playing the part of a vague, unworldly aristocrat straight out of a Criterion farce.