by Carola Dunn
Daisy peered into the near darkness. Laurette was wearing black as usual and Daisy couldn’t see her. Ernest started to run, so she followed him, and she heard Alec’s footsteps pounding across the paved terrace.
He easily caught up with and passed her. Though not wearing an evening dress, she was not dressed for running. She slowed down.
Vincent staggered out from the alley. Alec and Ernest went straight to him, so Daisy concentrated on Laurette.
She put her arm about the woman. “Alec and the footman are helping Vincent. Come inside and sit down. What happened?”
“Oh, I cannot talk about it! We came to the end of the allée—We walked slowly, you understand, talking. Near the river it is more light. Almost we walk back across the pelouse, the lawn, but the grass is damp, so we return to the allée, where is gravel. Not so bad for shoes.”
Daisy glanced down guiltily at her shoes, but it was too dark by now to see any damage. “The laburnum is impenetrable. So either someone came running after you, which you would have heard on the gravel, or you reached the gap halfway, where you can turn onto the lawn or take the footpath in the opposite direction.”
“Yes, yes, we come to the gap. We cross. Someone concealed himself there—ça se voit—this is obvious. We re-enter into the tunnel, into the darkness. The person throws himself upon my poor Vincent and thrusts a knife into his back!”
“Good heavens, how terrible! Is he badly hurt?” She looked back. Vincent was walking between Alec and Ernest, slowly but unsupported. “Not too badly, apparently. It looks as if he had a lucky escape.”
“He heard a sound and started to turn himself.”
“So the blow didn’t strike him squarely in the back. Gosh, he really was lucky.”
“Unless he bleeds slowly perhaps, unseen under the coat.”
“Alec and Ernest will get him inside where we can see. It’s no good fumbling in the dark.”
Geraldine looked up as they went through the French doors. She jumped up, dropping her knitting, as the men appeared on the threshold. “What now?” she asked, in a long-suffering voice. It must be very trying to have guests so prone to dramatic upsets.
“Vincent was attacked,” said Daisy. “He doesn’t seem to be badly hurt.”
Vincent sank limply into the nearest chair, with a slight moan. Laurette started chafing his hand, to what end Daisy wasn’t sure.
“Where are Sam and Crowley?” Alec asked sharply.
“Frank quietly sloped off,” Geraldine said. “I assumed to the public house.”
“I told him not to go there this evening,” Daisy put in. “I said it wouldn’t look good after Raymond’s demise. He’s probably in the billiard room.”
“Ernest, go and check, please. And Sam?”
“Martha felt unwell. Too much excitement, I expect. Naturally Samuel went with her to help her up the stairs.”
“Naturally.” Alec sighed. “Vincent, your injury must be examined. Can you make it upstairs?”
“I don’t think so,” Vincent said in a failing voice.
“We’ll take a look at once, right here.” Geraldine’s no-nonsense manner reduced them all to schoolchildren. She advanced on Vincent, who couldn’t repress an instinct to cower slightly. Holding out her hand to Alec, she said, “You have a clean handkerchief?”
He handed over a large white linen square. “I’ll help Vincent take off his jacket.”
“Unhurt side first,” Geraldine directed.
They bent over their reluctant patient, Laurette hovering with little cries of distress.
Frank Crowley came in, his face lighting with interest as he observed the scene. Behind him came Ernest.
“What happened?” Frank asked Daisy.
“Vincent’s hurt.”
“Badly?”
“I don’t know.” She turned to Ernest. “You’d better bring water and a couple of towels, and brandy. Sticking plaster, bandages, lint, I don’t know.…”
“There’s a slash in your jacket,” said Alec, “a clean cut. Must have been made by a pretty sharp blade.”
“How lucky that you turned quickly, Vincent!” Laurette’s English improved as her distress calmed.
“Very little blood on your shirt,” Geraldine assured him. “We can lengthen the slit, or cut the shirt off you, or just take it off if it’s not too painful.”
“Take it off carefully,” said Laurette, the thrifty Frenchwoman. “I shall wash and mend it.”
“Nonsense. One of the maids can do it, and we’ll replace both shirt and jacket as soon as possible.”
Alec, now with Frank’s assistance, eased Vincent out of his shirt.
“It’s barely a scratch.” Frank was a trifle contemptuous. “What happened?”
“Someone jumped out of the bush and attacked him,” Laurette snapped. “He suffers from the shock. I suffer from the shock. You are not sympathetic.” She stared at him suspiciously. “Where were you?”
“Playing billiards against myself.”
Lowecroft came in with a decanter of brandy, followed by Ernest, his arms laden with first-aid supplies. Alec and Frank moved back to let Geraldine and Laurette minister to the sufferer.
Alec had appropriated Vincent’s shirt and jacket. He handed them to Daisy. “Look after his clothes, will you, love? Don’t let anyone start laundering or mending. I must go and hunt for the weapon.” He raised his voice. “Ernest!”
“Yes, sir?” The footman joined them.
“Find me a torch, please. You’d better get one for yourself, too, and come and help me.”
“At once, sir.” Ernest’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Mr. Crowley was in the billiard room all right, sir, but there’s no knowing how long he’d been there before I saw him.” He hurried off.
“He’s willing enough—”
“Eager!” said Daisy.
“But I need Tom and Ernie.”
“Surely the Super will send them down now, after this.”
“I hope so. Daisy, I’d like to be sure Sam is with Martha.…”
“Right away, Chief. I’ll put Vincent’s clothes in our room and then pop in to see Martha.”
“You’d better take the papers as well.”
Coming in supporting Vincent, Alec had dumped the document case on a small table near the French windows. Frank had noticed it and stood contemplating the Worcester police insignia and CONFIDENTIAL stamp, eyebrows raised, hands in pockets, whistling softly, tunelessly, to himself.
“Excuse me,” said Daisy, “I have instructions to remove that.”
“Scotland Yard taking charge, eh? I must say it was a bit of a shock finding out we have a copper among us!”
Shock, rather than mere surprise, Daisy noted. But he smiled when he said it. She smiled in return and picked up the case. It was heavier than she expected.
“Let me carry that for you. I want to go up and make sure Ben hasn’t been attacked by a homicidal maniac. An incompetent one.”
Not being in the running to inherit Fairacres, Daisy had no qualms about her personal safety. She caught Alec’s eye and waved to him, so that Frank was aware that pinching the reports from her would immediately make him the focus of suspicion.
“I assume I’m a suspect,” he said as they crossed the hall.
“I’m afraid so.”
“I can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have a rich stepson, or even just to have the kids off my hands without having to worry about them. But not nice enough to risk the gallows for.”
“Alec will take that into account, of course.”
“So he’s officially investigating the poor old b—fellow’s death? Raymond’s, I mean?”
“He was unofficially looking into that. It may well turn out to have been an accident. But now that Vincent has been attacked…”
“For the second time?”
“I don’t know. And I’d better not talk about all this or I’ll say something Alec wants kept quiet. Ben’s in the nurseries, according to Ernest. The thr
ee of them are playing cards.”
Frank grinned. “That sounds safe enough, as Ben hasn’t got a penny to gamble with. Not to mention Mrs. Gilpin’s eagle eye.”
“You’ve fallen afoul of Nurse Gilpin, have you?”
“She didn’t like me calling Belinda Bel. ‘That’s Miss Belinda to you,’ she said, very toffee-nosed.”
“Oh dear, I’m sorry.”
“Not to worry. I’m careful to call her Miss Belinda in the nursery. And Bel elsewhere. She and young Derek have been absolute bricks, as Derek would say, to Ben. Almost everyone here has been very kind and accepting—”
“Almost?”
“Except Vincent and Mrs. Vincent, who are just snooty, and the late, unlamented Raymond, who passed some nasty remarks about the horror of being related to a kaffir. I was angry, but things are different in South Africa from at home, and I wouldn’t kill him for being an ignorant bigot. Do you or your husband think Ben is in danger?”
“It’s possible. I was on my way up to check on them when Alec lumbered me with this stuff. I wonder how many people know he has a brother at home?”
“I see what you mean,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t recall talking about Jacques to anyone. Maybe mentioning more young ’uns at home but nothing more specific. You reckon it’d be a good idea to make sure everyone hears about him?”
“It can’t hurt. If we can come up with a way to encourage Ben and the others to talk about him, without alarming them … His name is Jack?”
“Jacques, the French name. We’re a mixed bunch in Trinidad.”
They reached Daisy’s room. Frank handed over the documents and went on. Daisy bunged Vincent’s slashed clothes into the bottom of the wardrobe, pushing them to the back, and stuffed the case of papers into one of Alec’s drawers, under his socks, vests, and pants. Then she went to Martha’s room. Knocking, she hoped she wasn’t interrupting an intimate reunion. To her relief, Geraldine’s maid came to the door.
“Oh, it’s you, madam. I’m just helping Mrs. Samuel get herself to bed. She’s fair exhausted what with all the excitement.”
“Mr. Samuel isn’t here?”
“No, madam. He stopped while she drank her tea—not that it’s what I’d call tea, that nasty stuff Mrs. Warden sent up. When I came along according to her ladyship’s instructions, to see if Mrs. Samuel could do with a helping hand, Mr. Samuel said he was going to look for the nurseries to meet the rest of his new relations. So I told him how to get there, seeing it’s confusing what with all the passages and stairs and whatnot. I’m sure I hope I did right, madam.”
Having reassured her and sent a “sweet dreams” message to Martha, Daisy followed in Sam and Frank’s footsteps up to the nursery.
Had Sam gone straight there after leaving Martha, or had he sneaked out and stuck a knife into Vincent, then dashed back? It would be hard to do without someone noticing, at least hearing hurried footsteps on the stairs, even in this solidly built house. How long had the maid been with Martha? Small chance of either having noticed the time!
Frank, alone in the billiard room on the ground floor, would have found it much easier to manage the attack unseen and unheard. The attack on Raymond also would have been much more difficult for Sam than for Frank.
If Raymond had been attacked …
Alec badly needed competent colleagues to help him find out who was where when.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Before she reached the nursery, Daisy could hear laughter. It made her smile, but she was going to have to spoil the fun. Though Raymond had not made himself popular, he was a relative and fellow guest. A certain sobriety was due to his memory on the day of his death, even if no one went into deep mourning.
Frank had already joined in a game of cards, sitting at the battered table with Sam and the kids. Nana snoozed at their feet. Daisy watched and listened for a minute before they noticed her presence.
Belinda saw her first. “Mummy, come and play!”
“Uncle Frank is really, really good at cheating,” said Derek.
Frank rose with a rueful grimace. “I’d better point out that we’re playing Cheat!”
“I recognised the game. I’m sorry to be a wet blanket, but you know, it really won’t do. Uncle Raymond died just this afternoon.”
“Oh Mummy, I’m sorry,” Bel cried remorsefully. “He was nice to me at the fair.”
“Sorry, Aunt Daisy,” the boys muttered, with no signs of remorse. Frank looked equally unrepentent.
“I’m sorry,” said Sam. “I never met the old chap but I ought to have known better.”
“Time you kids went to bed, anyway. Put everything away neatly, please. You may read in bed till ten o’clock. I’m just going to look in on the twins.”
Oliver and Miranda were sound asleep, a pair of cherubs. They didn’t stir when Daisy kissed them. She realised she had hardly seen them all the long, eventful day. A light was showing under the door of the nurse’s room, off the night nursery, so Mrs. Gilpin was awake.
Daisy knocked. “It’s Mrs. Fletcher. If you’re still up, Nurse, may I have a word?”
After a short silence came the grudging words, “You’d better come in, madam. We don’t want to disturb the babies.”
She had taken off her cap and apron, but still wore her uniform skirt and blouse. Daisy sometimes wondered whether she owned any personal clothes. If so, she kept them strictly for her holidays, when she went to visit a sister for a fortnight, reluctantly. She was certain Daisy and Bertha, the nurserymaid, would spoil Miranda and Oliver while she was gone.
Daisy asked how the twins’ day had gone, as if Mrs. Gilpin would have acknowledged any misbehaviour. Naturally they both behaved perfectly when Mummy and Daddy and big sister didn’t mess about with their routine.
“I expect you’ve heard about Mr. Raymond?” Daisy asked eventually.
“The maid told me, madam. Very sad, I’m sure, for them that knew the gentleman. The young people didn’t ought to have been playing cards at such a time—not that I approve of card games at any time, seeing what they lead to. Gambling, and dicing, and horses!” she added darkly. “And so I told them, but them not being under my care, they wouldn’t listen.”
“No, I’m afraid they wouldn’t.”
“And then the young gentlemen, if gentlemen they may be, come along and encourage them to misbehave.… Well, it’s not my place to say anything but that doesn’t stop me thinking that there’s some aren’t any better than they should be!”
“Did you happen to notice what time Mr. Samuel and Mr. Crowley arrived?”
Mrs. Gilpin was affronted. “I’m not a clock-watcher, madam. I’m here and ready when the little ones need me, and I can’t say fairer than that.”
“No, indeed,” said Daisy, and she retired defeated, as usual.
The day nursery was tidy and empty. She hadn’t expected them to disappear so fast, Nana and all, and she wanted to talk to Belinda. She turned off the light and went down staircases and along corridors with mysterious jogs to right or left that were not mysterious to her because, whoever lived here, Fairacres was home. She could see how the house with its additions and sprouting of wings over the years might confuse a newcomer.
She wondered where Frank and Sam had gone, and whether they had gone together. They seemed quite friendly, not surprising really, as they were about the same age and both West Indians. In some ways they were very different, though. Frank seemed to have no regular job, yet he accepted responsibility for his stepkids—at least according to his own words. And in spite of Sam’s responsible profession, he had gone off with the rumrunners, leaving his pregnant wife to manage alone—she was used to his absence on voyages, of course, and had family nearby to fall back on.
Daisy liked them both. She found it hard to believe that one of them must be either, at best, a practical joker of the nastier kind or, at worst, a murderer.
She tapped on Belinda’s door. “Bel, it’s Mummy.”
“Come in.” Bel had ob
viously shed a few tears.
Daisy gave her a hug. “Cheer up, darling. I didn’t mean to bite your heads off.”
“It’s not that, Mummy. I know we shouldn’t have been laughing, but Uncle Frank was so funny!”
“It was nice of him and Uncle Sam to join your game. Were they there for long?”
“No, not very. I’m really sad about Uncle Raymond. Derek said he was pushed under a tram. He overheard someone saying…” Bel shivered. “He told us a horrid rhyme.”
“The same one my brother once told me, I bet. Try to forget it. Uncle Raymond wasn’t run over. There were lots of people waiting to cross the street. He stumbled, and someone pushed him out of the way of the trams. We’re not sure why he died. Daddy’s trying to find out.”
“Was it because … Derek said it was because of the ‘heirs of the body’ thing. Was Uncle Raymond an heir of the body?”
“Sort of. Not quite. Uncle Tommy Pearson is trying to find out about that.”
“And Ben is one, too. Derek says we must never leave him alone, because of the butterfly net. They took Nana to the turret to be their watchdog.”
“What a good idea.”
“Ben was scared, so I said he’s probably not really in danger, because the net was at the bottom of the stairs, remember? But Derek says we can’t be too careful.”
Belinda was probably right, Ben wasn’t really in danger—because it was beginning to look more and more as if Frank was the culprit.
“I’m glad you’re keeping him safe. Did you wash your face and brush your teeth? Hop into bed now. What are you reading?”
“The Railway Children. I’ve read it before, but I like it. It has a happy ending. Black Beauty is too sad.”
“It’s a good story.” She kissed Bel. “Nighty-night, sleep tight, darling.”
She decided not to go and disturb the boys and Nana. It sounded as if Derek had everything well in hand. They could tell Alec in the morning their impressions of how long Sam and Frank had spent with them.
Time to see whether Alec had found a knife in the bushes, a useful knife that would yield information about the wielder. Unless he or Ernest had come across it very quickly, he probably hadn’t got round yet to having a crack at the reports from Worcester. Daisy went to their bedroom first, just in case he was poring over them there, but the document case was still under his underclothes. She went downstairs.
