Gunpowder Plot (16 page)

“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.”

Again, that indefinable expression— dismay? distaste?— flitted across her face, as when Daisy had offered to take notes. Searching pockets and reading private letters— the unacceptable side of police work was intruding on her kindly efforts to treat Alec as the acceptable husband of her daughter’s school friend. She said nothing.

Alec could think of no way to soften what he had to tell her. “The letters appear to have been written by Mrs. Gooch. She claims to be Mr. Tyndall’s— Jack’s— natural mother.”

Lady Tyndall’s face went completely blank. Then, with an obvious effort, but gently, without anger, she said, “Why on earth should she do such a thing? The poor woman must have been delusional. Jack is my son.”

17

C
hilly,” observed Wookleigh. “Bit of a breeze come up. Morning, Mrs. Yarborough. Don’t let us disturb you, ladies,” he continued apologetically. “It’s time I was getting along.”

“Won’t you stay for lunch, Sir Nigel?” asked Babs, her invitation extended with more propriety than enthusiasm.

“That’s kind of you, Miss Tyndall, but you won’t want an unexpected guest on a day like this. I just stopped in for a word with Fletcher, but he’s obviously up to his ears in his investigation. Mrs. Fletcher, please tell him to telephone if there’s anything I or my force can do to help. And not a word to your revered mama, eh? Miller, my dear chap, it’s been enlightening talking to you.” He shook hands with the engineer. “I might take you up on your offer one of these days. Good day to you all.”

He bowed, and Babs escorted him towards the door to the entrance hall. Daisy wondered whether she ought to suggest he leave by the French doors so as not to disturb Alec. Indecisive, she drifted after the pair. After exchanging a frigid “Good morning,” Adelaide and Miller followed.

At the door, Babs turned back. “I suppose you’d better lunch here, Addie,” she said.

Daisy continued into the hall behind the chief constable. As Babs, Adelaide, and Miller followed her, Alec glanced up, his dark brows lowering in annoyance at the interruption. Lady Tyndall summoned up a faint smile for Sir Nigel, who went to her to present his mingled apologies and condolences.

A voice from the stairs drew everyone’s attention. “He needs full-time care, of course,” said the doctor to Gwen as they reached the bottom. “I’ll send day and night nurses.”

Lady Tyndall stood up, steadying herself with a hand on the back of a chair. “Yes, Dr. Prentice, please do,” she said firmly. “The best possible.”

He came over. “And you, Lady Tyndall, are not to sit up with him. Take care of yourself, or we’ll have you laid up, too.” He turned to Alec. “Chief Inspector? I must speak to you. You’ll want a report of my findings last night.”

“Yes—”

“I’m first,” Addie declared.

“Dr. Prentice must be anxious to return to his patients. Detective Sergeant Tring will take your statement, Mrs. Yarborough.”

“A sergeant!” Addie was outraged.

“Adelaide,” her mother said sharply, “you forget yourself. Kindly remember why Mr. Fletcher is here. You are to comply with his requirements without a fuss.”

“Bravo, Mother,” said Babs in an undertone.

A modest cough from the direction of the door to the passage turned every head that way. PC Blount blushed and saluted. “I come as soon as I could, sir,” he said to Alec.

Even more like Piccadilly Circus than the far end of the drive, thought Daisy. Who would turn up next?

Alec looked a fraction of a degree less harassed. “Thank you, Constable. Go upstairs and relieve DC Piper, please. He’ll explain.”

“I’ll show you the way, Blount,” Gwen offered. “I must have accommodations prepared for the nurses. Then I’ll sit with him until they arrive.”

“Who would that be, miss?” Blount enquired, mystified, as he tramped after her to the stairs. “Nurses?”

“I must get back to work,” said Babs, “if you can spare me, Mr. Fletcher.”

“For the moment, yes, as long as you’re not going to be too far from the house. Let me know, please, if you intend to go as far as the village, or farther.”

“Right-oh.” She went out with Sir Nigel.

“I should like a little fresh air before luncheon,” said Lady Tyn-dall. “Daisy, would you care to walk with me? We might see if there are any flowers to be cut for the table.”

Daisy had already set out for one morning walk that day, only for it to end in catastrophe. She reminded herself that she had actually walked only one way, though the trip back to the house in Struwwelpeter’s car had been anything but restful. Besides, her kind hostess ought to have someone with her, and all her daughters were otherwise occupied. If Lady Tyndall should happen to want to talk about Mrs. Gooch’s letter, so much the better.

“Do let’s,” she said. “It’s jolly cold outside, though. You’d better wrap up well.”

She was still wearing her outdoor clothes. Lady Tyndall went to the cloakroom and emerged bundled up in hat, gloves, scarf, and a long dark grey woollen cape trimmed with green.

“Gosh, that looks warm,” said Daisy.

“It is, and fairly waterproof, too, though it gets rather heavy when it’s wet. It’s Tyrolean.
Lodenmantel,
they call it. I’ve had it over twenty years, well before the Germans and Austrians became our enemies, but I didn’t wear it during the War.”

“It looks good for another twenty.”

They went out through the drawing room, leaving Miller looking rather lost, Adelaide sulking on a sofa, and Alec and the doctor in close confab at a discreet distance from both.

From the north end of the terrace, a stone-paved path led into a shrubbery of evergreens, ilex, yew, and laurustinus.

“Rather gloomy at this time of year.” Lady Tyndall apologized.

“The holly and yew berries brighten it up a bit, and it’s sheltered from the breeze.”

“It’s pleasantly shady in the summer. I love to walk here on hot days.” She continued to utter polite nothings, but her mind, unsurprisingly, seemed elsewhere. Why had she invited Daisy to go with her unless she really wanted to talk about the calamities afflicting her family? Perhaps she simply didn’t know how to begin.

Daisy, bursting with questions, tried in vain to think of a tactful way to broach the subject of Jack’s parentage.

A side path took them to a well-concealed potting shed, its weathered wooden walls and lichened slate roof blending into the bushes.

“I’ll just fetch a trug and secateurs.” Lady Tyndall lifted the latch and went in. Daisy stood in the doorway.

The shed contained the usual clutter of garden implements— clay pots, watering cans, bottles of turps and linseed oil, balls of twine, old sacks, a stepladder, bamboo plant stakes, a scythe hanging from a high hook, and a still higher shelf with rusty tins and dusty jars of poisons equally fatal to insects and humans.

“I simply can’t persuade Biddle to keep it tidy. Of course, the poor man has far too much to do these days with just a boy to help. But my flower things belong in this corner— yes, here they are.”

She tucked the secateurs into one of the
Lodenmantel
’s capacious pockets. Daisy took the shallow reed basket and followed Lady Tyn-dall past the shed. The shrubbery opened out into a sheltered vegetable garden with several beds dedicated to cutting flowers for the house. Not much was in bloom at this season, but they managed to fill the trug with Michaelmas daisies, calendulas, and greenery.

“That will do for now. The Chinese lanterns are ready to cut for drying, but they can wait.” She turned towards the path, saying in a detached tone, “Isn’t it odd. Everything is . . . falling apart, yet one carries on doing the little, everyday things, as if they still mattered. Did your husband tell you about the letter from that woman?”

“Gosh no, Alec wouldn’t tell me something like that. But I happened to be there when Jack opened it, and I know what she wrote.”

“It’s nonsense. Jack doesn’t believe it, does he? He mustn’t! He’s my son, the best son any mother could ask for.”

“He said he absolutely couldn’t believe it.”

“Thank heaven! He must have been hurt and bewildered, though. I thought he seemed distressed when I came downstairs. I should have stayed with him.”

“He was very anxious that you should not be distressed. He hoped Alec wouldn’t have to tell you about the letter, but it’s part of the investigation. He couldn’t keep it from you.”

“Part of the investigation?” Lady Tyndall looked shocked. “Oh, surely not.”

Daisy decided it was inadvisable to point out that Mrs. Gooch’s claim must somehow explain her meeting with Sir Harold. “Well, let me put it this way: Alec has to treat it as if it’s part of the investigation. That’s his job.”

“I suppose so. But does he believe what it says? Your husband?”

“He wouldn’t tell me if he’d made up his mind, but I’d be surprised if he’s not keeping an open mind about it. That’s also part of his job.”

“Oh dear, just when one thinks things can’t possibly get any worse, some new horror raises its head. Is it true that my grandsons caused Mr. Gooch’s accident?”

“I’m afraid it seems very likely.”

Lady Tyndall fell silent. They entered the house by a back door and thence into a small whitewashed scullery with a stone sink. Daisy set the trug on the slate draining board. Lady Tyndall opened a cupboard and surveyed the several shelves of vases. She selected a tall one, green porcelain, for the Michaelmas daisies, and reached for a step stool.

“Let me help,” Daisy offered.

“That’s all right, dear, I always do the flowers myself.” She stepped up on the stool and took down a pair of smaller vases from a higher shelf. “I find it soothing, and I have a great deal to think about.”

Daisy accepted this gentle dismissal. “I’ll leave you in peace, then.”

At the door, she glanced back. The big vase was in the sink, filling with water, while Lady Tyndall stripped and snipped the stems of the Michaelmas daisies. Though she seemed completely intent on her task, the slump of her thin shoulders looked less like weariness than utter defeat.

What must it be like to have doubt cast on the legitimacy of one’s beloved son? Mrs. Gooch’s letter had made a strong impression on Daisy, but after due consideration, she couldn’t believe it was true.

Things had changed since the days of the Warming-Pan Plot, when people believed the Old Pretender, as a baby, had been smuggled into queen’s bed to provide James II with an heir. Even the king hadn’t been able to suppress the rumours.

Sir Harold couldn’t possibly have introduced his love child into Edge Manor with only his wife’s knowledge. The notion was preposterous. For a start, why would Lady Tyndall have agreed to the deception? But supposing he had persuaded her, too many people would have had to be in the secret: doctor, midwife, monthly nurse, vicar, registrar, lady’s maid, and other servants— and what the servants knew, the village knew.

If Sir Harold had actually pulled it off, though, the arrival of the Gooches had set off an explosion greater than anything Babs’s boys had so far accomplished. Like a Catherine wheel throwing off glittering sparks, Daisy’s brain whirled with multiplying motives.

At the luciferous centre, one fact stood out: Jack had by far the most to lose from a revelation of his illegitimacy.

But it couldn’t be true!

“Prognosis?” Alec asked.

“I believe he’ll live,” Dr. Prentice told him, “but severe head injuries are the very devil to predict. He may have permanent brain damage. He may not be able to speak.”

“Or write?”

“Or write. But he may recover fully, soon, or in time.”

“Poor chap! All right, what about your examination of the murder victims?”

Prentice’s brief oral report confirmed Tom’s, Alec’s, and the police surgeon’s conclusions. Tucking the written report into his pocket, Alec said, “Thank you, Doctor, that’s admirably clear. If you should ever want a position as police surgeon, I’d be happy to recommend you. You realize, I’m sure, this is as confidential as your relations with your patients.”

“Of course.”

“And what I have to ask you now is equally confidential. Am I right in assuming you were not in practice in this area twenty-one years ago?”

“Nor anywhere,” Prentice agreed with a touch of amusement. “I would guess we are much of an age, you and I.”

“I don’t suppose you can put me in touch with your predecessor?”

“Unless you believe in table turning, no. I bought the practice on Dr. Gunnicott’s death. But my attic is full of his records. Apparently he never discarded anything. I haven’t found time to go through any but the most recent of those applicable to patients I took over, and I hate to throw them out wholesale.”

“Good! I’ll send DC Piper to go through them.”

“Just a minute, Chief Inspector. It was you who brought up the subject of patient confidentiality.”

Alec grinned. “Oh well, it’s always worth a try, to save time. You live in Gloucestershire?”

“In Chipping Campden, just up the road.”

“Then Dryden-Jones will no doubt be delighted to make himself useful in obtaining a warrant.”

“Send your man with a warrant and he may ransack my attic to his heart’s content.”

They shook hands cordially, and Prentice went to the telephone cubby under the stairs to ring up a nursing agency.

While they were talking, Piper had come down from Gooch’s room. Alec quickly brought him up-to-date, then sent him after the doctor. As soon as the line was free, he was to go to the telephone in the butler’s pantry to start the process of applying for a search warrant, and then to get in touch with the county officers in charge of questioning all last night’s guests.

Adelaide Yarborough and Martin Miller were both still hanging about in the hall, not speaking to each other. She sat flipping through a copy of
Vogue;
he stood staring out of a window. When Piper left, they converged on Alec.

The engineer reached him first. “I don’t think I’m doing a lot of good staying—”

“Mr. Fletcher,” Mrs. Yarborough interrupted impatiently, “how much longer do you expect me to wait? I do have more important things to do with my time, you know.”

Miller stared at her with undisguised astonishment.

Alec raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? More important than helping us discover who killed your father?”

“I can’t honestly see that it matters who did it. That stupid Australian, I expect. The fact is, Father’s gone, so there’s no chance now of Reggie inheriting more than a paltry amount. I don’t see how Babs expects me to send them away to a good school when I’ve got hardly anything to live on as it is. Jack will have to pay the fees.”

Alec wondered who would be the residuary legatee if Jack were convicted of his father’s murder (and his mother’s?). He ought to have asked the solicitor. Whoever, he or she would undoubtedly have to deal with the young malefactors. If Prentice was mistaken and Gooch died, the police would be drawn into the matter, though Alec doubted there was a provable case against the boys.