by Carola Dunn
No wonder the earl had married her, Astwick had pursued her, and Lady Marjorie was jealous of her. Lord Beddowe’s antipathy might be based more on sheer sexual jealousy than he himself realized. Fenella Petrie was a candle to her sun.
But Lady Wentwater was more moon than sun. Pale from weariness of climbing heaven and shining on the earth . . . Shelley, wasn’t it? Daisy Dalrymple was really more to Alec’s taste. Pretty rather than beautiful, but cheerful rather than tragic, she reminded him of Joan, who had never let slender means nor the hazards of war dampen her spirits.
Surely Lady Wentwater ought to have perked up a trifle now that her persecutor was gone. Was it possible Miss Dalrymple had misinterpreted the situation, that the young countess had been Astwick’s willing lover and now grieved for his death? She didn’t look strong enough to chop a hole in the ice, though she was taller than average and desperation could augment a person’s strength in the most amazing way.
As Alec greeted her, she looked around the room distractedly. ‘I thought . . . someone said Daisy was here. Miss Dalrymple.’ Her voice was low and soft, with a pleading note.
‘She was, but my constable has taken over from her. Would you like someone with you? Another lady, or your maid?’
She bit her lip. ‘Miss Dalrymple, please, may she come back?’
‘Of course, Lady Wentwater.’ He sent the footman to fetch her, and while they waited he asked with considerable curiosity, ‘You have known Miss Dalrymple long?’
‘I met her for the first time yesterday, but she is very . . . simpatica, the Italians say. I feel she is already my friend.’
If a stranger so quickly became a friend, she must feel herself friendless indeed in her husband’s house, and who could blame her? Her husband and his sister suspected her fidelity; her stepson hated her; her stepdaughter regarded her as a rival. Whatever she had done, Alec pitied her.
He had to warn her. ‘You are aware that Miss Dalrymple has been actively aiding me in this investigation?’
Nodding, she managed a hesitant smile. ‘I believe Daisy would throw herself wholeheartedly into whatever situation she came across. She’s not the sort to stand by and let things happen.’
A trait that might prove awkward at times, Alec thought.
Daisy hurried in, breathless, a few minutes later. ‘Mr. Fletcher, you need me? I haven’t quite finished the typing.’
‘Lady Wentwater requested your presence.’
‘Oh, Annabel, I didn’t see you. Of course I’ll stay if you want me.’ Sitting down on the sofa beside the countess, she impulsively took her hand. It was cold, and trembled slightly. Annabel had cause to dread the coming inquisition, whether she had anything to do with Lord Stephen’s death or not.
The detective, at his most formidable, went straight to the point ‘Was Stephen Astwick blackmailing you, Lady Wentwater?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Oh, no, he never demanded money.’
‘Money is not always what a blackmailer seeks to extort.’
‘I suppose not. Yes, you could call it blackmail. He threatened to . . . betray me if I refused to . . . to . . . ’ She faltered, clutching Daisy’s hand.
‘To become his mistress. Did you?’
‘No! I put him off and put him off. It was horrible! He didn’t even really want me so much as he wanted revenge. He wanted to ruin my life, one way or another.’
‘Revenge?’
‘I had refused him before. Once, when I was a girl, he asked me to marry him, and then later, in Italy, he tried . . . but my . . . my first husband forced him to leave me alone. I think Rupert knew something about Stephen he couldn’t afford to have known.’
‘Birds of a feather,’ Mr. Fletcher grunted, and Daisy glared at him.
To her surprise, Annabel straightened and flew to her first husband’s defence. ‘Oh no, Rupert would never have blackmailed anyone. He just used his knowledge to defend me.’
‘I beg your pardon, I spoke out of turn.’ He passed his hand wearily across his brow. ‘I plead fatigue. What was it Astwick threatened to reveal to Lord Wentwater?’
‘That has not the least relevance to your enquiry,’ Annabel said with dignity. She had recovered her composure – and Mr. Fletcher had lost the initiative.
‘As you will. Let it pass, for the moment. You will not deny that you loathed and feared Astwick?’
‘How can I? He was a fiend.’
‘You hated him enough to kill him?’
A tremor ran through her and her grip on Daisy’s hand tightened again. ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. If I had known how. Do you mean you suspect that his death wasn’t an accident?’
‘It seems probable that the hole in the ice was deliberately cut.’
‘Why should I do that? He’d be as likely just to take a wetting as to drown. I tell you, he wanted to wreck my life far more than he wanted to . . . seduce me. The first thing he’d do would be to go to Henry. I’d have gained nothing.’
Ay, there’s the rub. The only bit of Hamlet Daisy remembered from school trickled through her thoughts. Whether ’twas nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them . . . but Annabel’s trouble would not have ended if Lord Stephen had merely been soaked to the skin. In Daisy’s view, she was in the clear.
Mr. Fletcher asked her a few more halfhearted questions, then let her go with thanks for her frankness. ‘Piper, find out how Sergeant Tring’s getting along,’ he ordered, and slumped back into his chair.
‘Not enough sleep?’ Daisy queried.
‘Just a couple of hours, two nights in a row.’
‘Well, make sure you have at least eight hours tonight’ she said severely, ‘or you won’t be fit for anything tomorrow. How can you solve one case, let alone two, if you can’t think straight?’
‘I can’t,’ he admitted with a rueful smile. ‘I feel as if I’ve run headfirst into a brick wall and I’m not sure whether it’s an extraordinarily confusing case or I’m just confused.’
‘I’m confused too, though after all it is my first case.’
‘And your last, I sincerely trust!’
‘Probably,’ said Daisy, sighing. ‘It’s very interesting but rather painful. Annabel couldn’t have done it, could she? It wouldn’t make sense.’
‘Not much. The weather wasn’t exactly suitable for her to lure him to a romantic midnight tryst by the lake, sock him on the head, and drop him in.’
‘Besides, he wouldn’t have been wearing skates.’
‘Damn those missing boots!’ said Mr. Fletcher explosively. ‘I beg your pardon for the language, Miss Dalrymple, but it’s enough to try the patience of a saint. What happened to them?’
‘I don’t mind the language,’ she assured him, ‘but won’t you call me Daisy? I rather fancy calling you Chief.’
‘My name’s Alec.’
‘Alec in private, Chief when your officers are around. Perhaps Sergeant Tring has found the boots.’
‘Them boots?’ The stout sergeant had entered the room unnoticed with his peculiarly silent tread, which Piper, following, appeared to be trying to imitate. ‘Sorry, Chief, the gardeners don’t remember how many pair they carried up. Albert, the bootboy, thinks he cleaned a pair of Astwick’s, but it might’ve been the day before and he hasn’t a clue if they was his only boots. And they might’ve been someone else’s. Not too bright, our Albert. The vally can tell us that, if he’ll talk, which it’s my belief he will when he hears about his master’s nasty end.’
If your chummie is in fact Astwick’s manservant. Any luck with the number-plate?’
‘The number we got on the Lanchester is quite different from what Jones remembers on Astwick’s, and Sir Hugh’s chauffeur, Hammond, agrees with him. But this vally-chauffeur Payne’s description matches chummie.’ He grinned. ‘I couldn’t have put it better meself. “Ferret-face,” says the cook. “More like a weasel,” says her ladyship’s maid.’
‘Do the earl and countess share a room?’
‘They do, but his lordship’s vally hemmed and hawed and allowed as how his lordship’s been known to sleep in his dressing-room. I couldn’t pin him down as to the last few days, Chief. A cagey laddie and I didn’t want to push too hard in case he shut up altogether.’
‘Quite right. We’ll have another go tomorrow if it seems necessary.’
‘I talked to the chambermaid while I was gone,’ Daisy put in. ‘She said none of the staff much liked Astwick, but no one had a specific grievance against him, either. He never said a pleasant word, but nor was he actively unpleasant.’
‘That’s what I heard, too, miss,’ said Tring. ‘He was indifferent to them and they was indifferent to him’s the impression I got.’
‘No help there, then,’ the Chief Inspector sighed. ‘It looks like one of the family. If only we could pin down the time the hole was made to something less than twelve hours! No one has an alibi for the whole period. At least, did you find out anything else useful, Tom?’
‘Nowt vital. I’ll give you the rest of the dope on the way back to Winchester, to save time, shall I? Now why don’t you let me and Piper search Astwick’s room while you have a bit of a kip, Chief?’
‘Is it so obvious I’m running out of steam? All right, Tom, go ahead. I’ll put my feet up, if Miss Dalrymple will excuse me.’
‘There’s a footstool by the fireplace,’ said Daisy. ‘That will be just the thing.’
Piper sped to fetch it, saluting with a blush when Daisy thanked him. He and Tring went off and Alec settled back with a sigh, loosening his necktie, his booted feet on the crewelwork footstool.
‘You’d be more comfortable without your boots,’ Daisy suggested.
‘But how embarrassing if someone came in to make a confession and found me shoeless.’
‘When I leave, I’ll tell the footman not to let anyone in without warning you first. And I will leave you to sleep, but you did promise to tell me what Lord Wentwater said.’
Alec bent down and untied his bootlaces. ‘He denied that Astwick was his wife’s lover.’
‘You didn’t expect him not to, did you?’
‘Not really.’ Slipping off the boots, he wiggled his toes as he leaned back again.
‘So what it comes down to is whether you believe he believes she’s not.’ Daisy noticed that the toes of his navy socks were neatly darned. Had he mended them himself, or was there a woman in his life? She quickly looked up.
He was already asleep, his head drooping to one side. Daisy fetched a cushion and gently stuffed it between his ear and the wing of the chair. He didn’t stir.
Before going upstairs to finish the typing, Daisy asked the way to Lord Stephen’s bedroom. It was at the far end of the east wing, in a corridor parallel to the one where her room was located. The two corridors were connected by a third, off which were situated the earl and countess’s suite on one side, the linen-room and more bedrooms on the other.
As Daisy reached the corner, a housemaid came out of a room carrying a coalscuttle.
‘Was that Lord Stephen’s room?’ Daisy asked her.
‘No, miss, Mr. Geoffrey’s. That one next to the end, t’other side o’ t’bathroom, were Lord Stephen’s. Them p’leecemen’s in there now, miss.’
‘Thank you.’
The maid bobbed a curtsy and disappeared through a swing-door in the opposite wall, presumably to the back stairs. Daisy went on to the door she’d pointed out, knocked, and entered.
Tring looked round, his frown clearing as he saw her. ‘Ah, it’s you, miss. Does the Chief want summat?’
‘No, he’s fast asleep. I just wondered if you’ve found anything yet.’
‘We only just started, miss. I ’spect the Chief’ll tell you if we comes across owt of interest. A real help, you’ve been, and no mistake.’
‘Oh, well, it was just lucky that I took those photographs and . . . ’
‘Sergeant!’ Piper emerged backwards from the wardrobe, waving a Manila envelope. ‘Beg pardon, miss. Look here, Sarge, I found it in a sort of a hidden pocket in the lining of his overcoat.’
‘You’ll go far, laddie, you’ll go far,’ said Tring benevolently, taking the envelope and opening it. ‘Now what have we here. Ah, the Chief’ll want to see this. Two passports and . . . well, knock me down with a feather! So Lord Stephen Astwick and his ferret was planning to scarper, was they?’
‘Was . . . I mean, were they?’ Daisy demanded.
‘Booked on the S.S. Orinoco, sailing from Southampton 3:00 P.M. day after tomorrow, for Rio.’
CHAPTER 8
‘Do you have to wake him?’ Daisy gazed down upon the semirecumbent Chief Inspector. His face relaxed in sleep, he looked years younger.
‘Bless you, miss, he’ll have me hide if I don’t, and quite right, too. I’ll see he gets a decent kip tonight, but we got to get back to Winchester first.’
‘He said I’m to stop here, Sarge,’ said Piper apprehensively. ‘No one’s to leave, but if they try, what’m I s’posed to do?’
‘He don’t expect the impossible, laddie. You’re a reminder, that’s what you are, a reminder of the majesty of the law.’
The constable’s shoulders squared and a determined light shone in his eyes.
Daisy laid her hand on Alec’s shoulder and gently shook him. ‘Chief? Chief,’ she said softly. ‘Time to wake up.’
Muscles tensed beneath her hand and he sat up straight as his eyes flickered open. ‘Wha’?’ he mumbled, thick-tongued. ‘Daisy?’
‘I finished typing the notes.’ She had been politely but firmly dismissed from Lord Stephen’s room while Tring completed the search. ‘I put them with your other papers. But the sergeant has something much more exciting for you.’
‘Tom?’ Alec was already alert, kicking away the footstool and fumbling for his boots as Tring waved the Manila envelope at him. ‘What have you found?’
‘Young Piper here found a ticket to Brazil, Chief, and there’s this, too.’ He flourished a dark brown leather despatch case, then set it on the stool. ‘Locked with a fancy combination lock, it is.’
Alec groaned. ‘I don’t suppose Astwick left the number lying about.’
‘No, Chief, but it just so happens as we found a scrap of paper with a number on it in the pocket of the laddie in the Lanchester. Inspector Gillett kept it, of course, but it just so happens as Detective Constable Piper has a habit of memorizing stray numbers.’
‘The first part’s me auntie’s birthday, sir,’ Piper explained eagerly, ‘and the last bit’s the number of inches in an elf. Forty-five sir,’ he added as they all looked at him blankly.
Shaking his head in wonderment, Alec gestured at the despatch case. ‘Give it a try, Ernie.’
‘Yes, Chief!’ Beaming, he started rotating the lock.
Alec and Tring exchanged a significant nod. A rite of passage had taken place: Piper had earned his place on Alec’s team.
The lock clicked open. Alec leaned down, unfastened the brass catch, and opened the case. On top lay another Manila envelope, larger than the first. He removed it, opened it, and slid a sheaf of papers halfway out.
‘Bearer bonds,’ he said, but the others were staring at the case, which was filled with small drawstring bags of yellowish chamois leather.
Alec reached for the nearest. Loosening the drawstring, he tipped the contents onto the palm of his hand. As he tilted his hand this way and that, the electric light struck blue fire from the huge cabochon-cut star sapphire.
A vast contentment filled him. ‘Mrs. Bassington-Cove’s Star of Ceylon.’ From a second pouch he spilled out six glittering diamonds, smaller than the sapphire but perfectly matched. ‘We’ve got the goods, Tom. Let’s get going. I find myself eager to have a little chat with your Lanchester driver.’
‘Right, Chief. I’ll drive so’s you can kip, but we’ll take your motor, shall we? You won’t want to risk young Ernie having to use it in an emergency.’
‘Hey, what d’you mean!’ Piper protested.
Alec grinned. ‘I’ll have to risk it. You’re right, Tom, you’d better drive, and you’ll never fit behind the wheel of mine. It’s an Austin Seven,’ he explained to Daisy, slipping the sapphire and diamonds back into their chamois bags, depositing them and the envelope with the rest, and relocking the despatch case. ‘Tom can barely squeeze into the passenger seat. More to the point, this lot will be safer in the official car till we can lock it up in the safe at the station.’
‘I wish I could come,’ she said wistfully. ‘I’m dying to know what the ferret has to say. Don’t look so worried, I know I can’t.’
‘You may learn something useful here,’ he consoled her. ‘Keep your eyes and ears open, won’t you? We’ll be back tomorrow. Tom, will you bring the car round, please? I must leave Lord Wentwater a receipt for the loot in case Astwick’s family kicks up a fuss about the disappearance from his room of a fortune in gems and bonds.’
As Tring left the Blue Salon, the dressing gong sounded through the house. Reluctantly Daisy followed him.
On her way to her room, she stopped to see how Marjorie was doing. Awake, though dopey, she clung to Daisy’s hand and wept. Nonetheless, Daisy received the impression that her grief was not profound, in fact that the tears were a mask. If Marjorie was capable of deep feeling, Lord Stephen had not evoked it.
She was growing cynical, Daisy reproached herself as she went on to her own room. Just because she had put him down as a nasty specimen the moment she met him, she refused to believe anyone could fall in love with him.
On the other hand, Marjorie didn’t need to be desperately in love for his indifference to make her furious, a matter of hurt pride rather than spurned love. She might have wanted to punish him, or she might have hoped to win him over by lavishing sympathy on him after his wetting. Either way, chopping up the ice made much more sense for Marjorie than for Annabel.
Running late, Daisy hurriedly changed. She put on her old grey dress again, since there had after all been a death just this morning and her best dress was rather on the bright side.
Drew announced dinner two minutes after she reached the drawing-room, so she had no time for the cocktail she felt in need of. A glass of wine with the hors-d’oeuvres and a second with the soup perked her up no end, and she refused a third with the fish. She noticed that wineglasses around the table were being refilled with abnormal regularity. Yet everyone was sombre, speaking in low voices to next-door neighbours or not at all. Having the police in the house was as sobering as if the death had been in the family. Daisy was glad she was seated between the urbane Sir Hugh and the silent Geoffrey, neither of whom was likely to embarrass her with questions about the investigation.