Gunpowder Plot

by Carola Dunn

  Jack was recovering his composure and beginning to think. “Another thing I don’t understand is why Gooch had the letter on him. Why didn’t Mrs. Gooch give it to me when she arrived? I talked to her, to both of them, for several minutes. Do you suppose he’d just found out what she’d written and took it away from her?”

  “Did they behave as if that was the case?”

  “No, not really. He was a bit glum. I assumed he wasn’t frightfully comfortable hobnobbing with the nobs, so to speak. She was in high spirits, not at all as if he’d given her a wigging. Of course, if he’d taken the letter, she could have simply told me what she’d written. But why didn’t she?”

  “What would you have done if she had made such a claim to you immediately?”

  “Oh Lord, I suppose I would have gone into a blue funk, as I did just now, only right in the middle of the party. You must think I’m a hopeless chump.”

  “It must be a tremendous shock to find out suddenly that you’re illegitimate.”

  “Yes. But is it wishful thinking to say I absolutely can’t believe it? I mean, surely one must have some inkling if one has been adopted. For twenty-one years I’ve been part of this family. I’ve never felt like an ugly duckling, a cuckoo in the nest. Not a soul has ever hinted that I don’t belong. My sisters always teased me that I was Mother’s pet and Father goes . . . used to go on and on about how I’d be the next baronet in a long line descending from father to son. I shan’t be if it’s true, shall I?”

  “I believe not. The law does not recognize adoption.”

  “Not that I care for such fuddy-duddy rubbish. It’s not so important nowadays, is it, and anyway, I’m going to be an engineer. But the parents . . . No, it can’t be true. I liked Mrs. Gooch very much, but she couldn’t possibly be my mother. Why should she have written such stuff?”

  “Don’t you have any ideas? What’s your theory?”

  “Well, I suppose you’re wondering if it’s something criminal.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “I suppose it could conceivably have been a sort of threat in a roundabout way,” Jack said doubtfully, “suggesting she would tell people I was her son if Father didn’t pay her off. It could have been a terrific nuisance. But why write all that about Mr. Gooch having plenty of money? Besides, she wasn’t at all that sort of person, I’d swear to it. I say, Mr. Fletcher, do you think he actually wrote it?”

  Daisy looked up, startled. Alec had to admit, “I hadn’t considered that possibility.” Seeing Tom Tring reappear in the drawing room doorway, he added, “Unfortunately, he can’t be questioned.”

  “No, and even if he did write the letter, I feel dreadful about his accident. And I didn’t know. I wasn’t there to help!”

  “Where were you when it happened? Say for the last couple of hours?”

  “Miller and I were taking apart the fireworks apparatus.”

  Tom nodded, confirming that Miller had told the same story.

  “Down on the lowest terrace?” Much too far for a quick dash up to the far end of the drive to set off a rocket, and he couldn’t have known exactly when Gooch was going to leave.

  “Yes. It was just complicated enough to keep my mind off . . . things. I can’t believe this, any of it. It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you know. I mean, Father dead, Mrs. Gooch dead, let alone that she could be my mother!”

  “Jack, dearest!”

  “Mother!” Looking up at the stairs, Jack jumped up. “Jupiter!” he groaned. “Does she have to know?”

  “I’m afraid it can’t be helped.”

  Jack went towards the stairs, saying, “Mother, should you have come down? You’re not well.”

  “I’m never quite well, dearest, but I’m not an invalid.” Though she took Jack’s arm down the last few steps, Lady Tyndall didn’t appear to lean on it. Wraithlike in a charcoal grey costume that emphasized her frailty and the dark circles below her eyes, she glided across the floor in a way evocative of the Victorian ballrooms she must have adorned in her youth. No modern young woman accustomed to tennis, golf, and the tango could match that ethereal grace.

  Alec rose to meet her, and Daisy started to stand, but Lady Tyndall said warmly, “No, don’t get up, my dear. I’m so sorry such dreadful things have happened while you’ve been staying with us. I don’t remember much about last night, but the girls tell me you were a veritable tower of strength. I hope you haven’t suffered for your exertions.”

  “Not at all, Lady Tyndall, not that I did very much. Mostly ordered everyone else about.”

  “You were a great help.” She turned to Alec. “Mr. Fletcher, I’m afraid I wasn’t much help to you last night.”

  “It wasn’t to be expected, ma’am. But as you seem to be somewhat recovered, I do have a number of questions to ask you.”

  “Of course.” She sat down beside Daisy.

  “Mr. Tyndall, will you go with Sergeant Tring, please. Tell him again all you can recall about your dealings with the Gooches.”

  Jack hesitated, looking at his mother.

  “You’d be surprised, sir,” said Tom, his manner fatherly, “how much more you remember second time around.”

  “Daisy will stay with me, Jack, if Mr. Fletcher has no objection. She will be a support without hovering, as my children tend to.”

  “Certainly,” said Alec.

  Still reluctant, glancing back, Jack followed Tom through the door to the passage.

  “You won’t mind if I take notes, Lady Tyndall?” Daisy asked. “It’s a journalist’s habit, and it helps Alec keep things straight.”

  A spasm of indefinable emotion crossed Lady Tyndall’s face. Journalism might be a barely acceptable occupation for an aristocratic young lady, but helping the police question witnesses was not. Alec was glad Daisy was turning to a fresh page in her notebook and didn’t notice. Pencil poised, she looked expectantly at Alec.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me if I repeat myself, ma’am,” he said. “I haven’t got my notes from last night with me. I believe you said neither you nor—to your knowledge—Sir Harold had invited Mr. and Mrs. Gooch?”

  “How could we have? We had never heard of the Gooches. The children didn’t mention them. Indeed, neither Barbara nor Gwen could have done so without admitting to having visited the public house, which in my day no respectable unmarried lady would have dreamt of doing. Nor would Harold or I have dreamt of inviting people who happened to be staying at the local inn, not without a proper letter of introduction. My son invited them, an act of impulsive kindness and very like him.”

  “Did that annoy you?”

  “Frankly, I thought it a little bit thoughtless of him. They really didn’t fit in with our other guests. But he’s an adult and it was a family affair. He had a right to issue his own invitations. I’m afraid Harold was quite annoyed.” Lady Tyndall hesitated, visibly steeling herself. “Is it true . . . The girls tell me Harold didn’t kill himself after shooting the woman, that someone else shot them both?”

  “Such appears to be the case.”

  She gave a little sigh, perhaps of relief. Her husband was still dead, but at least he wasn’t guilty of both murder and felo-de-se. “It must have been a burglar. Harold often had money in the study, for servants’ wages and tradesmen’s bills and so on, and he paid them up there. Anyone could have known. And everyone knew we’d all be out on the terrace watching the fireworks, with all the doors unlocked. They wouldn’t have expected to find him there.”

  “Nor to find Mrs. Gooch. Suppose it was a burglar. That still leaves the question of why she was there with your husband, in the middle of his party. Have you any ideas on the subject, Lady Tyndall?”

  “None at all. If it hadn’t been Bonfire Night, she might have said something that captured his interest. He was subject to sudden enthusiasms, like having Daisy write about our Guy Fawkes celebration for an American magazine. I quite thought he’d be appalled when Gwen broached the possibility, but he was very keen, wasn’t he, Daisy?”


  “Very,” Daisy agreed with commendable brevity.

  “Did you see Sir Harold talking to Mrs. Gooch before the fireworks?” Alec asked Lady Tyndall. “Or to Mr. Gooch, come to that.”

  “Only to say ‘How do you do’ when they arrived. Our guests were spread out through this hall and the drawing room, and I was moving about, trying to have a few words with each of them.”

  “Did you speak to either of the Gooches?”

  “No, I’m afraid I missed quite a few people. I find entertaining quite exhausting these days.” She looked quite exhausted now.

  Just a couple more questions, Alec decided, then he’d cut it short. He could always come back to her later. “But you went out with the rest to watch the fireworks?”

  “Oh yes, Harold would have been most disappointed if I’d missed his show.”

  “Did you see him or speak to him on the terrace?”

  “No, I can’t say I did. I spoke to various people, of course, whomever I found myself beside. I doubt I can remember exactly. So many people, all muffled up against the cold, and the light was very variable.”

  “Did you—” Alec swung round as the front door opened to admit a young woman in a fur-trimmed coat, Cuban-heeled boots in the latest style, and rather too much makeup for a morning in the country.

  “Mother! Oh, hello, Daisy.” She eyed Alec with disfavour. “Mother, what’s going on? I’ve been waiting and waiting for someone to come and tell me. I telephoned, but Jennings refused to put me through or call anyone to the phone or tell me what’s happened. He said the house is all at sixes and sevens, and the line had to be kept clear for police business anyway. Are you Daisy’s policeman?”

  Having risen at her approach, Alec bowed.

  Her mother frowned at her. “This is Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, Adelaide. Mr. Fletcher, my daughter Mrs. Yarborough. Mrs. Stephen Yarborough.”

  “Well, I do think it’s too bad of you to tie up the telephone lines and not come and tell me all about it.” She seated herself with languid, practised grace. “Is it true my father’s dead?”

  Her bluntness made Lady Tyndall gasp.

  “Yes,” said Alec with equal bluntness, interested to observe Mrs. Yarborough’s reaction.

  She withdrew a wispy embroidered handkerchief from her coat pocket, applied it to her eyes, and burst into noisy and not entirely convincing sobs.

  “For pity’s sake, Adelaide,” said her mother sharply, “try for a little self-control.”

  The handkerchief was lowered just far enough to allow a resentful glance. Eye makeup unsmudged, Alec noted.

  “I can’t help but feel it more than the rest of you,” Mrs. Yarborough wailed. “Father was never angry with me the way he was—”

  “Not since you moved out at least!” Babs came down the stairs. “You just walked out whenever it looked as if a row was about to start. Addie, how can you carry on so? Hasn’t Mother enough to cope with without your melodramatics?”

  “Barbara, squabbling doesn’t help.”

  “No, sorry, Mother. However,” she added grimly, “I have an extremely serious matter to discuss with Addie. Let’s get out of Mr Fletcher’s way. Come along to the drawing room, Addie. Daisy, why don’t you come, too? You saw everything.”

  “You all pick on me,” Adelaide whined, but she followed Babs.

  Daisy looked at Alec. He nodded, so Daisy went with them. He wouldn’t trust her to report impartially on Gwen, but she had no particular ties to the elder sisters. He lost his note-taker, but on the other hand he didn’t want to distress Lady Tyndall with unnecessary witnesses to her reaction to the news of Mrs. Gooch’s letter. True or not, it was bound to upset her.

  Babs strode towards the drawing room. Adelaide, pouting, tittupped after her. Daisy brought up the rear, feeling like a sheepdog herding a recalcitrant ewe.

  She wasn’t sure what Alec wanted her to do, other than keep her eyes and ears open. Obviously he didn’t want Babs and Addie to find out yet about Mrs. Gooch’s extraordinary assertion, so she’d better try to keep them away from the hall until he was finished with Lady Tyndall.

  That shouldn’t be difficult. The usually impassive Babs was clearly spoiling for a fight, to judge by her stormy face as she turned to confront Adelaide. The two sisters glared at each other. They made an odd pair, Addie in her furs and silk stockings, Babs in well-worn work boots and breeches.

  Daisy sat down. She was the only witness to both the rocket attack on Gooch and the squib attack on the Triumph, with the subsequent capture of the culprits. However frightening it had been at the time, she intended to tell her story with dispassionate calm.

  She saw Sir Nigel and Miller pacing out on the terrace, deep in conversation. She hoped they would not come in too soon, forcing Babs and Addie to assume their company faces before Reggie’s and Adrian’s misdeeds had been thoroughly exposed.

  Addie put her word in first. “It’s not fair! I don’t even know what happened to Father.”

  “That’s because you skived off with the guests instead of sticking it out with the family.”

  “Mother Yarborough made me go. She said we had to take the children home and we’d only be in the way.”

  “She was quite right.”

  “Then stop ragging me. What is it? Why are the police still here?”

  “Because, sister dear, Father was murdered,” Babs said bluntly. “And so was Mrs. Gooch.”

  “Mrs. Gooch? Who’s—Murdered!” squealed Adelaide, dropping without her usual careful grace onto a sofa. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Believe what you want. That’s what the police say. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

  Given her ignorance of the day’s events, Addie’s protest was quite reasonable: “Father murdered and you want to talk about something else?”

  “Another murder. Or it will be if Mr. Gooch dies. And your boys are responsible.”

  “You’re always trying to blame Reggie and Adrian for everything!” Beneath her makeup, Addie’s face was blotchy with anger. “But murder—that’s going too far, Babs. How can you say such a dreadful thing about your own nephews?”

  Babs turned to Daisy. “Tell her.”

  “When Gwen fetched me from the station, the boys threw squibs at the car as we passed the trees by the gatekeeper’s cottage. Gwen caught them in the act. Then, today, Babs and I saw a rocket come out of those same trees as Mr. Gooch drove past. It startled him and he went off the road. He’s badly hurt.” Despite her determination to be matter-of-fact, Daisy’s voice wobbled a bit. “We couldn’t leave him to go chasing after the boys.”

  “You saw them?”

  “Not this time, but it was exactly the same as—”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t Reggie and Adrian. It must have been some louts from the village.”

  “Bosh!” Babs exclaimed. “The village lads are not louts. They work hard for a living. If they had any spare cash for fireworks, they wouldn’t waste them up here in broad daylight. Let alone shooting at motor-cars, as Reggie and Adrian are known to have done. You’re doing about as bad a job of raising those two as is conceivable.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Addie said sulkily. “You’re an old maid, you don’t understand.”

  “If I were lucky enough to have borne Frank’s children,” Babs retorted, her tone icy, heartbreak in her face, “I’d be bringing them up so that he’d be proud of them.” Unexpectedly, her voice softened. “Addie, can’t you see what a disservice you’re doing them? If they’re not taught to behave, they’ll spend their lives running from one disaster to the next. Do you want to see them end up in Borstal?”

  “Of course not. They’re only mischievous little boys, not criminals.”

  “If Gooch dies . . . If Father were alive, this couldn’t be kept from him, you know. He’d send them to the most disciplinarian school in the country. In fact, I’m sure that’s what Jack will do.”

  “Jack! It’s none of Jack’s business!”


  “Father was their trustee. I’m not absolutely certain, but I imagine that’s one thing Jack will have to take on as his heir.”

  “Poor Jack,” said Daisy involuntarily. “Sorry, none of my business.” Supposing Jack were really Mrs. Gooch’s son, perhaps he’d be able to escape responsibility for those two horrors. She felt she ought to mention the letter to Babs, if not to Addie, but Alec would undoubtedly be furious.

  The temptation was removed by the arrival of Wookleigh and Miller, coming in through the French doors from the terrace.

  Alec decided he needed to get down to brass tacks before anyone else walked in on his interview with Lady Tyndall. The entrance hall was the reverse of an ideal place to question a witness, but he didn’t want to exhaust her by moving elsewhere.

  Watching her daughters depart with Daisy, she said, “I’m afraid I can guess what Barbara has to say to Adelaide. Will my grandsons face legal sanctions for causing Mr. Gooch’s accident?”

  “Unlikely. Neither Miss Tyndall nor Daisy actually saw them. Even if I could spare men to search, any traces of their presence in that spinney could be from their previous exploits. The ground has been hard with frost for days.”

  “Jack will deal with them. He’s grown up these last few months. That’s what Harold refused to recognize. He never saw the boys’ mischief, either. They behaved in his presence, and I’m afraid we all held our tongues to avert yet another tantrum. Poor Mr. Gooch has suffered horribly for our cowardice.” Her pity and regret seemed quite sincere, despite the possibility that Gooch had killed both her husband and his own wife. “He must stay here until he’s quite well. We’ll hire nurses and pay Dr. Prentice’s fees, of course.”

  “Gooch appears to be well able to pay his own way. We found his wallet in his pocket. We also found a letter to Sir Harold, and another to your son.”