A Mourning Wedding

by Carola Dunn

  “Ah,” said Tom ruminatively. “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Pure speculation,” Alec said, “but it doesn’t really matter. If she saw this person, this person probably saw her. Assuming your theory has anything in it.”

  “Well, I think it’s logically consistent. This person—can I call him or her X?”

  “Do.”

  “Right-oh, X has to dispose of Lady Eva before he—I can’t go on saying he or she so I’ll stick to he—before he can safely administer the oleander to Lord E So there’s the motive for her murder, nothing to do with her collection of scandal.”

  “And it also served very nicely to muddy the waters,” said Alec. “But we come back to the question of who had a motive for killing Lord F? As far as I’ve gathered, he had very little at his disposal before succeeding to the estate on Lord Haverhill’s death.”

  “Precisely,” said Daisy triumphantly, “and that’s where what Lucy said comes in. Death duties!”

  “Great Scott!” Alec exclaimed, properly impressed. “You may have something there.”

  Tom and Ernie looked puzzled. Death duties were not of compelling interest to anyone on the salary of a detective sergeant or constable.

  Alec let Daisy explain. She thought it very noble of him, since he deplored anything which reinforced Ernie Piper’s belief in her infallibility.

  “Aubrey Fotheringay had had a weak heart for years. His father, on the contrary, was an exceptionally healthy, vigorous man. In the normal course of things, Lord Haverhill might have been expected to outlive his son. But Lord Haverhill reached the ripe old age of eighty and there was still no sign of Aubrey popping off. Instead, Lord Haverhill started to go downhill. It began to look as if he would be the first to go.”

  “A very natural course of things,” Tom observed in a rather disapproving voice.

  “Yes indeed, but very much more to the government’s advantage than the estate’s. Lord Haverhill dies, enormous death duties are levied on his enormous estate. What remains goes to his son, who becomes Earl of Haverhill. The new Lord Haverhill dies, somewhat less enormous death duties are levied on his no longer quite so enormous estate. The much reduced residue goes to his son in turn.”

  Piper was quick to grasp the implication. “But if Lord Fotheringay dies first, he has no estate, so no death duties. So when the present Lord Haverhill dies and death duties are paid, the estate is still pretty enormous.”

  “And it goes to Rupert,” said Tom. “He wasn’t here.”

  “No,” Daisy agreed. “But his wife was.”

  Alec let Daisy stay while they discussed her new theory, which was only fair, she considered. She was quite surprised, though, that he didn’t even once remind her it was pure speculation.

  “We didn’t even consider them,” he said in self-disgust. “The Lieutenant Colonel was vouched for by his senior officer. We didn’t find anything in Lady Eva’s papers that suggested he or Sally had anything to hide.”

  “I don’t think they did,” Daisy said. “I heard that he was expensive and she had to scrape and save …”

  “She wears artificial silk stockings,” Tom put in. “That’s what Lady Eva was strangled with.”

  “There you are, then. I bet her pearls are artificial too.”

  “But whenever Rupert wanted anything his pay and his allowance wouldn’t cover,” Alec said, “he came to Haverhill and his grandfather shelled out. Who told us that?”

  “Mr. Montagu,” said Ernie.

  “Flora told me the same,” Daisy observed. “Lucy said Rupert found it humiliating to beg from Lord Haverhill. He’s bored with the Army. Lady Haverhill told me that.”

  “Why on earth … ? Why do people tell you these things, Daisy?”

  Daisy fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I didn’t ask, I promise you. I had no interest in Rupert whatsoever then. She also said he doesn’t want to come and live here at Haverhill either, to help run the estate. And I think it was Lady Ione who told me he wants to live a life of expensive, luxurious idleness in town, just bringing house-parties down for the odd weekend to his country place. It wouldn’t be half so luxurious after two lots of death duties, if he could even afford to run Haverhill.”

  “And Mrs. Rupert wants real silk stockings,” said Tom. “Not to mention real pearls. Do you think it was all her doing?”

  “She couldn’t have attacked Gerald,” Daisy reminded him.

  “No, but she could have done the others and talked him into that, to protect her.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t see her as a Lady Macbeth. I think he’s firmly in command and he told her to poison his father while he had a perfect alibi, just in case anyone suspected it wasn’t a natural death. Which would have been unlikely if she hadn’t murdered Lady Eva first. I think she panicked when Lady Eva saw her pick the oleander.”

  “It certainly couldn’t have been part of the original plan,” Alec agreed. “They might well have got away with just Lord Fotheringay’s death.”

  “Sally was in a dreadful state this morning,” Daisy went on. “Everyone thought she was being rather feeble, affected more strongly than was quite decent by Lady Eva’s death, but it makes much more sense if she was the one who killed her. And remember, she’d hoped for a nice, quiet suffocation with a pillow and then had to strangle her after a fight.”

  “She must have taken the stocking with her in case,” said Piper. Then he blushed. “Or what d’you think, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  “It could have been in her pocket. Assuming she was wearing a dressing gown, it’s quite possible she stuffed her stockings in her pocket for some reason when she took them off at bedtime. I’ve done it on occasion.”

  Piper’s face was scarlet, his gaze glued to his notebook. As far as he was concerned, discussing a lady’s stockings with her was far less decent than throwing a fit at the murder of one’s husband’s great-aunt.

  “So Sally is in a state,” said Alec. “So much so that Lord Haverhill sends for Rupert. In spite of which she goes ahead and poisons her father-in-law?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was afraid he’d be frightfully angry if he arrived and found she hadn’t done it. Bang goes his alibi, or they have to postpone the real murder until he goes back to the Army, risking Lord Haverhill dying in the meantime.”

  “Possible,” Alec conceded, more grudgingly than Daisy considered quite decent.

  “He must have been frightfully angry anyway, when he arrived and found out she’d botched it. And then she tells him she’s afraid Gerald saw her … .”

  “If he did see her, it’ll be a big help. Which reminds me,” said Alec, standing up, “I’d better go ask him before he falls asleep again.”

  “Darling, I’m coming too.”

  “No, you’re not. What if someone saw you going in?”

  “No one will. They’re all at tea and I bet you everyone is there, giving themselves an alibi in case someone else is poisoned, if you see what I mean. If there’s anyone in the hall, I’ll pretend I was on my way to the cloakroom. Let me see him, darling. I have to tell him Lucy’s worried sick.”

  Alec gave in. “Tom, Ernie, go over the notes again. See if there’s anything to confirm or contradict Daisy’s fantasy.”

  “Fantasy, ho!” said Ernie not quite sotto voce.

  Tom winked at her as she rose to follow Alec.

  They found Gerald not only awake but sitting up. He was drinking lemonade.

  “Dying of thirst, poor lamb,” said the nurse with proprietory pride. “Making up for loss of blood, you see.”

  “No one was to know he’s awake!” Alec exclaimed in annoyance.

  “I asked for it for myself,” the nurse explained placidly.

  Gerald set down his empty glass on the bedside table, beside a nearly empty pitcher. “That’s better! Daisy, how’s Lucy?”

  “Desperately worried. Alec won’t let me tell her you’re recovering. Are you really well enough to sit up?”

  “Nothing wrong with m
e bar a bit of a headache. To tell the truth, I feel just as if I went on a bit of a bender last night. I promised the doctor I wouldn’t get up till tomorrow, though. Fletcher, can’t Lucy be told I’m all right? She’s not going to spread it around, any more than my parents will.”

  “Have you talked to them?”

  “No, but Miss Robbins here told me they came when I was sleeping.”

  “The fewer who know, the safer you are.”

  “You still don’t know who it was? Who killed Lady Eva and Lucy’s uncle and hit me?”

  “No. I take it you don’t remember seeing whoever hit you, nor whoever poisoned Lord Fotheringay’s tea?”

  “Not a thing. I don’t think it’s that I don’t remember, I just didn’t see.”

  “I’ve been thinking, darling.” Daisy ignored Alec’s groan. “Surely the oleander must have been put in the teapot soon enough to give it time to steep. Gerald only just got there when he drank it, so he couldn’t possibly see who did it.”

  “Then why the deuce did he hit me?” Gerald demanded.

  “We didn’t tell anyone exactly when you arrived,” Alec said. “For all the murderer knew you could have arrived in time to see her—or him—leave the conservatory and then waited around for your appointment with Lucy until he drank the tea. You see the importance of not revealing more information than absolutely necessary.”

  “Except,” Daisy pointed out, “in that case it led to Gerald being hit on the head.”

  Alec turned his most fearsome frown on her, but before he could speak, Gerald said, “Listen. I have an idea.”

  Alec turned the frown on him. Daisy could read his mind: Wasn’t it bad enough her coming up with ideas without someone else starting?

  Needless to say, Gerald was uncowed. “You’re afraid the murderer will have another go at me. Why not let him?”

  Daisy burst into the drawing room in a manner her mother would have stigmatized as thoroughly unladylike. “Lucy? Oh, there you are, darling. Alec says Gerald’s not going to die after all!”

  Already pale, Lucy turned white. Fortunately she was seated, with her parents and Tim and Nancy. Daisy forced herself not to glance at Rupert or Sally, keen though she was to see how the news affected them.

  Nancy beamed. “He’s going to be all right?”

  “Well,” Daisy temporized, a little more loudly than was strictly necessary as she had by now crossed the room to the group, “the doctor came to see him. He’s still unconscious but Dr. Philpotts is pretty sure he’ll come round within the next twenty-four hours.”

  Giving her a surprised look, Nancy opened her mouth. Daisy sent her a desperate if silent appeal and hurried on, “He’ll have a frightful headache and he may not remember what happened, but there’s a chance he will be able to say who attacked him. Then everything will be cleared up and we can all go home.”

  “Daisy, dear, do the Tivertons know?” Lucy’s mother asked anxiously.

  “I think Alec was going to tell them, Aunt Vickie. But I expect they’d be happy to see you.”

  “Yes, of course. Come along, Lucy.”

  “Not me,” Lucy said grimly. “You forget, Mother, I’m not going to marry him.”

  Several people gathered around. Daisy managed to slip away. Lucy joined her before she reached the door.

  “Did you have to tell me in front of everyone?” she demanded irritably as they went out into the hall. “Of course I’m glad he’s going to be all right, but it’s really nothing to do with me now.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Daisy said in her most soothing tone. “I was so pleased I just didn’t think. Isn’t it wonderful news?”

  Lucy’s mouth trembled. “Yes. Yes, of course it is. I’m so glad for his parents.” She turned away towards the stairs and Daisy let her go.

  Nancy caught up with her. “Daisy, the doctor—”

  “Sshh!” Daisy drew her farther from the drawing-room door, into the middle of the hall where no one could possibly listen without being seen.

  “The doctor couldn’t possibly be certain Lord Gerald will recover consciousness, let alone within a given period. You must have misunderstood, and it’s a great pity you told Lucy.”

  “Oh, blast! I shouldn’t have told her with a trained nurse sitting beside her! Alec will be furious. I think you’d better come to the library and talk to him.”

  Alec managed to obfuscate the issue so that Nancy went away confused but reluctantly willing not to contradict Daisy’s story.

  When Alec returned to the desk from escorting Nancy to the door, Tom said, “I don’t want to be a wet blanket, Chief, but all this isn’t what you might call according to Hoyle.”

  “Nothing ever is once Daisy gets involved.”

  “Darling, that’s unfair! It’s entirely Gerald’s idea.”

  “Yes, and that’s our excuse: the police surgeon himself told us not to agitate the patient, so we dared not contradict him. All the same, Piper, make a note of Tom’s objection, please. If anything goes wrong, it’s my responsibility. You two are following orders.”

  “Nothing’s going to go wrong, Chief,” said Ernie, “not with Mrs. Fletcher involved.”

  “Ah, but this is where she ceases to be involved. Daisy—”

  “Wait, I’ve got an idea. Stebbins!”

  “Stebbins?”

  “If you have a bright young officer on duty, like the chap who’s been guarding Gerald’s room all day, it’s going to look a bit fishy if he drowses off. If it’s Constable Stebbins with his creaky feet, no one will wonder at it if he snores his head off.”

  “You’ve got a point there, Mrs. Fletcher,” said Tom.

  “Yes.” Alec sighed. “Ernie, ring them up and say we want Stebbins for night duty.”

  “They’re not going to believe it, Chief!” Ernie reached for the telephone.

  “Fortunately, it doesn’t matter what they believe.”

  “Stebbins is perfectly all right,” Daisy said indignantly, “as long as you don’t make him walk too much. This is the perfect job for him and I bet he doesn’t really fall asleep. He’ll be there to help if you need him. And I might have another bright idea, Alec, so you’d better let me stay.”

  “For the planning, all right,” Alec conceded, “but you are to be tucked up cosily in bed when the lights go out.”

  27

  Not according to Hoyle, Alec thought ruefully as he sneaked down the back stairs. Tom was all too correct, he was breaking rules written and unwritten. He would never have suggested such a course of action, but when Bincombe urged the plan upon him, he had not resisted very hard.

  The investigation was at an impasse. Bincombe didn’t know who had attacked him or poisoned Lord Fotheringay. He hadn’t seen where Rupert went after dinner since he himself waited in the Long Gallery for the servants to finish clearing. He did recall Rupert saying he was going up to the nurseries to look in on his little boy. So late in the evening, the child would have been asleep, the nurserymaid on duty within call but not within sight.

  That Lady Devenish said she had not seen Rupert in the hall proved nothing. While she was watching Montagu go up the main stairs, Rupert could have cut through behind the pillars to the very service staircase Alec was now making use of, which debouched in the corridor between conservatory and library. Or he could claim to have done so while actually going to the conservatory.

  Daisy’s theory was attractive, more so than the other possibilities, but they had no proof, only possibilities. An attempt by the murderer—or one of the murderers—to eliminate Gerald tonight would settle the matter. If no attempt took place, they would be no worse off.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Alec turned off his electric torch. Feeling his way along the dark corridor was easy and his rubbersoled shoes made no sound on the parquet floor.

  The first step he took on the hall’s marble squeaked. He froze. Not a sound reached his ears. Across the hall, a dim light was visible near the door to Gerald’s room, and there was another at the hea
d of the main stairs, but they only made the great space seem darker. Shoes in hand, Alec crept around behind the pillars and into the blackness under the stairs, where he stopped again to listen.

  Tom and Ernie had had it easy. Baines gave Tom the key to the servants’ wing door, close to Gerald’s door. They had only to wait until all the residents had gone upstairs to nip around the corner. Alec had to pretend to retire with Daisy and come down again, hoping the murderer had not preceded him, was not already lurking, watching for an opportunity. Tom suggested leaving the ambush to him and young Piper, but Alec wouldn’t let his men break the rules unless he was there breaking them too.

  The murderer wouldn’t go down until Stebbins had had time to drift off to sleep, Alec reassured himself. He went on from pillar to pillar, approaching that dim electric light.

  One last glance around, and he slipped past the elderly constable into the room. Stebbins, alert at present though seated on a hard chair, winked at Alec as he turned to close the door gently behind him.

  Here a light glowed behind the screen sheltering the bed from the entrance, where the night nurse, persuaded into cooperation, was waiting anxiously. The electric lamp was turned away from Gerald, who lay on his back, arms laid neatly at his sides on top of the bedclothes. With his eyes closed he would look as if he was still unconscious, if it weren’t for the fresh colour in his cheeks. As it was, he looked fit enough to tackle any number of murderers, especially when he grinned at Alec.

  “Have you any white face-powder?” Alec whispered to the nurse.

  She produced a compact from her handbag and, lips pursed, toned down Gerald’s bloom while Alec moved the lamp to a table further off, beside a sofa. He looked down behind the sofa to see Ernie lounging on a couple of cushions.

  “Don’t you dare fall asleep.”