A Mourning Wedding

by Carola Dunn

  “Mrs. Fletcher.” Her name caught her attention. “A guest of his lordship … Yes, a most reliable witness, I am sure. I understand Mr. Fletcher is a detective at New Scotland Yard.”

  Daisy groaned. Her status as the wife of a Metropolitan Police detective would by no means dispose the Cambridge police to trust her as a reliable witness. More likely they would regard her with suspicion, afraid her presence would lead to the Yard interfering in their case. She should have refused to have anything to do with reporting to them, even through John Walsdorf.

  “No, Mr. Fletcher is not at Haverhill at present,” he was saying. “I believe he is expected on Friday.”

  With any luck at all, the local detectives would clear up the case before Alec arrived for the wedding.

  “Oh gosh, the wedding!” Daisy exclaimed as Walsdorf rang off. “It will have to be postponed, won’t it? There will be a funeral instead. How ghastly! I must go and talk to Lucy. Mr. Walsdorf, did the police say anything about sending for the local doctor?”

  “No. Should I?”

  Daisy hesitated in an agony of indecision. No more interference, said one part of her. The sooner a doctor saw the victim the better, argued another part. It might help establish the time of death, even the precise cause of death. The police surgeon might not arrive for ages. But would the local practitioner understand about not moving the body, not touching anything in the room?

  Walsdorf was waiting for her instructions. Everyone seemed to think she should know what to do.

  “Ring up Dr. Arbuthnot. Explain what’s happened and leave it to him to decide. No, on second thoughts, Lord Fotheringay may need him. I gather he has a weak heart, and the shock … You’d better ask the doctor to come. All right? I’m going to Lucy.”

  Daisy scurried across the icy hall. The polished oak of the stairs was not much warmer to her feet, but she slowed down, trying to think how to break the news to Lucy.

  Turning into the west wing, she was surprised to find it empty but for the footman Baines had posted at Lady Eva’s door. She’d have expected people to stand about discussing the horror in their midst.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked the footman.

  “Gone to dress, ma’am.”

  “Oh, of course.” Thoroughly chilled by now, Daisy was tempted to go and put on something warm. But, assuming no one had yet enlightened Lucy, she wanted to be the one to break the news.

  She tapped on Lucy’s door.

  “Who is it?” Lucy sounded apprehensive.

  “Just me, darling.” Daisy went in. Lucy was still in bed, her face naked and vulnerable without the light make-up she wore even in the country. “Didn’t you hear all that racket a bit ago?”

  “Yes. I stuck my head under the pillow till it went away. You look frozen. Here, have my counterpane.”

  Wrapping herself up, Daisy settled at the foot of the bed. “Didn’t you wonder what it was all about?”

  “I assumed one of the maids had seen a spider, or something of the sort. I wasn’t frightfully interested. But I expect you’re going to tell me.” Both words and tone were flippant, but Daisy knew her friend very well and saw her brace herself for bad news.

  “It’s very bad.”

  “Darling, I can tell that from your face. Spit it out.”

  “It’s your great-aunt.”

  “Poor old Aunt Eva. She died in the night? What was it, heart attack?”

  “It’s worse than that, I’m afraid. Someone killed her.”

  “Oh, Daisy, no!”

  Daisy nodded. “The police are on their way.”

  “Alec’s coming?” Lucy asked hopefully.

  “No, the local chaps. Alec can’t butt in without an invitation.”

  “Then we’ll just have to get him invited.” Lucy started to scramble out of bed. “I’ll talk to Grandfather.”

  “Not so fast! For a start, as far as I know, no one has broken the news to Lord Haverhill yet. Do you want to be the one?”

  “Gosh, no! I should think Timmy’s the one for that, being the only clergyman in the family. Does he know?”

  “Yes, both he and Nancy turned out. I think they’re dressing. Your great-uncle was there too. He seemed pretty shaken.”

  “He and Aunt Eva are … were thick as thieves. I can hardly believe she’s gone, Daisy. She was years younger than Grandfather and always so full of pep. Uncle Montagu must be devastated.”

  “He seemed pretty cut up.”

  “Goodness knows how Uncle Aubrey will take it. The shock’s bound to be bad for his heart, don’t you think? Timmy will have to tell him, as well.”

  “I wonder if I should go and suggest that he’s the man for the job,” Daisy said reluctantly.

  “I’d better. My brother—my family—and you’re not dressed either. Wait here.”

  Lucy slipped on a peacock silk kimono and her slippers and hurried out. She was much too matter-of-fact, Daisy thought, as if she hadn’t really taken in the fact of murder. When it hit her, already ruffled as she was by the wedding preparations, it could be the last straw. Daisy had never seen Lucy distraught, and she didn’t want to.

  No more than a couple of minutes passed before Lucy returned. “I hope you don’t mind, darling, I rather implied you were falling apart and in need of my succour.”

  “Rotter!”

  “I’d never have got away, else. You know how Timmy bores on. But he’s agreed to go and break it to Grandfather and Uncle Aubrey.”

  “What about Sir James?”

  “Heavens, I’d forgotten him! It’s his mother who’s been done in. Daisy, are you really quite certain she didn’t just die naturally?”

  That irreverent refrain from The Gondoliers passed unwanted through Daisy’s mind: No probable, possible shadow of doubt … “Quite certain,” she said. “But even if it was natural, which it wasn’t, the wedding would have to be postponed.”

  Lucy stared at her blankly. “I suppose so. Oh, Daisy, I simply can’t go through all this again! All the fuss! I’m calling the whole thing off.”

  “You mean you’re not going to marry Binkie after all? Don’t be ridiculous, darling, you can’t just cast him off because getting married involves a lot of fuss.”

  “No, I’m quite relieved, actually. I told you I wasn’t certain … It’s not as if I’ll be pinching pennies any longer. Aunt Eva told me she’s leaving me four hundred a year.”

  “Lady Eva’s left you enough to live on? But Lucy, that gives you a motive for murdering her!”

  “Darling, you don’t think I’d …”

  “Don’t be a blithering idiot, darling. But the police will.”

  4

  The police had not yet arrived when Daisy went down to breakfast. She hadn’t expected to be hungry but she was, after all, eating for two and the junior member of the pair had not lost his or her appetite.

  She noticed that the others who preceded her or drifted in later did justice to the splendid array of dishes, hot and cold, on the buffet. Lord Haverhill’s cook provided everything from kippers, kidneys and kedgeree to mushrooms, muffins and marmalade. One of his footmen, a bovine youth, was on duty to help serve and to pour and carry coffee or tea.

  His lordship was not present to partake of his own largesse, though that was nothing out of the ordinary. Daisy remembered from past visits that he and Lord Fotheringay always breakfasted together in a small parlour in the family wing, while Lady Haverhill indulged in breakfast in bed. Lady Fotheringay usually joined their guests to play hostess, but this morning she was absent, presumably hovering over her husband.

  Also missing were Montagu, Tim and Nancy, and Lucy. Daisy hoped Lucy wasn’t busy trying to persuade her grandfather to send for Alec. Surely she had understood that any request for Scotland Yard’s assistance had to come from the Chief Constable.

  Sir James and Lady Devenish did not put in an appearance at the breakfast table. Someone must have told them the news of his mother’s death. Daisy rather wished she’d been there to s
ee their faces when they were informed. They surely had far greater expectations from Lady Eva’s estate than Lucy and so must be considered suspects.

  On the other hand, in the first place the Cambridgeshire police would not want to know her theories; in the second place, Lady Eva’s penchant for collecting embarrassing facts enormously widened the field of suspects; and in the third place, Daisy didn’t want to believe even a man dedicated to the slaughter of bird, beast and fish would contemplate strangling his mother. He might poison her, perhaps, or even shoot her, but not strangle her.

  Those who did turn up for breakfast wore their drabbest clothes, in the case of the women mostly much too bright for mourning since they had, after all, been packed for a summer wedding.

  When Daisy arrived, one of Lady Eva’s grandchildren was already at the table. Daisy had been introduced to Veronica and her husband, Peter Bancroft, but didn’t know them at all well. They sat together, appropriately long-faced, speaking to each other in low voices.

  Not wanting to disturb them, Daisy took her egg and ham and toast to the far end of the table. As she sat down, Angela Devenish came in.

  After helping herself at the buffet, Angela glanced at her sister and put the length of the room between them. “Is anyone sitting here, Daisy?”

  “No, do join me. I’m so sorry about your grandmother.”

  “Isn’t it frightful? She didn’t approve of my work, you know, but she was jolly decent about it.”

  “Mmm?” said Daisy encouragingly.

  “She told Daddy and Mummy the world was changing and they couldn’t stop me. And she promised to leave me enough in her will to buy a place where I can take in mistreated and abandoned dogs. That’s what I really want to do. I’ve got my eye on a cottage in Yorkshire with a couple of acres that would be perfect.”

  Angela went on to describe her plans in detail, so singleminded she seemed to have forgotten it was her grandmother’s murder which would make it possible to carry them out. Daisy was prepared to accept this as evidence of innocent monomania, but the police might well take a different view. To them it would suggest either an overwhelming motive for murder or an attempt to mislead them by a show of unworldliness, depending on how tortuous their minds were.

  Daisy was wondering whether to try to explain this to Angela when Lucy’s parents joined them. Mrs. Oliver Fotheringay was much more upset about the wedding postponement than anything else.

  “It was terribly difficult to find a day to suit Lord Gerald’s parents,” she lamented in her clear, carrying soprano, so like Lucy’s. “The Marquis is active in the government, you know, and Lady Tiverton is on countless committees. Now I shall have to start all over again.”

  This was not the moment to mention that Lucy had decided not to marry Binkie after all, especially as she’d probably change her mind again. “You have an awful lot of people to notify,” Daisy said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Thank you, dear, but Mr. Walsdorf is taking care of everything of that sort, bless him.”

  “Dashed foreigner,” muttered her husband. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he had a hand in this nasty business.”

  “Why on earth should he?” Daisy asked.

  “The man’s as near a German as makes no odds. You must know what Aunt Eva was like, poking her nose in everywhere. Suppose she discovered he was a spy, during the War?”

  “Then surely she would have gone to the authorities. It’s not the sort of information anyone with a grain of patriotism would keep to herself. Anyway, it’s six years since the Armistice. Mr. Walsdorf would hardly wait till now to silence her if he thought her a threat.”

  Mrs. Oliver pursued her own thoughts. “I don’t know what the caterers will say when we cancel. And all the food ordered from Fortnum’s! The dressmaker’s coming for a final fitting this afternoon, and heavens, I’ve just remembered, Erica’s getting married next month so her bridesmaid dress will go to waste. Though they’ll have to postpone, too, come to think of it. I suppose we shall have to wait at least three months, Oliver, for decency’s sake?”

  “That’s for Mother to decide,” Mr. Fotheringay said irritably, dissecting his kipper with a jaundiced air. “For pity’s sake, leave me out of it, Vickie. I told you, I’ll march Lucinda up the aisle. The rest is up to you.”

  Meanwhile, Angela had been gobbling down her porridge and muffins. Now, pushing back her chair, she stood up. “See you later, Daisy,” she said, and, with an abrupt nod to the Fotheringays, she departed.

  “Such odd manners,” Mrs. Fotheringay exclaimed as the footman removed Angela’s dishes and reset the place, “and my parlourmaid is better dressed! At least Lucinda is presentable. One isn’t ashamed to be seen with her in public.”

  “Has Lucy telephoned Binkie yet, Mrs. Fotheringay?” Daisy asked. “That’s not something which can be left to Mr. Walsdorf.”

  “Goodness only knows. I’ve not seen hide nor hair of her this morning. She’s been most uncooperative, Daisy. I wish you’d have a word with her. Oh, here’s Sally, perhaps she knows. Sally, do you know where Lucinda has got to?”

  “She was with her grandfather a few minutes ago, Aunt Victoria. I felt myself de trop, being a relative only by marriage.” Sally’s face was pale and set. She might not feel much sorrow for the death of a relative by marriage whom she probably didn’t know particularly well, but murder in the house was enough to upset anyone. “Besides, as a soldier’s wife, I must soldier on, and in the absence of those better qualified, I count myself temporarily your hostess. Excuse me a moment.”

  She turned away and went to speak to the butler, who had popped in to check on his underling and the state of the buffet. Jennifer Walsdorf arrived just in time to beat her to it.

  Daisy couldn’t make out what was said, but she heard Sally’s biting tone. Jennifer left. Sally exchanged a few words with Baines, helped herself to a single slice of toast, and returned to Daisy and the Oliver Fotheringays. A spot of angry colour burned in each cheek.

  “That woman takes too much upon herself!” she snapped.

  “She’s just trying to help,” Daisy protested. “Baines may be carrying on in true butlerian fashion but I’d be surprised if most of the servants aren’t at sixes and sevens.”

  Visibly simmering down, Sally forced a smile, and said, “Yes, one ought to look on Mrs. Walsdorf as simply a glorified housekeeper doing her job. I shouldn’t have bitten her head off, but to tell the truth I’m feeling quite ill. It’s too horrible to think of her … of Lady Eva like that. I can’t get the picture out of my head.”

  “Nancy described what she saw?” Daisy was surprised. She herself had been doing her best to forget, and she would have expected Nancy to suppress the sickening details.

  “I’m just being oversensitive, what Rupert would describe as ‘weak and womanish.’ I wish he were here. How one relies on a strong husband at a time like this!”

  Much as she wished for the comfort of Alec’s presence, Daisy would have kicked him if he’d called her “weak and womanish.”

  “You’d better go and lie down, Sally,” said a malicious voice. Lady lone had sat down nearby, disregarded as always. “I’m sure Jennifer Walsdorf is quite capable of managing without you.”

  Her brother Oliver looked as astonished as Daisy felt. Not that she could claim to know Lady lone as well as Oliver Fotheringay must, but it was like seeing a lapdog turn into a lion cub. Mrs. Oliver seemed stunned as well.

  Lady Ione’s sallow cheeks coloured slightly. “You look like a stuffed fish, Oliver. I have often thought so. Don’t gape. Aunt Eva is dead,” she went on in a hard, tight voice, “so I don’t have to pretend any longer.” She turned her attention back to her kidneys wrapped in bacon.

  “I think I shall go and lie down,” Sally said faintly, standing up, “as Aunt Ione suggests.”

  “What do you mean, Ione?” asked Mrs. Oliver.

  To Daisy’s disappointment, Lady lone showed no sign of having heard, let alone responding
to her sister-in-law. Daisy was left wondering whether here lurked yet another motive for getting rid of Lady Eva.

  Daisy had finished her breakfast. Another cup of coffee would give her an excuse to linger in the hope of further interesting revelations. The footman had come over to remove Sally’s plate and Daisy was about to ask him to refill her cup when Baines reappeared and came up behind her.

  “Mrs. Fletcher, his lordship asks if you will be so kind as to step upstairs for a word with him.”

  “Of course.” Daisy was sure Lucy must have persuaded Lord Haverhill to send for Alec. She hoped she could persuade him that not even an earl could ring up Scotland Yard and order a Detective Chief Inspector as one rings the butcher to order a saddle of lamb.

  She and the butler had nearly reached the door when the way was blocked by a stream of people entering. First came a couple Daisy recalled as Mr. and Mrs. Henry Fotheringay. They were the parents of two of the bridesmaids, she rather thought. The next couple were Lord and Lady Carleton, parents of a third bridesmaid.

  Then came Miss Flora Fotheringay, Lord and Lady Fotheringay’s eldest daughter, who owned and managed a successful interior decorating business. A positive model for Lucy, and perhaps for Angela, Flora was also a possible article subject for Daisy. She made a mental note to find time somehow to talk to her when the first furore over the murder had died down.

  After these five flocked the five indistinguishable bridesmaids, no longer giggling. Two looked frightened, two merely subdued. The fifth wore an aggrieved expression and an engagement ring, so she was Erica whose wedding, like Lucy’s, must be postponed.

  Or, in Lucy’s case, cancelled. Poor Binkie!

  Lucy was usually so decisive, Daisy thought, following the butler’s dignified tread up the stairs. Why couldn’t she make up her mind whether she wanted to marry Binkie? The reticent, unassuming Lord Gerald Bincombe had been her constant and obviously devoted escort for two or three years. A large, calm ex-rugger Blue, his taciturn disposition led some people to think him slow-witted. His success in the City, doing something with stocks and shares that neither Daisy nor Lucy understood, argued the contrary.