by Dunn, Carola
“Sorry, no,” said Daisy, “but I haven’t been looking out for it. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Oh well, no rush you know. It’ll turn up. Must be about time to dress for dinner. No dressing gong in this house,” he said to Raymond. “I did away with it. Had enough of being summoned by bells in my life. So, no dressing gongs or bells. ‘Changing,’ I mean. Crowley chappie doesn’t own a dinner jacket, I understand. Different customs in Trinidad, of course.”
“We dress for dinner in Cape Town. Must keep the side up, don’t you know.” Raymond sounded sarcastic.
What was he up to? One minute he was professing respect for Edgar, the next mocking him. Daisy couldn’t make him out.
EIGHTEEN
“It was strange,” said Daisy, describing to Alec the encounter between Edgar and Raymond as they changed into slightly more formal clothes for dinner. “They don’t like each other, that was obvious. But I had the impression that Raymond has decided Fairacres is worth having, and even worth sucking up to Edgar.”
“Being on good terms with Edgar won’t make any difference to the likelihood of his being heir,” Alec pointed out.
“No, but he might think it would be best to be on the right side of the present viscount if he is the heir.”
“Daisy, stop beating about the bush. You suspect Raymond now wants Fairacres badly enough to try to get rid of his rivals?”
“It’s just that he took out that hideous gold cigarette case and I noticed how it caught the light from the window. The sun would reflect brilliantly from it. He could have deliberately flashed it into Ben’s eyes, hoping to cause an accident. No one would notice. They’d only see him taking out a cigarette. It would certainly be less conspicuous than using the hand mirror he bought at the white-elephant stall.”
“He did? Odd!”
“Not really,” Daisy said regretfully. “It was more or less by accident.”
“How can one accidentally buy a mirror?”
“He didn’t want to buy anything, but I persuaded him it would be the diplomatic thing to do. He told the woman minding the stall he’d take anything, so of course she picked out the most optimistically priced object. So, at least at that point, he wasn’t intending to use it to cause an accident. Perhaps it gave him the idea, though. Of course, Laurette carries a pocket mirror at all times. She’s always touching up her makeup. She or Vincent could have used that. Frank—”
“It’s not difficult to come by something with a reflective surface,” said Alec, impatient. “The question is, why do it at all? A fall from a trotting donkey is about as likely to be lethal as jumping off a mounting block. Not to mention that Ben has a little brother at home, so what would be the point?”
“That’s true,” Daisy conceded. “They all seem to have sons and/or brothers waiting in the wings.”
“They do? There you are, then.”
“I doubt they’re all aware of one another’s closer relatives. Martha chats to me and you seem quite pally with Frank; otherwise they hardly speak to each other, though, beyond polite nothings. But do you realise how it widens the field of suspects? Any of the sons and brothers could be lurking hereabouts—Well, not Ben’s little brother.”
“So could Martha’s husband. We seem to have lost track of him.”
“He wouldn’t know who was who.”
“Unless he’s been in touch with Martha. Did she write or receive any letters in London?”
“Only a couple to and from the sister who’s looking after her little girls. She showed me the ones with news of the kids.”
“But not the ones she wrote?”
“Of course not. In any case, she didn’t meet the others till we came here.”
“But you told her about them?”
“Well, yes. Vincent and Raymond, not Frank and Ben.”
“Then she could have described Vincent and Raymond to her sister. Even if Sam Dalrymple actually was the mysterious Jamaican who avoided arrest in Florida, we have no idea when or whether he returned to Jamaica. The sister could have told him what she knew, and he came straight here and is, as you suggested, ‘lurking hereabouts.’ It wouldn’t be so very hard to have a word with Martha in secret, if he was determined. I’ve seen her strolling alone in the gardens.”
“Darling, I don’t believe it. I’m supposed to be the one who indulges in wild speculation! You’re the copper who has to have facts.”
“Touché! Really, the question is, what are we suspecting them of? Yes, Vincent could have been killed by the branch, but it probably just fell off a tree, given Edgar’s lack of interest in keeping up his woodland. In any case, it was just as likely merely to injure him.”
“Or to knock him out and make it easy to murder him.” Daisy laughed. “All right, I know, wild speculation, and there isn’t anything you can do about it anyway.”
“Nothing. I can’t keep an eye on all of them and I have no grounds for requesting help.”
“So let’s assume none of my relatives have plans to kill one another.”
“All the same, I hope Pearson brings the answer when he comes on Friday. Once everyone knows who’s the heir, it’ll clear the air a bit.”
“Yes. Now if you’ll just fasten my necklace, I’ll go and check up on Belinda and see if Martha needs any help. See you downstairs.”
Bel wasn’t in her room or the nursery. Daisy decided to check the turret room. One of the enticing things about it was the access by way of a narrow spiral staircase of openwork wrought iron, leading up to a trapdoor in the high ceiling at the end of the corridor below. The room had not been intended as a habitable room. In fact, it had had no windows until Gervaise took a liking to it and Daisy’s father had it done up for him. It now had windows in five walls, with the trapdoor opening right next to the sixth.
Daisy stood at the bottom of the staircase looking up. She heard no voices. For the benefit of adults unwilling to climb halfway up and knock on the underside of the trapdoor above their heads, a bell rope dangled beside the steps. She gave it a tug and heard the jangle.
There was no response.
If they had all gone off together, Belinda must feel better, Daisy deduced. She went down to Martha’s room.
Martha was sitting with her feet up on a chaise longue, sipping tea. “It’s peppermint tea,” she told Daisy. “I had an attack of indigestion and Mrs. Warden said peppermint will help. I do feel better.”
“That’s good. Would you prefer to have dinner on a tray up here?”
“Oh no, I’ll come down.” She set down her cup on the small table beside her. “I didn’t realise it’s time.…”
“No hurry. Finish your tea.” Daisy sat down. “I had terrible indigestion with the twins. I sucked peppermint drops but I wish I’d known about peppermint tea.”
“Mrs. Warden says it grows like a weed in the kitchen garden, so I can have as much as I want. It even tastes nice! Medicine the Myal-women give you almost always tastes nasty. There.” She set down her cup. “I’m ready.”
Down in the entrance hall they crossed paths with Ernest.
“Miss Belinda said to tell you, madam, they’ve gone down to the river. They promised to be back before dark.”
“Did she mention whether they were going to go boating?”
“She didn’t say, madam.”
“Let me know when they come in, please.”
“Certainly, madam.”
Daisy wasn’t really worried. Derek and Belinda had learnt to swim at school and, given the irresistible proximity of the river, she had made sure that Ben was also competent in the water. Both he and, more important, Frank said he was.
Besides, the backwater wasn’t very deep, even if Edgar had kept his promise and had it dredged. On the other hand, she remembered thinking that Derek and Bel wouldn’t be satisfied with puttering about on the backwater much longer. What if they went out on the river? Had the boat been refurbished, as she had requested? How easy would it be to sabotage a rowing skiff in a way that wou
ldn’t be obvious until it sank beneath its load?
“What’s wrong, Daisy?” Martha asked anxiously.
“Oh, nothing, really. I was just hoping the children are being sensible.”
“I hope they’ll come in before the storm arrives.”
“Storm?” Daisy glanced at the west-facing window. The lower edge of the sun had disappeared behind dark cumulus clouds towering far off, probably over the Welsh mountains. The air was hot and still. “It may not come this far. Not for quite some time, if at all.”
“Do you get hurricanes in England?”
“Good gracious no. Nothing so dramatic.” She decided not to mention the occasional cloudburst that could send water racing down the Severn to inundate flood-prone Upton. “Just a bit of thunder and lightning. Would that bother you?”
“Not really. I should think this house is solid enough to survive a hurricane, anyway. What if lightning strikes it?”
“I know of at least two lightning conductors. There’s one on the cupola over the main hall and one on the turret. It’s perfectly safe. I only asked because some people are afraid of thunderstorms, even though there’s no danger.” Violet for one. Daisy didn’t give her away.
She and Martha went down to the drawing room. Geraldine and Frank were already there. Vincent and Laurette came in shortly after, full of solicitude about Belinda.
“The child was lucky to avoid severe injury,” said Laurette. “I cannot think it advisable to allow young ladies to ride. Girls are fragile creatures, not like boys.”
“It’s to be hoped she won’t suffer any delayed consequences,” Vincent put in. “The symptoms of a concussion sometimes develop later, and I once knew a man to break his neck in an accident and go about his usual business for three days before he collapsed.”
“Nonsense,” said Geraldine briskly. “Dr. Hopcroft examined her at once and he’s quite satisfied that there’s nothing seriously amiss. We have always found him most reliable. In fact, Vincent, I wish you would see him. When you came in, I noticed you’re still limping badly.”
Vincent waved this away. “Bruises, merely. I’ve been applying your housekeeper’s herbal ointment, as you suggested, and it’s working wonders. Laurette has obtained the recipe from her. You’re using it for Belinda?” he asked Daisy.
“Yes. Apparently it eased her aches enough for her to go off to the river with the boys.” Daisy wondered whether she had been a negligent mother, not for letting Bel ride the donkey but for not keeping a closer eye on her since the fall.
“Edgar had the skiff thoroughly overhauled,” said Geraldine. “Have they taken it out?”
“I expect so.”
“Ben said the others promised to teach him to row.” Frank had been pouring drinks. He handed Daisy and Martha theirs. “What’s your tipple?” he asked Vincent and Laurette.
“I hardly think it’s your place to act as host,” said Vincent sniffily.
“Just helping out.” Frank’s geniality was unimpaired.
“At my request,” Geraldine said. “But by all means take your turn, unless you’d rather wait for Edgar. He’s hunting for his butterfly net and may be late.”
“No doubt those naughty children have borrowed it to go fishing,” said Laurette with a thin smile as her husband went a trifle sulkily to get their drinks.
“They wouldn’t,” Daisy said. “Bel and Derek know how much he prizes it.”
“The other boy…” Laurette left the phrase hanging.
“If you’re implying that Ben would,” Frank sprang to his stepson’s defence, “I can tell you he’s not going to do anything the others wouldn’t. We know we’re out of our depth here, and I’ve made sure he understands he’s to follow their example. He’s a good lad.”
“Which is not to say they won’t ever lead him into mischief,” Daisy warned, “but not that particular mischief.”
“Boys will be boys,” said Geraldine tolerantly. “Besides, Derek knows perfectly well where the fishing equipment is kept. Do help yourselves to a drink,” she added as Alec and Raymond came in, thus putting an end to that particular cause for offence.
Edgar appeared at last, Lowecroft arriving moments later to announce dinner. Halfway through the meal, Ernest murmured to Daisy, as he offered her a dish of runner beans, “The young people have come in, madam.”
Much relieved, Daisy nodded and smiled her thanks. One less worry.
* * *
The storm broke in the middle of the night, with a huge, booming crash that sounded as if it were right overhead. Daisy sat bolt upright.
“Thunder,” Alec said sleepily.
“Oh, of course. For a moment I couldn’t think … I’d better close the window.”
The evening had been so hot that they were sleeping under just a sheet. The air coming in now was comparatively chilly. A few drops of rain spattered against the windowpanes, then it came suddenly slashing down, as if released by the thunderbolt. Having shut the window, Daisy returned to bed, pulled up the blankets, and settled in cosily under them. A drumroll of thunder sounded, but nothing like the crash that had wakened her. Alec was already fast asleep again. Policemen learnt to sleep through practically anything.
Anything other than an emergency. A battering at the door took Alec halfway across the room before Derek’s desperate cry made Daisy realise it was not just more thunder.
“Aunt Daisy! Aunt Daisy!”
NINETEEN
Daisy clicked on the bedside lamp and reached for her dressing gown as Alec opened the door.
“Calm down, Derek,” he said. “Come in. What’s the trouble?”
“It’s Ben, Uncle Alec. He tripped on the stairs and he’s knocked himself out. The stairs from the turret. His eyes are closed and he doesn’t answer or move and I think there’s blood in his hair. A tremendous bolt of lightning hit the turret and then there was a huge explosion and we thought we’d better get out.”
“Very wise, though the explosion was thunder, I expect.” Alec returned to the bed for his dressing gown and slippers. “I’ll come at once.”
Derek was shivering in cotton pyjamas and bare feet. “I let him go first, but I had the torch. I shone it down the stairs for him. I should have given it to him.”
“Don’t second-guess yourself, darling,” said Daisy, now sufficiently clad to give him a hug.
Alec had stripped a couple of blankets off their bed. “Here, put this one round you, Derek. No point in risking a chill. Come on.”
Before following, Daisy went to the chest of drawers for a cardigan, a pullover, two pairs of Alec’s socks, and three of his handkerchiefs. Though the lightning conductor had almost certainly averted damage to the turret, there was always a chance the boys’ things in the room might be inaccessible.
Apart from the turret’s winding steps, electric lights were kept on all night at the head and foot of every staircase. Daisy hurried after Alec and Derek, along the passages and up the stairs. As she turned into the last corridor, the others reached the far end.
Ben was sitting on the bottom step, his head in his hands. He looked up groggily as Alec knelt beside him and draped a blanket about his shoulders.
“How are you feeling, Ben?”
“My head hurts.” He raised a hand to feel the side of his head. “It’s sticky.”
“Derek, the torch, please.”
The torch was still turned on. As Derek handed it to Alec, the beam flashed across something on the floor beside the steps. Daisy put down the stuff she’d brought and went to look.
“I’m going to shine this in your eyes. Try to keep them open.”
“All right.”
Daisy picked up a length of bamboo, broken at one end.
“Both pupils dilated and the same size,” Alec said with satisfaction. “You’re probably not concussed. Let me see that head wound now.”
“I brought some hankies,” said Daisy, putting back the cane as nearly as possible in the exact position she had found it. “Here. And Derek,
put on this pullover. It won’t get in your way like the blanket. Socks. Alec, may I put socks on Ben’s feet while you check his head?”
Alec shifted a bit to let her get at the small, brown pink-soled feet. The socks were much too big, of course. He wouldn’t be able to walk in them, but the important thing was to warm the boy quickly.
“You’ve got quite a gash there, but it’s already just about stopped bleeding. I don’t think it’ll need stitches. Derek, would you go and soak this handkerchief in cold water, please. Don’t wring it out. Sodden, not dripping too much.”
“Yes, sir.” Derek set out at a run, nearly tripped on the overlarge socks, impatiently tore them from his feet, and sped onward.
Daisy glanced up at the trap door. It was open, a square of darkness. No signs of destruction—fire, smoke, ashes—wafted through. She could fetch the boys’ own clothes in a minute.
“I suppose you hit it on the railing.” Alec turned the torch on the curlicued banisters. The fractured beam paused for a long moment on the piece of bamboo on the floor beyond, then moved on. “Yes, here. Quite near the bottom.”
“I didn’t slip. It felt as if my ankle caught on something.”
Derek raced back, panting, clutching a soggy hankie.
“Give it to your aunt. There’s electric light up there? Can you manage to turn it on without taking the torch?”
“Yes, of course.” He stepped past Ben and tramped up, clutching the rail on both sides.
A moment later, light flooded down through the trap. Gently, Daisy set about cleaning up the wound on Ben’s head.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry. Try to keep still, darling.”
Meanwhile Alec directed the torch at the floor on the far side of the stair. “Ah.”
Though Daisy couldn’t see what he was looking at, she could guess. “Don’t make cryptic Tom noises,” she said. “Ah” was the favourite monosyllable of his sergeant, Tom Tring, who managed to infuse it with a wide variety of meanings. “Is it what I think it is?”