by Carola Dunn
“Jamaica is suggestive, isn’t it? Since we know Julian went there. Hasn’t she brought any sort of proof with her?”
“Various documents, good enough as far as they go, but none leading directly back to Julian. At least, unlike the others, she doesn’t claim to have heard a family story about descent from an English lord. As for what her husband would have to say of the entire business … According to her he’s entirely unaware of it, having sailed off before my advertisement was brought to her attention. He’s the principal, and nothing can be decided without him. You must admit, it’s put me in a difficult position.”
“Aren’t difficulties what lawyers thrive on?”
“An impossible position!”
“What do you want me to do, then? Have a good long heart-to-heart with her?”
“Er, hmm…” Tommy was not in general the kind of lawyer who prefaces every remark with a premonitory cough. “Well, yes. She may well speak more freely to you. But also … You see the thing is…”
“Spit it out, Tommy.”
“I don’t know what to do with her. I can’t very well send her back to Jamaica. A young girl like her, married or not, shouldn’t have undertaken such a voyage all by herself in the first place. She can’t stay alone at an hotel, even if she could afford it or the estate could legitimately pay her expenses. A cheap women’s hostel doesn’t seem right when she may be the next viscountess. On the other hand, I can’t send her down to Fairacres for several weeks, not knowing whether she has any actual connection with the family! I’m sure Madge would be willing to put her up, but it could lead to a perception of favouritism among the other possible heirs.”
“I thought I saw it coming.” Daisy sighed. “You’re hoping we’ll put her up. Of all the cheek!”
Tommy looked abashed. “Sorry. It seemed like a solution. Grasping at straws.”
“I’ll have to ask Alec.…”
“You mean you’ll do it? It’s an awful lot to ask, particularly as we know so little about her. But if there’s anything fishy about her, you’ve got a copper in the house.”
“One night. We’ll see how it goes. I’m not promising anything, even if Alec consents.”
“Of course. Perhaps I’ll come up with a better idea by tomorrow.” He pushed his phone across the desk. “Here, ring up Alec.”
“At the Yard? Not likely! This doesn’t exactly qualify as a life or death emergency.”
“Oh, is that the criterion? You won’t be able to take her home with you right away, then. What on earth am I to do with her in the meantime?”
Daisy pictured the dejected face of the blond girl, her brave, pathetic attempt to smile. “Let me talk to her. In private.”
With a harassed air, Tommy glanced round his sanctum. “I don’t—”
“You must have somewhere. Miss Watt’s room? Can’t you call her in here to take dictation or something? Or a partner who’s presently in court? A garret? A cellar?”
“Really, Daisy! The basement is full of archived files, all still confidential, and the garrets are full of clerks.…”
“I’ll take her out for a cup of coffee.”
The cautious lawyer examined this proposition from all sides. “I suppose that would be all right.”
“For pity’s sake, I promise I won’t lose her!”
That made him laugh. “Come on, then.” They went through to Miss Watt’s office.
As they turned towards Martha Dalrymple, she stood up. She was small and her figure would normally have been slight; five months pregnant, Daisy guessed. Hadn’t Tommy noticed? Apparently not, or he’d have been in even more of a flap. And Miss Watt—a spinster dedicated to her job, she might not have realised either, or might not think it proper to notice.
“Mrs. Fletcher—Mrs. Samuel Dalrymple. Mrs. Fletcher is the daughter of the late Viscount Dalrymple.”
“How do you do?” Daisy said in her friendliest manner, holding out her hand.
Martha took it tentatively, but she did not—thank goodness—have a hand like a dead fish. Equally tentatively, she said, “How do you do?” as if she wasn’t at all sure it was the correct thing to say. Unsurprisingly, she looked tired and worried.
“If it’s all right with you, Mrs. Dalrymple, I’m taking you out for morning coffee.”
“Th-that’s very kind of you.” She gave Tommy an anxious glance.
“Mrs. Fletcher will bring you back here,” he assured her, before retreating back into his office.
Recalling the discomforts of pregnancy and taking into account the girl’s shyness, Daisy said to Miss Watt, “I’d like to powder my nose before we go out.”
“There’s a cloakroom at the rear, Mrs. Fletcher. Just turn right outside this door.”
“Thank you. Shall we go, Mrs. Dalrymple?” Leading the way along the narrow, dimly lit passage, she said, “When I was expecting the twins, I was always hunting for the nearest lav. Would you like to go first?”
Martha gratefully accepted. Her voice was soft, her accent—presumably Jamaican—a lilting cadence with a touch of almost jazzy syncopation. Daisy found it pleasant.
A few minutes later, as they walked slowly towards the Strand, Daisy asked, “Is it your first baby?”
“Oh no.” She blinked back tears. “I left my two little girls at home, with my sister. You’ve got twins?”
“A girl and a boy. It was very brave of you to cross the ocean alone.”
“I didn’t dare wait any longer,” she explained, patting her burgeoning abdomen. “Another month and I couldn’t have done it.”
The gesture drew Daisy’s attention to her frock. Not Fuller’s, she decided. Martha would feel more at home in an ABC or Express Dairy tearoom. Also, if she wanted something more nourishing than the fancy cakes that were Fuller’s speciality, neither ABC nor Express Dairy would refuse because they were serving only morning coffee at this hour.
“Besides,” Martha continued, “I had to travel when a passage was available. The people who helped me … You know my husband is a sailor?”
“Yes. Mr. Pearson told me. Let’s go in here.”
Martha was awed by the hurrying waitresses in black uniforms with white aprons, and the chattering crowd. It was late for elevenses, though, and early for lunch, so they easily found an empty table in a comparatively quiet corner. Discovering that the girl had had nothing that morning but a cup of tea—station tea at that—Daisy persuaded her to eat a couple of boiled eggs with lots of buttered toast, and to drink a glass of milk, or at least milky coffee. She was reluctant to accept, but Daisy pointed out that it was for the baby’s sake—true—and claimed that Tommy would reimburse her—a white lie.
While they waited, Daisy asked, “Who were the people who helped you with the passage?”
“Sam’s friends. My husband’s. He knows just about everyone who ships out of Kingston. They found me a freighter with a few passenger cabins that was going to sail with one empty. The purser didn’t charge me for it. Everyone was so very kind.” Her eyes filled again.
Daisy hoped she wasn’t going to turn out to be a deplorably weepy young woman. With any luck, a good meal would cure her. “It sounds as if your Sam is pretty popular,” she said, as a waitress arrived with a tray. Daisy had intended to have only coffee, but she’d ordered a scone just to keep Martha company.
Though Martha ate hungrily, her table manners were acceptable, thank goodness. The food brought a touch of colour to her cheeks.
When she paused before tackling the second egg, Daisy said, “You came to town by train this morning?”
“Yes, from Southampton. I didn’t know what to do when we landed last night, but some of the fellows took me to a YWCA hostel. And this morning, the purser and the third officer turned up to take me to the station. They’d even had a whip-round for my ticket! The hostel was quite cheap,” she said doubtfully, “but noisy. Is there one in London?”
“Lots.” Daisy didn’t want to pursue that subject for the moment. “Have you absolutely
no idea where your husband is or when he’s likely to return to Kingston?”
She blushed vividly. “N-not exactly.”
“Well, finish your meal and you can tell me. As much as you choose.”
Daisy’s scone had somehow disappeared. She really hadn’t meant to eat more than half. She sipped her coffee. “Doesn’t Jamaica produce coffee, as well as rum?”
In response to this apparently innocent question, Martha’s face suffused with pink again. She nodded, her mouth full.
Though Daisy was dying of curiosity, she kept quiet till the last scrap of toast was gone.
“Would you like more? Or something else?”
“No, thank you. I feel much better.” She looked much better, too, her cheeks retaining some of the colour of her flush. “If I tell you about Sam, do you have to tell Mr. Pearson?”
“Not unless it’s somehow related to the viscountcy, to Sam’s descent from Julian Dalrymple. That’s his only concern.”
“Nothing like that. He didn’t even know about that when he left. I didn’t find out about the advert till much later. He signed on as mate on a ship taking a cargo of rum to the Bahamas.”
“For sale in America?” Daisy had considerable knowledge of the rumrunners and bootleggers who defied Prohibition to bring alcoholic beverages to the thirsty hordes. The Fletchers’ next-door neighbours, the Jessups, were wine merchants involved in the business.
“It’s not illegal,” Martha said defensively. “The trouble is, instead of staying with the ship, he decided to go with some smugglers to Florida. His captain brought me a letter when he got back to Kingston. Sam hoped to make enough money to quit the sea and start a business at home. He missed me and the girls, you see. He didn’t think there was much danger. The runners are hardly ever caught, and if they are, the judges and juries in Florida hardly ever convict them.”
“But Sam was caught and convicted?”
“I don’t know! I haven’t heard a word from him since he left Nassau, more than three months ago.”
“You must be horridly worried.”
“I try not to think about it. Whatever’s happened, I can’t let this chance slip without doing what I can. Not only for Sammy.” She patted her belly. “I might have a boy this time.”
“That being so, I think we’d better enlighten Tommy—Mr. Pearson. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that you’re expecting.”
“I thought he was just too polite to mention it.”
“He would have mentioned it to me.” As an added inducement to take the girl under her wing.
Daisy paid the bill and they left. Walking back along the Strand, Daisy decided Martha’s frock, though just about acceptable for the country, simply would not do in town. Besides, she’d need new clothes as her pregnancy advanced. Lucy, Daisy’s closest friend, was the person to consult. A devotee of haute couture, Lucy was always trying to persuade Daisy to dress with more attention to fashion, but surely she’d lower her sights for Martha and suggest what styles were suitable, flattering, and inexpensive.
That was when Daisy realised she had made up her mind. No matter what Alec might think of it, she was taking Martha home with her.
ELEVEN
Martha had never ridden in a motorcar before. However, as was to be expected of an intrepid young woman who had crossed the ocean alone, pregnant, and with very little money in her purse, she was not at all nervous. The weepiness that had dismayed Daisy had been dispelled by food and the end of uncertainty about her immediate future.
“I might as well enjoy today,” she said to Daisy. “The bridge between laughing and crying’s not long.”
Daisy, on the other hand, was more than a little anxious about how Alec would take her foisting a long-lost and very distant relative by marriage on the household. No doubt he would harp on her propensity for taking people at face value. He’d point out that even if Martha really was a Dalrymple (by marriage), they knew next to nothing about her or her husband—except that her husband had recently embarked upon an illegal enterprise, at least as far as American law was concerned. To a policeman, it was not the best of recommendations. Daisy wondered whether she could get away with not telling him.
Better not, she decided with a sigh. He’d find out sooner or later and then he’d be furious at her lack of candour.
She parked in front of the house. “I hope you can manage the steps,” she said. “If it looks too much, we can go round through the garden. There’s a door on the level there, because of the slope.”
“Easy, compared to the companionways on the ship! I’ll just get my suitcase.” Martha reached back for the cardboard suitcase they had picked up from the station left luggage.
“Leave it. Elsie will bring it in. Our parlourmaid.”
Turning, Martha looked up at the house. Her eyes widened. “Is it all yours?”
“Yes. We inherited it from a great-uncle. My husband’s, not the Dalrymple side. I expect I ought to tell you, Alec’s a policeman, a detective.”
“Oh!”
“An English policeman. Prohibition is none of his business. He does know some people over there, though. Perhaps he could put out some careful feelers and see whether he can discover any news of your Sam.”
“I suppose you have to tell him.…”
“Well, I do think he’s due an explanation, don’t you?” They reached the top of the steps. Daisy crossed the porch and opened the front door. “Do come in.”
They had barely crossed the threshold when Elsie appeared at the back of the entrance hall. “Madam—” She stopped when she saw Martha.
“Mrs. Dalrymple is going to be staying with us for a while, Elsie. Please fetch her case from my car.” Daisy could rely on her parlourmaid and Mrs. Dobson to have the bed in the best spare room ready made up and aired regularly.
“Right away, madam.” She gave Martha a curious glance, but she was too well trained to stare. A treasure, Daisy thought warmly. “Madam, Mr. Fletcher telephoned to say he’s going out of town. He’ll be gone tonight and maybe several nights, he said.”
Martha looked relieved. She wouldn’t have to face the bogeyman for a day or two.
That afternoon, when Martha was taking a nap, Daisy rang up Lucy and explained the situation. “So I wondered whether you could help me buy her suitable clothes.”
Lady Gerald was not interested. “Darling,” she protested in her high, clear soprano, “you know I’m always ready to advise you—”
“Keen is the word.”
“All right, ‘keen’ to advise you on your wardrobe, for all the notice you take. But you really can’t expect me to dress a pregnant poor relation.”
“Who might be the next Lady Dalrymple.”
“Might. Besides, if your first impressions are correct, she won’t want to be beholden to you for the latest modes, which, unless expensive, are invariably vulgar. I haven’t a clue about preggy clothes, in any case.” Lucy had no children and, as far as Daisy knew, no intention of ever having any. “Take her to Selfridge’s Bargain Basement and buy her something practical.”
“I’d like her to look pretty when her husband arrives.”
“If he does.”
“Of course he will, darling, don’t be such a pessimist. In any case, she’ll have to be decently dressed when we go to Fairacres and she meets the other would-bes.”
“Talking of that gathering, I think your cousin must have run mad to invite them all. They’ll be at one another’s throats. There’ll probably be murder done.”
“What rot! You’re only saying that because I’ve been involved in one or two murder investigations.”
“One or two!” Lucy was the only person other than Alec who knew exactly how many bodies Daisy had somehow managed to stumble upon.
“A few. All right, several. It’s no reason to expect more. These are all respectable people, after all.”
But when Lucy had rung off, Daisy thought, what did she really know about them? Raymond and Vincent were undoubtedly prospero
us and respectable, if not likeable. Martha was likeable, though not prosperous; Samuel’s present escapade could hardly be described as respectable. Suppose he turned out to be a ruffian, willing to kill for the inheritance?
And others might yet turn up.
That evening, Martha retired to bed right after dinner, exhausted despite her afternoon nap. Daisy put a soothing record on the gramophone, Paderewski playing Mendelsohn’s Songs Without Words. Half listening, she read through the list she and Martha had compiled of everything unpacked from the suitcase brought from Jamaica. It wasn’t long. And most of the things were unsuitable either for English weather, or for London and Fairacres, or both.
Daisy started to make a list of everything they would need to buy.
The telephone rang. Daisy hurried out to the hall to answer it before Elsie started up from the basement kitchen to get it.
“Daisy, it’s Madge.”
“Hold on just half a mo. I’ve got a record on. I’d better stop it or the needle will carve a groove.” When she returned, she asked, “I assume Tommy has told you about the latest applicant?”
“Martha Dalrymple. It was unconscionable for him to land you with the poor girl.”
“I don’t really mind. The children have taken to her already—she has two of her own that she had to leave with her parents, did Tommy tell you? And with a third on the way—”
“What!? He didn’t tell me she’s expecting.”
“Darling, I suspect he didn’t notice. About five months. He probably assumed she was a trifle stout. Her frock wasn’t exactly flattering.”
“She’s bursting out of her clothes?”
“Not quite that bad, though she will be. It’s just that what’s suitable for a Caribbean island is hardly appropriate for London, nor practical for the climate.”
“Tommy didn’t mention that either. Really, men can be so blind. Daisy, I’d love to take her shopping. I have plenty of experience of dressing for pregnancy.” Madge had produced three little Pearsons in four years.
“Would you really? That would be simply marvellous. I hate shopping for clothes and I have a due date creeping up on me. An article due, not a baby! I’ll pay, of course.”