by Carola Dunn
“I’m all right,” she said. “I think.”
He took his arm away but offered it for her to lean on. After a couple of wobbly steps, she was grateful to accept.
By the time they reached the King’s House, the front door was open. Fay and Brenda surged out.
“Mrs. Fletcher, you’re pale as a ghost.”
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t ask,” said the captain grimly. “Take Mrs. Fletcher into the house, and don’t bombard her with questions. She’s had a ghastly shock. I must go and see what I can do to help the police.”
“We thought we heard gunfire.”
“Daddy’s having fits.”
“You will come back, won’t you, Dev?”
“And tell us all about it?”
“No. The Chief Inspector will no doubt report to General Carradine.” He turned on his heel and strode off before Daisy could thank him.
The girls supported her into the house, their solicitude expressed by their unprecedented silence. After the captain’s command, they didn’t dare ask the questions that were hovering on their lips, and they simply couldn’t think of anything else to say. In no time, Daisy was once again reclining on a sofa, swathed in a rug, and being swamped with hot, sweet tea.
This time, she gladly accepted Mrs. Tebbit’s prescription of a glass of brandy. It was midafternoon, not dawn, and she had had an even worse shock, she suspected, only she didn’t want to think about it.
“I don’t want to cause any difficulties,” she said, her voice tremulous despite her effort to speak firmly, “but I’d like to go home.”
“I don’t think you should be alone,” Miss Tebbit suggested with a questioning glance at her mother.
“Certainly not. But I do believe you’ll feel better, my dear Mrs. Fletcher, if you get clear away from this unhappy place. Myrtle, telephone Mrs. Germond at once and enquire whether she would be so kind as to go to the Fletchers’ house and await Mrs. Fletcher’s arrival.”
Miss Tebbit scurried off and Mrs. Tebbit turned to the girls. “If Mrs. Germond is available, you two must go to your father and requisition—I believe that is the proper military term, though it sounds more like a noun than a verb to me—yes, you must requisition the motor-car.”
“We will, Aunt Alice.”
“And we’ll go with you, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“To keep you company on the way home.”
“Unless you’d rather not.”
“I will say this for Arthur: He’s not mean about the use of the motor-car. Or his wine. Do have another brandy, my dear.”
Sip by sip, the whole generous tot had disappeared. Daisy decided she felt much the better for it, but, recalling a certain disgraceful episode in her past, she didn’t care to risk another. Though that had been whisky she’d drunk by mistake, and perhaps brandy . . . No, better not.
A few minutes later, Miss Tebbit trotted back, looking flustered.
“Well?” her mother demanded. “Don’t tell me Melanie Germond refused. She’s a kind soul, even if her husband is a bank manager.”
“So was Alec’s father.” Quite irrelevant, Daisy thought. It must be the brandy speaking. She’d never known Alec’s father, but his mother certainly couldn’t be described as a kind soul.
“I wonder if that’s why I have in general a low opinion of bank managers’ wives,” said Mrs. Tebbit outrageously. “Come, Myrtle, what did she say?”
“Oh dear! Mrs. Prasad was taking tea with her when she was called to the telephone. She told her all about it—”
“ She? Her? It?”
“Mrs. Germond asked me to hold the line while she told Mrs. Prasad about Mrs. Fletcher. And Mrs. Prasad insists on coming to fetch Mrs. Fletcher. I couldn’t stop her, Mother.”
“Ninny,” Mrs. Tebbit said dispassionately. “Mrs. Prasad is a close friend of yours, is she not, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Oh yes! Is she on her way? I must go out to the Middle Tower.”
“In your condition? Most inadvisable. Brenda, Fay, you will go to your father and tell him I say he’s to give instructions that Mrs. Prasad’s motor-car is to be admitted to the Tower and to leave again with Mrs. Fletcher aboard.”
A few minutes later, the front doorbell rang and a maid came in to announce that Detective Sergeant Tring would like a word with Mrs. Fletcher.
“Certainly not!” said Mrs. Tebbit. “How can he think to trouble you at such a time!”
“Oh, but I must see him.” Daisy started to struggle up from the sofa. “I ought to have thought . . . They’ll need to know what I . . .” Her voice faded, but she knew she had to tell what she had seen and heard. Which meant thinking about it—
“Stay there,” the old lady commanded. “If you must, you must. The sergeant may come in.” The Tebbits sat up straighter and looked at the door with interest. When Tom’s bulk appeared in the doorway, Mrs. Tebbit said firmly, “Sergeant, I will not have you bullying Mrs. Fletcher.”
Brenda and Fay returned just in time to overhear her and intervene.
“It’s all right, Aunt Alice,” said Brenda.
“Mr. Tring is a friend of Mrs. Fletcher’s,” Fay explained.
“Will you tell us what’s happening, Mr. Tring?”
“Please!”
“I’m afraid not, ladies. No doubt you’ll find out in due course. I must speak to Mrs. Fletcher alone.”
“Oh Tom!” Daisy said, holding out both hands, and she burst into tears.
He crossed the room with his, swift, surprisingly light tread, engulfed her hands in his, and pressed them gently.
“You’d better stay here, then, I suppose,” grumbled Mrs. Tebbit, levering herself out of her chair. She led the way out.
Tom checked that the door was shut, then pulled up a chair beside Daisy and handed her a handkerchief. Like Alec, he always carried a spare for weeping witnesses and sobbing suspects. “The Chief said to tell you he’s sorry he can’t come right now, but he’s got his hands full.”
“I’m sure he has.” Daisy blew her nose. “I don’t want to know—not yet—what happened after . . . after I closed my eyes, but I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Can’t ask for more, Mrs. Fletcher.” He took out his notebook.
“I was sitting on a bench there at the top of Tower Green with Dr. Macleod. He was talking quite wildly—I gathered he’d been having nightmares about doctoring in Flanders. He was desperate to escape from the army. I was so sorry for him, though he was a bit unnerving, too.”
“Ah,” said Tom inscrutably.
“He said he had put together a stake big enough for a winning bet to let him buy a practice. And there was something about hedging his bets. It was about then that I noticed Rumford coming out of his house. He looked around, seeming somehow confused, I thought. I don’t know if he recognized the doctor at that distance, but anyway, he saw us and started up the slope towards us at a sort of clumsy jog-trot.” Daisy tried to put off the bit she didn’t want to remember. “So I suppose he must have recognized Dr. Macleod, or he would have walked, wouldn’t he?”
“I dare say.”
“He was carrying his . . . his axe. The ceremonial one, like the yeomen’s partizans. And he was bellowing as he came. He looked like a bear, but he sounded more like a bull. When he got closer, I heard him shout. . . .” She frowned, trying to recall the exact words. “He shouted, ‘You took it, you . . . something something . . . . You had my keys!’ ”
“Ah!” said Tom, this time with an air of enlightenment. Daisy was glad to have helped, though she hadn’t the foggiest idea how. “Those are Rumford’s exact words?”
“I think so. Except for the ‘something something,’ ” Daisy said primly. The occasional blast might pass her lips, or even, under extreme stress, a damn, but she wasn’t prepared to utter Rumford’s expletives, even under the influence of brandy, even to Tom.
“Ah well, I expect we can do without them.” His eyes twinkled and his moustache failed to hide his grin, but it was
momentary. “Did you get the impression Macleod had been saving up bit by bit till he had enough for his stake?”
“Umm . . . not really. Everyone said he was a gambler, so I assumed he’d recently won a lot. It wasn’t anything he said, more the way he said it, the excitement of a sudden win, not the reward of patience, if you see what I mean?”
“I think so. I’m afraid I have to ask you what came next.”
Shutting her eyes only made the picture more vivid, so she opened them again. “Rumford swung at Dr. Macleod with the axe, and the doctor ran away. Rumford ran after him. I . . . I didn’t see how I could stop him—”
“Thank God you didn’t try!”
“So I just yelled for help for all I was worth. I saw the sentry, the one from the King’s House, run across to the wall. After that, I stopped watching. I heard . . . he fired, didn’t he?”
“Both he and the Guard House sentry.”
“And?”
“They stopped Rumford in his tracks.” Tom pocketed his notebook and took her hand. “It was too late for the doctor.”
Daisy forced back tears. “Poor man. He was so unhappy, but so hopeful for the future.”
“Mrs. Fletcher, I’m going to tell you something because I think it’ll maybe make it a bit easier to come to terms with what’s happened. I didn’t ought to tell, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep quiet about it.”
“The Chief shall never know you told me, I promise. Or anyone else.” He’d already helped alleviate the ghastliness by whetting her curiosity. “What is it?”
“Dr. Macleod was a morphia addict.”
“Oh. Does that explain his extravagant manner?”
Tom nodded. “Most likely he started taking it to deaden the memories of the War, but the stuff doesn’t help in the end, just makes the nightmares more vivid. And chances are he’d never have got off it. I’ve seen plenty of ’em, and when they’re that far gone . . . Well, maybe he’d’ve doubled his money and bought a practice, but whether it’d’ve done him any good is another matter.”
“Oh, that poor man!”
“Very unfortunate. Only thing is, from what you’ve said, Mrs. Fletcher—and this is pure speculation, mind—”
“Such as the Chief constantly exhorts me to avoid?”
“Not quite that pure. I’d be pretty surprised, I own, if it didn’t turn out to be true. What I reckon is, Dr. Macleod’s sudden big stake and the proceeds of Rumford’s blackmailing activities are one and the same pot of money.”
And the more Daisy thought about it, the more it made a dreadful kind of sense. While Rumford lay helpless in the hospital, Macleod had had every opportunity to borrow his keys.
“We’ve been wondering where his takings went,” Tom continued. “We’ve plenty of evidence that he was extorting money from a number of people, yet young Piper found nor hide nor hair of it when he searched the house, and he’s a pretty good searcher, though I say it as him who trained him. So it looks to me like the doctor stole it.”
“Yes, that would explain what Rumford meant. Macleod couldn’t resist the temptation of easy access to his keys while he was in hospital.”
“That’s how I see it. The one thing that puzzles me is why the doctor would be sitting there in the sun chatting, in full view, while Rumford went into his house and discovered the theft. Wouldn’t you think he’d’ve made himself scarce? I suppose, fuddled with the morphia, he might not’ve expected Rumford to put two and two together.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. When Rumford came out of his house looking sort of bewildered, I asked the doctor whether he was really well enough to leave the hospital. And Macleod said he hadn’t ordered his release.”
“You’re sure of that? Evidence, not speculation?” Tom took out his notebook again to write down their exact words, as near as Daisy could recall. “Thank you. This clears up that question nicely. I’d better be getting along to tell the Chief. You going to be all right, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Yes, thank you, Tom. They’re very kind to me here, and a friend is coming to fetch me, take me home. Alec can ring me up there if he needs to ask anything else. Oh, I’ve just thought—I’ll have to meet Sakari at the Bloody Tower. The steps . . .”
“Not much I can do about the layout of the Tower, but if you can bring yourself to go down the shortcut steps, the others are all screened off. I could walk you down there if it’d help.”
“You’re a perfect dear, but I know the Chief needs you. I don’t want to keep you waiting while I say my good-byes, and I really must say my good-byes properly this time. Especially as I don’t think I’ll ever want to come back to the Tower. When the twins are old enough, you’ll have to do your godfatherly duty and bring them.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Tom patted her shoulder and went off.
Daisy powdered her nose. As she put on her hat, removed by Fay to allow her to lie back on the cushions, Fay and Brenda burst into the room.
“We were watching.”
“From the stairs.”
“Can’t you tell us what’s happened?”
“We’re not allowed to leave the house.”
“We’ll find out soon anyway,” Fay coaxed.
That was true. Perhaps Tom had refused to enlighten them simply to avoid the ensuing brouhaha. Why shouldn’t she tell them, rather than let them learn from a servant?
Just in time, she remembered Fay’s crush on Dr. Macleod. Someone else could break the news, she decided.
“Sorry, as Mr. Tring wouldn’t, I’d better not.”
They all went upstairs to the Council Chamber.
“So Rumford’s the murderer,” Mrs. Tebbit greeted them.
“Aunt Alice, how do you know?”
“Mrs. Fletcher wouldn’t tell us!”
“While you two were sitting on the stairs, I went into your father’s study and asked him. Naturally, he had been informed, over the telephone. I always knew he was a bad lot.”
“And now he’s killed the doctor,” said Miss Tebbit, eyes wide with horror.
“Really, Myrtle, have you no tact?”
“Not Dr. Macleod?” Brenda exclaimed.
Fay said faintly, “Oh!” and sat down suddenly.
“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Tebbit. “It’s a shock, I don’t doubt, but nothing will persuade me you had a genuine affection for the man.”
Brenda sank on her knees at her sister’s side, patting her hands, while Miss Tebbit fluttered about apologizing.
At that moment, the maid came in. Gazing at Fay as she addressed Mrs. Tebbit, she said, “Madam, there’s a yeoman at the door says a lady’s come in a motor to pick up Mrs. Fletcher. A foreign lady.”
“Escape while you can,” advised Mrs. Tebbit. “You mustn’t keep Mrs. Prasad waiting.”
Cravenly, Daisy obeyed. So once again she departed from the King’s House without a proper leave-taking.
23
The robust yeoman waiting for Daisy was clad in Tudor blouse and bonnet but carried no partizan. “Parkinson, madam,” he introduced himself. “Terrible business this. Mr. Rumford wasn’t the most popular bloke in the world, but who’d’ve thought he’d go berserk and start doing people in? It’s a disgrace to us all, that’s what it is.”
“I shouldn’t worry about that. No one’s going to blame the Yeoman Warders as a body for the misdeeds of one.”
“You’d be surprised, madam,” he said darkly. “I’m afraid we’ll have to go down these steps here, though I’ll never tread them again but what I’ll think of poor Mr. Crabtree, foully done to death. Did you know his ghost’s been seen already?”
“No,” said Daisy, “but it doesn’t surprise me a bit.” Obviously, Crabtree was destined to join the legion of haunting spirits for the edification of visitors to the Tower. He would be a kindly ghost, she didn’t doubt, as he had been a kindly man.
“Only after dark. We won’t be seeing him this time of day.”
Stepping out from under the arch at the foot of the steps, Daisy
kept her face resolutely turned from those other steps. She tried not to wonder how long it would be before Dr. Macleod’s ghost was spotted there. Still, it couldn’t be expected to haunt in broad daylight, and perhaps the nightly Ceremony of the Keys would drive it thence.
An addict and a thief! Still, she thought of him with pity.
They went down the cobbled slope and under the Bloody Tower, passing beneath the vicious-toothed portcullis. The Hotspur sentries, backs turned to Wellington’s Armchairs, stood as rigid and blank-faced as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened that afternoon.
“Here comes the motor-car,” said Parkinson, pointing along Water Street to their left. “The chauffeur went to turn it while I was fetching you.”
Daisy saw brass headlamps gleam in the sun as the familiar dark red Sunbeam tourer emerged from under the bridge between St. Thomas’s and the Wakefield towers. The hood was folded down and from the backseat Sakari waved madly, her round, dark, beaming face encircled with a diaphanous gold-embroidered scarf. Beyond her sat Melanie, peering anxiously from beneath the brim of a conventional brown cloche.
Lost in thought, Daisy hardly noticed. People kept saying Rumford was the murderer. He was a murderer, to be sure, but according to Alec, he had been in the hospital when Crabtree was killed. Surely Crabtree’s murderer was still at large!
The Indian chauffeur, Kesin, pulled up so that the back door of the car was precisely opposite Daisy. Parkinson escorted her across Water Street, opened the door, and handed her in.
As the car set off at a stately pace, Sakari enveloped her in a scented embrace. “Daisy dear, you do lead an adventurous life!”
“Whatever’s happened now?” asked Mel. “Miss Tebbit didn’t say, only that you’d had a shock. Another shock.”
All the odds and ends that had been teasing Daisy came together in her mind. “I’ll tell you in a minute.” She pulled her notebook from her handbag. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell Alec for simply hours, and we’re always interrupted. I’ll have to leave him a note. Sakari, tell Kesin to stop at the next gateway, please.”
