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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: Damsel in Distress
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“Take a damper, Petrie,” Alec advised him. “I'd already decided it was more or less pointless to contact my colleagues at this stage, and I wouldn't save my skin at the expense of Miss Arbuckle's, believe me. Not that I'm ungrateful for your
caveat
, Miss Fotheringay.”
“Lucy,” she murmured.
Alec smiled at her. Daisy could have kissed her. If Lucy unbent so far as to invite him to call her by her Christian name, it was a good omen for the Dowager Lady Dalrymple's eventual acceptance.
“Sorry,” said Phillip, abashed. His face was drawn, dark circles beneath his eyes. The hopes raised last night, only to be dashed, must have been harder to bear than his previous state of despondency.
He needed something to do, Daisy decided. “So it's all up to
us now,” she said. “Tommy and Madge have gone to follow Crawford …”
“Tommy! Dash it all, why not me? Why didn't you wake me?”
“We'll all have to take a turn, or he'll get suspicious of the same car always being behind him, don't you think, Alec?”
“Certainly,” Alec said promptly, continuing with his breakfast and leaving present matters to Daisy.
She knew, however, that he would not hesitate to jump in if he disagreed with her proposals. A husband who always knuckled under would be as bad as one who never let her use her own brains, she thought. “So you can relieve the Pearsons, Phil,” she said.
“I haven't got a car,” Phillip pointed out disconsolately.
“Binkie will lend you the Alvis,” Lucy promised. “Won't you, darling?” she added as Binkie came in.
“Right-ho. What?”
“Is that an interjection or a question, darling?”
“What will I do?” Binkie asked with a belated touch of trepidation.
“Lend Phil the Alvis.”
“Oh, right-ho! Why?”
“Because the kidnappers pinched the Swift,” Daisy reminded him, glaring the nascent grin off Alec's face. “Tommy and Madge have followed Crawford to Cowley. When they telephone, Phillip will take over the pursuit.”
“Oh, right-ho. Er, who's Crawford?”
Binkie had somehow been missed out of the general enlightenment. While Phillip, unmoved by doubt, explained that Crawford was the confounded ugly customer who had grabbed his girl, Daisy turned to Lucy.
“I don't think Phillip should go alone,” she said in an undertone. “The poor chump's bound to do something silly. Binkie had better go with him.”
“Binkie will never stop him. Besides, a mixed couple will look less suspicious than two men, don't you think? I'll go, unless you want to?”
“No!” Alec swallowed a mouthful. “Daisy's still rocky from last night. I'd take it as a favour if you'd go, Miss … Lucy.”
“I'm perfectly all right,” Daisy insisted. Battling the infuriating blush she felt rising in her cheeks, she went on, “But actually, if you don't mind going, Lucy, I'd rather like to take Alec to meet Mother later on. Unless there's something else you need to do, Alec?”
“Unfortunately, I can't think of a thing.” It was his turn to flush. “Unfortunately for Miss Arbuckle's sake,” he said hastily. “I'm looking forward to meeting Lady Dalrymple.”
Lucy laughed. “Daisy's mother doesn't actually bite,” she commiserated.
“No, but Geraldine jolly nearly does,” Daisy said guiltily. “I'm afraid I had to tell her and Edgar that you're a detective—and that we're all here at your request to provide cover for your investigation.”
“Great Scott!” Alec groaned. “You could at least have confessed that it's I who am embroiled in your affairs, not the reverse! Lord and Lady Dalrymple must think the police …”
“What's that?” Phillip demanded. “The Dalrymples know you're police?”
“I told them, Phil.”
“Hang it all, Daisy, the more people know, the more risk for Gloria!”
“I had to say something. Geraldine was on the verge of throwing us out after what she described as our ‘frolics' in the early hours of the morning.”
“They'd know who Alec is sooner or later,” Lucy said, “and they'd have been fearfully offended to have been kept in the dark earlier.”
“Why the deuce should they ever know?”
“Because Edgar's Daisy's cousin,” Lucy explained patiently, with a sly look at Daisy, “and when Alec joins the family they can hardly keep his profession secret.”
“Joins … ? Oh! It's come to that has it?” Phillip looked faintly disapproving. Daisy scowled at him.
“Should have guessed, old man,” said Binkie. “Invited Fletcher down to meet her mater and all that, what? Have to tell one's people first.”
“Actually,” Daisy fumed, suddenly unexpectedly near tears, “nothing's settled. Alec hasn't even proposed and after the m-mess we've landed him in, perhaps he never will.”
Alec reached for her hand. “This isn't quite how I'd envisaged it,” he said wryly, “but I can't leave you in suspense, my love. This isn't the first mess you've landed me in, and somehow I doubt that it will be the last. Will you marry me?”
“Oh, Alec!” The tears flowed then. He enfolded her in his arms.
The others tactfully disappeared. As the door closed behind them, Daisy was distantly aware of Binkie's plaintive voice: “But Lucy, I haven't had my breakfast!”
 
Madge telephoned. She and Tommy had followed Crawford all the way from the Abbey Hotel to the Morris factory. Tommy was sitting in a perfectly ghastly café opposite the works, drinking simply poisonous coffee and keeping an eye on the maroon two-seater, while she reported in. What next?
“I advised her to try the tea,” Alec told Daisy and Lucy, “to follow if he leaves, and otherwise to hang on until relieved. Bincombe and Petrie should be back soon.”
Phillip and Binkie came in a few minutes later.
“We tried three garages,” Phillip announced. “The nearest to the kidnap spot's a mile and a half away, and the others four or
five miles. They all swore they'd never been asked by an American to go searching the lanes for a Studebaker.”
“Not the sort of thing they'd forget, eh, what?” said Binkie.
“I hardly think so,” Alec agreed. “I can't see how even Arbuckle will be able to doubt now that Crawford's our man.”
“I'
ve just remembered,” Daisy said in dismay. “Crawford's met Phillip. What if he recognizes him?”
“Not likely.” Lucy adjusted the cloche to a jaunty angle on her smooth, dark head. “I won't let Phil get too close, and I'll see he keeps his hat on. With the Alvis's hood up he'll be practically invisible.”
“Having the hood up will look suspicious.”
“Hardly, darling, when it's drizzling.”
“Oh, is it?” Daisy looked out of Lucy's bedroom window. A light but steady rain was falling. Odd; for the past couple of hours she'd have sworn the sun shone. “That's lucky. Phillip really needs something to keep him busy.”
With quick, expert fingers, Lucy touched up her make-up. A last dab of powder on the nose and they went downstairs. The men were waiting in the front hall, Phillip twitching with impatience.
Alec smiled at Daisy but addressed Lucy. “I've asked Petrie to ring up at once if Mr. and Mrs. Pearson are gone when you reach Cowley. They'll be following Crawford, so don't waste time trying to find out if he's still there. Bincombe will stay within reach of the 'phone.”
“Hold the fort, darling.” Lucy kissed Binkie's cheek, then turned and kissed Daisy. “Good luck, darling. Cheerio. All right, Phillip, you can stop fidgeting. Let's go.”
Alec gave Binkie a few last-minute instructions about what to do in various contingencies. “Don't telephone the Dower House unless you absolutely have to,” he finished.
Binkie grinned and nodded. “Right-oh. Best of luck, old man.”
“Anyone would think Mother was an ogre,” Daisy said crossly as she and Alec went out under a shared umbrella to the Austin, brought round from the stable-yard by Bill Truscott. Everyone's good wishes had the perverse effect of making her more nervous than she already was. “She may be a bit difficult at times, but I've seen you cope with much worse.”
“And cope I shall,” he soothed her, opening the passenger door. She was grateful for his forbearance in not pointing out that she had never seen him dealing with a prospective mother-in-law.
He went round, got in beside her, and saying, “First things first,” he kissed her.
“First things” thoroughly accomplished, Daisy settled back in her seat with a satisfied sigh as Alec pressed the self-starter, engaged the gear, let off the brake, and started down the avenue.
“When we're married,” she said, just for the sake of saying the words, “will you teach me to drive?”
“I'm not sure it's a good idea for husbands to teach wives.”
“Binkie taught Lucy.”
“They're not married. We'd better not wait for the wedding. Daisy, are you quite sure your mother really invited me to lunch?”
Daisy melted at the evidence that he was nervous too. “Of course,” she assured him. “When I rang up to see if it was convenient for us to pop in today, she actually offered of her own accord.”
“She wants to vet my table manners,” he said with conviction, adding ruefully, “Fairacres is rather larger and more impressive than I'd expected.”
“There's nothing wrong with your table manners, dearest. Fairacres is a bit different from the house in Chelsea, isn't it? I dare say that's why it came as a shock.”
“What I don't understand is how you came to be penniless when your father owned so much. The house and land are entailed on the male heir, of course, but still …”
“It's because of Gervaise dying in the War. Father had always assumed he'd take care of me, you see, until I married or if I didn't marry. When he was killed, Father was too heartbroken to think about changing his will, and then he died in the 'flu epidemic before he got around to it.”
“I know how it took people by surprise,” Alec said softly “Joan left things undone. Dear love, you mustn't mind if I speak of Joan now and then. I love you differently, but just as much.”
“I don't mind. I know Belinda will need to talk about her mother. Alec, I have to tell you about …” She stopped as the car turned into the Dower House's short drive. “Oh, bother, here we are. It will have to wait.”
He put on the brake and turned to her, his grey eyes serious. “I hope you will always feel able to tell me absolutely anything.”
She squeezed his hand. “Oh, Alec, I do love you. No, don't kiss me. Mother wouldn't do anything so vulgar as peer through the window, but she might just happen to be standing by it. Alec, when Edgar inherited Fairacres, he offered me a home, and when I refused he offered to settle some money on me. I refused that, too, but I'll tell him I've changed my mind if you want me to.”
“Great Scott, no! I shall expect you to help support the family by writing, not by cadging off your relatives.”
Laughing from sheer lightness of heart, Daisy waved gaily to
the gardener, who was pulling the crop of weeds already springing up after the rain.
“You remember Owen Morgan, from Occles Hall?” she asked Alec. “If we need another man to help rescue Gloria, I'm sure he'd do it.”
“Not another one who finds an appeal from you irresistible?” Alec said indulgently. “Whatever it is in those guileless blue eyes that persuades people to jump through hoops for you, I hope you'll try it on your mother.”
“Mother's proof against it,” Daisy said with regret.
The Dowager Lady Dalrymple acknowledged her daughter's introduction of the undistinguished stranger with a haughty nod and a cool “How do you do.” But Daisy saw her eyes widen.
Fearing a penniless intellectual, a wealthy upstart, or even, heaven forbid, a foreigner, her ladyship obviously didn't know what to make of Alec. He was neither scruffy nor over-smartly dressed; his voice, while not Eton-and-Oxford, was accentless; he was, in fine, the very picture of a perfectly respectable gentleman.
Unfortunately, where a prospective son-in-law was concerned, respectability was a damning word. Lady Dalrymple had set her heart on nobility, or, at worst, the upper ranks of the landed gentry.
“Sherry, Mr. Fletcher,” offered her ladyship stiffly, “or do you prefer one of these modern cocktails? Cook has some gin, I believe.”
“Sherry, please, Lady Dalrymple,” Alec said, and bit his lip.
Catching his eye, Daisy was relieved to see he was biting back amusement, not chagrin.
“Alec prefers medium dry, like me, Mother,” she said. “Shall I pour? Sweet for you?”
“Thank you, dear. You are staying at the Wedge and Beetle,
I understand, Mr. Fletcher. I trust you find it comfortable?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven't tried it yet. I spent last night at Fairacres.”
“Indeed! Of course, Edgar and Geraldine have not yet quite found their feet in their new position.” The dowager's tone said clearly that she doubted they ever would, as evidenced by their inviting someone like Alec to stay.
Her mastery of the veiled insult had to be admired, but Daisy wasn't going to let her bully Alec. Not that he was exactly bullyable. He still looked amused, she noted, handing him his glass.
“Edgar and Geraldine seem to have settled in very nicely,” she said brightly.
Her mother sniffed, but she was not to be deflected from her primary target. Sitting down, and inviting Alec to do likewise, she said, “Who are your people, Mr. Fletcher? I don't believe I'm acquainted with anyone of that name.”
“My earliest ancestors of whom we have any record,” Alec expounded, “were medieval arrow-makers and bowmen. By the sixteenth century, the family took a literary turn. I regret to say we cannot claim John Fletcher, of Beaumont and Fletcher fame, but you have heard, perhaps, of Giles Fletcher the Elder? No? He was a poet and author of a book on Russia, and he passed on his gifts to his sons, Giles the Younger and Phineas, both noted poets and churchmen in their time. Giles's sermons were much admired, and Phineas's poems attacking the Jesuits were very well received, though for my part I prefer his delightful descriptions of rural scenery.”
Daisy felt almost as dazed as her mother looked. Continuing, Alec managed to appear to take pity on them.
“I shan't bore you with the next few centuries,” he said with a sweeping gesture which seemed to unjustly exclude swarms of distinguished forebears. “My father had no literary aspirations. His vocation lay in the world of finance.”
Mr. Fletcher the Elder had been the manager of a North London branch of the Westminster Bank, Daisy knew. Her suspicious glance at Alec was answered with the suspicion of a wink.
Thinking back over what he had said, she realized the “record” of his early ancestors could well be no more than the name itself. Nor had he actually claimed to be descended from the poetical Fletchers. Oh, the tortuous mind of a detective!
“Finance?” The dowager was at least slightly impressed. “You have followed in your father's footsteps?”
“No, I decided to dedicate my modest talents to the protection of society.”
“The Army?” Lady Dalrymple asked eagerly. The Army was a perfectly acceptable profession.
“The police,” Alec said blandly.
“Good gracious!” Aghast, Lady Dalrymple stared at him, apparently trying to picture him in a blue helmet, swinging a truncheon. “I must say, I'd never have guessed,” she admitted in a weak voice, looking daggers at Daisy.
“He's quite presentable for a bobby, isn't he?” Having thrown this provocation into the ring, Daisy decided her mother was ripe for the dénouement. “As a matter of fact, Alec is a Detective Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard.”
“Oh,
plain
-clothes!” The elimination of the awful prospect of a son-in-law in police uniform mollified her, just as Daisy had hoped. In comparison, a high-ranking detective was endurable. “
Chief
Inspector? Your father was on very good terms with the Chief Constable, Daisy. Colonel Sir Nigel Wookleigh, a charming man. Perhaps you know him, Mr. Fletcher?”
“Not yet, Lady Dalrymple, but I have every expectation of making his acquaintance very shortly.”
Since he didn't mention that he was going to have to explain to the Worcestershire C.C. why he had been operating on his patch without permission, the dowager was pleased. At least
her daughter's friend moved in the proper circles. The rest of the visit took place in an atmosphere of astonishing cordiality.
Daisy didn't go so far as to announce that she was engaged to Alec. It was better if Mother believed her approval had been sought in advance. They would break the news before returning to town on Sunday.
If
they returned on Sunday! Daisy's mind, otherwise occupied, had lost sight of the kidnapping and Gloria Arbuckle's plight. Remembering, she was anxious to get back to Fairacres, though Binkie would have telephoned if anything urgent had come up. She extricated Alec from her mother's laments over the parlous state of the world and left her grumbling about the shortness of their visit.
“We could have stayed a little longer,” Alec protested mildly as they drove off. “It seems a pity to have upset her when we were getting along swimmingly.”
“You did charm her, darling! But in just another few minutes she'd have found cause for complaint in our staying too long. I'd rather she had too little of us than too much. Besides, I'm simply dying to find out whether Phillip and Lucy have picked up Crawford's trail.”
 
Phillip peered through the rain-smeared windscreen at the dingy building: ERT'S CAFE said the sign painted on the steamed-up windows.
“Surely this can't be the place?” he said uncertainly.
Lucy sighed. “I'm afraid it must be, old thing. It's right opposite the factory entrance, it only needs a ‘B' to make it ‘Bert's,' and it looks as if it serves poisonous coffee. And there's the Lagonda, down that alley. Bite the bullet, hold your nose, let's go.”
Jamming his hat down further on his forehead, Phillip stepped out into the drizzle. In the forecourt of the Morris factory, behind the wire fence, he saw a maroon A.C. Six.
He ducked his head back into the Alvis. “Crawford's still here,” he hissed.
Lucy stopped powdering her nose for long enough to say, “I should jolly well hope so, or Madge and Tommy really botched it.”
Opening his umbrella, Phillip went round the pointed, “duck's back” rear of the polished aluminium two-seater and opened the door for her. In her smart, high-heeled strap shoes Lucy perched on the running board, gazing down with dismay at the muddy puddles between her and the café.
“Perhaps I'll just wait here.”
“He may stay for hours yet. Do come along.”
She sighed again, cautiously stepped down, and picked her way to the door. As Phillip opened it, a hot, moist blast of air saturated with stale grease and cigarette smoke hit them.

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