Death at Wentwater Court

by Carola Dunn

  His death was mischance – Annabel couldn’t have risked his surviving – Annabel wasn’t responsible – so it must be one of –

  Daisy slept.

  CHAPTER 9

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t let you leave.’ Detective Constable Piper, barring the open front door, sounded nervously determined.

  ‘Bosh, my good fellow, you can’t stop us.’ That was Phillip, at his most pompous. Dressed in his drab motoring coat, he slapped his gauntlets impatiently against his hand. Beside him stood Fenella in a blue travelling costume, the dust veil of her hat thrown back, plucking timidly at his sleeve.

  As Daisy reached the bottom of the stairs, she called to him. ‘Phillip! What’s going on?’

  He swung round. ‘This confounded chappie is bally well trying to stop me taking Fenella home. You have a word with him, Daisy. You’re in cahoots with the ruddy coppers.’

  ‘Do be reasonable, Phil. He’s only doing his duty. I heard Chief Inspector Fletcher tell him not to let anyone leave. Will you shut that door, please, Officer? There’s a frightful draught through here, though at least it’s a bit warmer today, thank heaven.’

  ‘Right away, miss!’ Piper threw her a look of worshipful gratitude and turned to close the door.

  ‘Mr. Fletcher’s coming back this morning,’ Daisy assured the Petries, ‘and I expect he’ll let you go, but I do think you ought to wait till he arrives.’

  ‘The pater said to take Fenella home,’ Phillip said obstinately. ‘I didn’t catch him on the ’phone till quite late last night, alter that nasty mix-up, and he said to bring her home straight away.’

  ‘It’s fearfully early still. Have you had breakfast? Why on earth do you want to leave so early?’

  ‘It’s a deuce of a way.’

  ‘The roads will be perfectly ghastly with this thaw. You’re sure to get bogged down on the way. Haven’t you some relative or other a bit nearer than Worcestershire where Fenella can stay for a few days?’

  ‘There’s Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Ned, Phil. Reading isn’t far, is it? I’d like to stay with Aunt Gertrude, and I’d like more than a cup of tea before we leave. You rushed me so.’ Fenella took off her gloves, and Daisy noticed her engagement ring was missing.

  ‘Oh, right-ho,’ Phillip grumbled. ‘I’ll have to ring up Aunt Gertrude and make sure it’s all right. Hang it, Officer, you’d better tell Lord Wentwater’s man we’ll be leaving later and he’s to put the car back in the garage.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Piper saluted and opened the door just wide enough to slip out, closing it firmly again behind him.

  ‘Come on, Fenella,’ said Daisy, ‘to the breakfast-room. I’m starving.’

  Already on his way to the telephone table in the corner of the hall, Phillip turned, frowning. ‘You’d better order a tray in your bedroom, Fenella.’

  Daisy raised her eyebrows quizzically. ‘I promise I’ll not let her be either murdered or corrupted at the breakfast table, and she can stick to me like a leech till Mr. Fletcher comes. You’ll join us, won’t you, when you’ve finished telephoning?’

  ‘Yes. As a matter of fact, I only had a cup of coffee and a muffin and I’m still dashed peckish,’ he admitted with a sheepish grin.

  Daisy and Fenella found Sir Hugh in the breakfast-room, ensconced behind The Financial Times, which he lowered briefly to bid them good morning. His plate and cup were already empty, Daisy was glad to see. By the time the girls had helped themselves from the sideboard, he was folding the paper and standing up.

  ‘Nothing about this business in the papers yet,’ he said approvingly. ‘That’s a good man they sent down from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Is there any more news of the jewel robbery at Lord Flatford’s?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Just a paragraph in my paper, saying the police are holding a man for questioning and expect an imminent arrest. The Financial Times doesn’t go in for that sort of news, though. You’ll find the Daily Mail on the table in the hall.’

  Daisy thanked him, but she knew she’d find out more from Mr. Fletcher than from the Mail. Besides, at present she was itching to discuss Fenella’s departure.

  The moment Sir Hugh left the room, she said, ‘So your parents want you to go home?’

  ‘I want to go! I simply can’t marry James after all.’

  ‘Very sensible of you. He is not a nice person.’

  ‘Phillip called him a deuced rum fish,’ Fenella revealed, glancing over her shoulder at the door. ‘What shall I do if he comes in?’

  ‘You’ll say good morning and then preserve a dignified silence,’ Daisy advised, spearing a piece of sausage. ‘Did you love him very much?’

  ‘I don’t really know. I think not, because I am more shocked than upset. He was always perfectly polite and kind, and when Mummy told me he wanted to marry me I thought I should like to be a countess one day. Only, he was quite horrid to Lady Wentwater, so I could never be sure that one day he might not be horrid to me, too, could I?’

  ‘Quite right. These are jolly good sausages.’

  ‘The cook makes her own. James showed me the pigs on the home farm. He’s frightfully keen on farming, and I like animals. I did think we might be happy together.’ She sniffed unhappily. ‘Suppose no one else ever wants to marry me?’

  Daisy hastened to support her resolve. ‘I’m not married and I’m perfectly happy,’ she pointed out. Seeing Fenella blanch, she quickly added, ‘But I’m sure you’ll easily find a husband. The boys your age weren’t in the War, after all. You haven’t even spent a season in London yet, have you?’

  ‘No. James and I met at a house-party last summer.’

  ‘There, you see? Engaged before you’re even out. You don’t need a brute like James.’

  They had nearly finished breakfast before Phillip came in to report that all was well. ‘Aunt Gertrude will be pleased to see Fenella, and I talked the parents into agreeing. Actually, Daisy old bean, it was a dashed good idea of yours, because I’ll be able to get back here this evening to look after you. I was pretty worried about leaving you on your own for the best part of two days.’

  Daisy did her best not to snap at him. ‘Thank you for the kind thought, though I assure you I can look after myself.’

  ‘Come to think of it, old thing, I expect the inspector chappie would let you go, too. You’d be better off buzzing back to town out of this fishy business.’

  ‘I’m not leaving, Phillip,’ she informed him through gritted teeth, ‘so you might as well save your breath to cool your porridge. Fenella, I’m going to the darkroom. Do you want to come or will you hang about with Phil?’

  Fenella chose to accompany her and fiddled quite happily with magnifying lenses while Daisy printed a few more shots. Some kindly soul had put a paraffin heater in the scullery so they were reasonably comfortable once their noses grew accustomed to that smell on top of the developing chemicals.

  Finishing her printing, Daisy studied the prints she had made last night, thoroughly dry by now. They included the shots she had taken by magnesium flash, and she was anxious to see how they had come out.

  ‘I didn’t print the two disastrous ones, of course,’ she explained to Fenella. ‘The one where your beastly brother accused me of trying to blow up the house, and the one that fizzled. But look, this isn’t bad, nor this.’

  As she had expected, Marjorie’s black-and-white dress inevitably drew the eye. Though she couldn’t do anything about that, the background of the Great Hall fireplace, carved frieze, tapestries, and ancient weapons had come out surprisingly clearly. Even Queen Elizabeth’s dagger was plain to see. Through a magnifying glass, she could make out the details of the frieze and the solemn faces of the family group.

  ‘They’re jolly good,’ said Fenella. ‘Are they really going to be in a magazine?’

  ‘Yes, though I don’t know which ones the editor will choose.’ She picked up another of the Great Hall shots. Studying it through the lens, she gasped, then threw a quick glance at Fenella.

>   ‘James doesn’t look like a rum fish,’ Fenella was saying. She hadn’t heard Daisy’s gasp. ‘I don’t see how I could have guessed.’

  ‘You couldn’t, Just be thankful you found out in time.’ Daisy remembered James’s smug expression after she had taken the first flash photograph that worked right. Wilfred had looked apprehensive, Lady Josephine upset, and Marjorie angry, and when Daisy had turned her head she’d seen Annabel and Lord Stephen.

  What she hadn’t realized at the time was that while those four of her subjects had reacted after the shot, the other two had reacted quicker. Lord Wentwater’s and Geoffrey’s faces had been impassive by the time she looked up from the camera. Dazzled by the flash, she had not noticed the turbulent emotions of father and son, so quickly hidden, so clearly visible now in the print.

  ‘It’s just another of the same,’ she said as Fenella reached for the photograph in her hand. She shuffled it into the pile Fenella had already examined.

  As they returned through the kitchen passages towards the main part of the house, they met a footman.

  ‘Miss Dalrymple, her la’ship says if you’d be so kind as to step up for a word wi’ her in her boodwah when you has the time.’ Well trained, the man was as expressionless as if nothing had ever occurred to disturb the peace of Wentwater Court.

  ‘Lady Wentwater? Of course. Fenella, I’ll just see you safely back in Phillip’s care first.’

  ‘Mr. Petrie’s in the billiard-room, miss.’

  Fenella delivered to her brother, Daisy headed for the stairs.

  Annabel’s boudoir-dressing-room was beyond the Wentwaters’ bedroom. Daisy heard no response to her knock, but Annabel might be too miserable to call out loudly, she decided. In view of her invitation she went in.

  No one was there. From beyond a door on the opposite side of the boudoir from the bedroom came the sound of running water. Daisy hesitated on the threshold, glancing round the room.

  The near end held chests-of-drawers, wardrobes, a cheval glass, and a dressing table. At the far end, under the window, stood a small table and two cane-backed chairs, with a roll-top bureau in one corner, a matching glass-fronted bookcase in the other. In the centre of the room, grouped around the fire, were two armchairs and a chaise-longue covered in light brown chintz with tiny butter cup yellow flowers. The walls were hung with a Regency stripe wallpaper in cream and brown, colours picked up by the Axminster carpet. A pretty, cosy room.

  Daisy crossed to the fireplace to examine the picture hanging over the mantelpiece. It was an impressionistic oil painting of a dark-haired girl in a yellow dress descending a flight of steps in a garden full of flowering shrubs and vines.

  She swung round as a door closed behind her.

  ‘Yes, that’s Rupert’s work.’ Annabel’s red eyes were conspicuous in her pale face. She wore a simple coat-frock of turquoise jersey, so beautifully cut it must be straight from Paris. ‘Henry insisted on my keeping some of his paintings. Oh Daisy, he’s been so kind, so sympathetic. I can’t seem to stop crying.’

  ‘Isn’t it funny how sympathy does that, much more than someone being beastly? It was Geoffrey’s defence that made you cry last night, not James’s attack, wasn’t it?’

  Annabel nodded, joining Daisy by the fire, and they both sat down. ‘Henry feels terrible about it. He keeps apologizing for not being the one to protect me, for having been blind to James’s spite.’

  ‘James took pretty good care not to let him see it, until last night. And I imagine Geoffrey was brought up not to tell tales on his brothers.’

  ‘Henry says I should have told him, but I couldn’t, could I? I didn’t want to worry him, or to make trouble between him and his son. I hoped in time James would realize I really do love Henry, and then he’d grow accustomed to having a stepmother. But instead I’ve ruined his life. You know Fenella has broken off the engagement?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been hearing about it all morning.’

  ‘So I’ve ruined her life, too.’

  ‘What rot, Annabel. It’s a good thing she discovered in time what James is like.’ Daisy looked up as the silvery chime of the Dresden china clock on the bureau began to play. ‘Quarter to eleven. Are you coming down for coffee?’

  ‘I don’t know. Should I? Henry said he’d go down with me, but he doesn’t usually join us for morning coffee and I didn’t want everyone to think I’m afraid to face them without his support.’

  ‘Are you? Are you afraid of meeting James?’

  ‘No, he’s confined to his room. As soon as the police go, he’s to be sent to live in Northumberland. Henry owns a small property there, and James is to run the farms. You see why I say I’ve ruined his life,’ Annabel finished despairingly.

  ‘What tommyrot! It’s entirely his own fault, and besides, James likes farming. Everyone will think he’s buzzed off to the wilds because Fenella jilted him.’ Unless he ended up on trial for manslaughter. ‘What about Geoffrey? Will meeting him upset you?’

  Hesitating, Annabel studied her hands as she answered. ‘I ought to thank him, but he’s confined to his room too. Henry’s grateful to him for standing up for me, but he’s also angry about the brawl in the drawing-room.’

  ‘It certainly wasn’t a display of what my governess used to call drawing-room manners!’ Daisy wondered whether Annabel was embarrassed because she knew Geoffrey was in love with her. Yet she hadn’t talked of ruining his life. Was Lord Wentwater aware that his son was in love with his wife? Another ghastly situation, but fortunately not one Daisy felt called upon to deal with. ‘Come on, I could do with coffee and a biscuit. I’ve been working hard this morning.’

  Annabel managed a smile as she stood up. ‘I miss my work. In Italy I used to arrange things for English people who came to stay in the area – you know, hiring servants and interpreting and so on. That’s how I met Henry.’ She stopped by the dressing-table and peered at herself in the mirror. ‘Oh Lord, I can’t go down with my eyes like this. The cold water didn’t do any good.’

  ‘They’re not as bad as they were when I came in. It’s the contrast with your pale cheeks. Try a bit of rouge.’

  ‘I’m not very good at it. I hardly ever bother with anything but powder.’

  ‘Nor do I, because I always look frightfully healthy. I’ve always wanted to be pale and interesting like you. But I’ve watched Lucy put on rouge and she always looks marvellous. Shall I give it a go?’

  ‘Please do.’

  Daisy’s efforts met with her own and Annabel’s approval. ‘Now lipstick,’ she said. ‘There. Your eyes aren’t at all noticeable now.’

  They both powdered their noses and went down to the morning-room. The elderly spaniel, who seemed to live there, ambled over to greet Annabel. Wilfred, nobly entertaining his aunt with the latest gossip from the theatrical world, stood up.

  ‘Good morning, Daisy. Good morning . . . er . . . Mother.’ He turned pink and gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘I feel like a dashed idiot . . . ’

  ‘Please, call me Annabel.’ She blinked hard and bit her lip, fondling the dog’s head. Afraid she was going to burst into tears again at Wilfred’s touching gesture, Daisy squeezed her hand.

  ‘The gov’nor wouldn’t like it,’ Wilfred objected diffidently, smoothing his hair with a nervous hand.

  ‘Never mind that. I’ll talk to him. Please?’

  ‘Right-oh, Annabel.’

  ‘That’s better,’ said Lady Josephine, her plump face benevolent. ‘It’s so very awkward when no one knows what to call anyone. You modern young things are delightfully casual about proper forms of address. In my youth it was unthinkable for any gentleman to address a lady other than his sister or wife by her Christian name.’

  She chattered on as the morning coffee was brought in and Lord Wentwater and Sir Hugh joined them. Phillip and Fenella came too. Coffee was poured, cakes and biscuits passed around, polite small talk exchanged, just as if Lord Stephen had not drowned and James had not disgraced himself. The only reminder of recent e
vents came when Phillip grumbled to Daisy, in a hushed mutter, because the Chief Inspector had not yet returned.

  He moved on to a lengthy story about his car, an elderly Swift two-seater which, Daisy gathered, he kept running with spit and string. It was a pity his noble antecedents ruled out employment as a motor mechanic, she was thinking, when Marjorie came in. Soberly dressed, the scarlet lipstick missing, her wan, hollow-eyed presence was a sudden reminder of unpleasant reality. A momentary silence fell.

  Wilfred broke it. ‘Feeling better, old bean’ I’ll get you some coffee.’

  ‘Thanks, Will,’ she said gratefully as the buzz of conversation resumed.

  Lord Wentwater crossed to her and took both her hands. They spoke to each other in low voices, Marjorie nodding once or twice, assuring her father she was recovered, Daisy assumed. Wilfred took her a cup of coffee. The earl put his arm about her shoulders in a brief embrace before he left them, going to Annabel.

  Daisy heard him say, ‘I have work to do, my dear,’ as he stooped to kiss her cheek. She gazed after him with a look of devoted gratitude mixed with a yearning in which Daisy read something of hope – and something of dread.

  Before Daisy had a chance to ponder Annabel’s curious expression, Marjorie approached.

  ‘Phillip, if you don’t mind, I’d like a word with Daisy.’

  He sprang to his feet with gentlemanly alacrity and took himself off. Marjorie sat down in his place, then seemed to lose steam.

  ‘I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to come down,’ Daisy said in an enquiring tone.

  ‘I’ve been the most frightful fathead!’ Marjorie’s exclamation was a masterpiece of suppressed violence. ‘Poor Daddy, watching me make an ass of myself when he has so much else to worry him. But even worse . . . Daisy, you’re chummy with Annabel – my stepmother – aren’t you?’