Gunpowder Plot (17 page)

Mrs. Yarborough started to fidget under Alec’s icy gaze. “How much longer?” she repeated.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, to escort you to Sergeant Tring.”

“There’s no one else here. I haven’t anything to tell you, but I don’t see why you can’t interview me yourself.”

“I have more important things to do with my time.” A police officer ought not to resort to frivolous sarcasm, however true, but Mrs. Yarborough didn’t seem to recognize the echo of her own words. She was cross but not offended. Turning to Miller, however, Alec surprised a quickly hidden grin. He ignored it, beckoning the engineer aside. “I think you’re wrong,” he said. “You may be at a loose end just now, but I think your presence will be a comfort and support to more than one of the family.”

Miller gave him a probing look. “Does this mean I’m no longer under suspicion?”

“I wouldn’t go quite so far as that. But new information has come to light which changes the entire tenor of this enquiry. I can’t justify telling you about it, but if young Tyndall chooses to confide in you, I have no objection.”

“Does this mysterious information tend to implicate him?”

“Not exactly. I can only say that his position is precarious.”

“I shan’t advise him to confess,” Miller said bluntly.

Maybe not, though Alec suspected the engineer was a conventional, law-abiding soul. If Jack confided anything suggesting guilt, whatever advice Miller gave, the relationship between the two was bound to change. Alec might learn a lot simply by observing them.

“I shouldn’t dream of asking you to do so,” he said. “My hope is that your common sense will prevent his doing anything foolish. You’ll stay?”

“For the present.”

“Good. Mrs. Yarborough, come with me, please.”

In the passage, they found the ancient butler perched on a stool outside the door to his pantry.

“Young whippersnapper,” he muttered resentfully, “has to use my telephone, says he, in private, says he. What’s a man to do when a whippersnapper of a policeman can turf him unceremonious out of the place that’s his by right?”

“Oh, do stop fussing, Jennings,” snapped Mrs. Yarborough. “It’s not as if he’s going to pinch the silver. Nor as if you were doing anything useful in there, or have for a hundred years.”

Dignity injured, the butler drew himself up as straight as his bent back allowed. “I do my best, Miss Adelaide, and it’s not for you to criticize if others are satisfied.”

Alec forestalled Mrs. Yarborough’s retort. “Mr. Jennings, I’m Chief Inspector Fletcher. I’m sorry my man has disturbed you, but I’m afraid it’s unavoidable.” He kept his tone more incisive than apologetic. “I’d like a few words with you, in a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll be here,” Jennings said morosely.

In general, Tom Tring got along almost as well with butlers as with female servants, but the old man might respond better to authority than chumminess. If he really had a secret to tell, maybe Alec could extract it from him.

Mrs. Yarborough proceeded towards the billiard room, her stiff back expressive of her outrage that the Chief Inspector chose to question the butler rather than herself.

As she and Alec entered the room, Tom Tring and Jack Tyndall looked around and rose from their seats at the gun table. Light gleamed on Tom’s shining dome as he gave Alec a barely perceptible shake of the head: Jack had revealed nothing new, or at least nothing useful.

Jack jumped up. “Mr. Fletcher, where’s my mother?”

“She went out to get some fresh air. And to pick some flowers, I gathered.”

“To pick flowers?” Jack was stunned. “You told her everything?”

“Just a moment, Mr. Tyndall, please. Mrs. Yarborough, Detective Sergeant Tring has a few questions for you. Mrs. Yarborough was Miss Adelaide Tyndall, Sergeant.”

“Do sit down, madam,” offered Tom in his best fatherly manner. “I’m sure this won’t take long.”

Alec took Jack through the other door into the dining room, where the table was already laid for luncheon. Fortunately no one was there. “Lady Tyndall knows about the letter and its contents,” he said, “though she hasn’t actually read it. She denied Mrs. Gooch’s claim, as no doubt she will tell you.”

“I knew it couldn’t be true! But Mother must have been upset, all the same.”

“She was distressed, more on your account than her own. We were interrupted before we could discuss it, but I believe she wanted time to reflect before speaking to you about it.” Alec suppressed the fact that her ladyship had invited Daisy to go with her.

“Ought I to go after her?”

“Best let her decide when she’s ready.”

“Yes, of course.” Jack paused, then continued with dread in his voice. “I say, sir, you don’t think she’s denying it to protect me?”

“From what?”

“From the knowledge that I’m illegitimate? From suspicion of having killed my . . . my natural mother to protect the secret?”

“I have no idea. Do you feel in need of protection?”

“From the knowledge, no. If it’s true, it has to be faced. But obviously it must look awfully fishy to the police. To you.”

“It’s not a possibility we can ignore. Did you shoot her?”

“No! Nor my father.”

“Then I shouldn’t worry. We generally get the right person in the end. We’ll get there faster if you tell us everything, without reservation.”

“I have, everything I can remember and more than I ever thought I could remember. Sergeant Tring’s pretty good, isn’t he? Looking at him, you wouldn’t think he’s so sharp. But obviously you can’t take my word for it. I can’t believe this is happening! I suppose my sisters will have to know. Is it cowardly not to want to tell them myself?”

“Not at all.”

“But I have to talk to
some
one.”

“How about Mr. Miller? He has a good head on his shoulders, and an outsider’s perspective. And I’d say he’s far less interested in your birth than your engineering ability.”

As Alec had rather expected, Jack clung to the thought of Miller as a point of sanity in a world gone insane. Watching the lad go off in search of his friend, some of the resilience of youth restored to his bearing, Alec chided himself for feeling so much sympathy for his chief suspect. Was Jack Tyndall an innocent caught up in a nightmare, or a patricide, a matricide, and a superb actor?

Daisy said he had kept his engineering studies secret from his family for a couple of years, leading his father to believe he was indulging in the frivolities expected of aristocratic undergrads at Oxford and Cambridge. That must have taken some acting ability. The heir to Edge Manor remained at the top of Alec’s list.

18

W
ith the help of a chance-met maid, Daisy found her way from the flower room to the main hall. As she entered, she saw Jack and Miller leaving through the door to the drawing room. Going to finish off dismantling the fireworks apparatus, she thought. How long ago the Guy Fawkes celebration seemed!

She nearly called out to them, but stopped herself just in time. She didn’t know whether Miller had heard about Mrs. Gooch’s letter; she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know about it; and anyway, she wasn’t at all sure what to say to Jack next time they met. Not that she cared who his mother was. It wasn’t his fault if his father had had an affair with a young woman from Evesham, twenty-one years ago.

Nearer twenty-two.
Someone
must know whether Lady Tyndall had been pregnant or not.

As though in response to the thought, the baby turned head over heels inside her. “It’s all right,” she said soothingly, patting her bulge.“It’s nearly lunchtime. I expect you’re as ravenous as I am. Somehow we missed elevenses.”

Still a bit chilled from her tramp around the gardens with Lady Tyndall, Daisy subsided into a chair by the fire. She stretched out hands and feet towards the flickering flames, then quickly assumed a more ladylike posture when Adelaide came in from the passage.

“Oh, Daisy.” Addie didn’t sound pleased to see her but came to sit down. “I do think your husband is the pink limit, foisting me off on that sergeant while he talked to Jennings.”

“I’m sure he had a good reason.”

“I can’t imagine what Jennings could tell him. He never does a stroke of work, hardly ever leaves his pantry. He should have been pensioned off twenty years ago.”

“He’s worked here that long?”

“As long as I can remember.”

“How far back can you remember?”

“When I was five or six, I suppose. I remember the first time I joined in lessons with Babs. We had a perfectly foul German governess. I wasn’t a bit surprised when we went to war with Germany.”

“So you don’t remember Gwen being born.”

“Of course not. If I remembered that far back, it would be her suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Children weren’t allowed to know about pregnancies.”

“True,” Daisy agreed with an inward sigh. She should have realized it was no use expecting Jack’s sisters to know anything about his birth. After all, she hadn’t told her eleven-year-old stepdaughter she was pregnant. Belinda had found out for herself.

“I suppose you want to talk about pregnancy and childbirth and all that,” said Adelaide. She didn’t utter the words but her tone said,
What a crashing bore!

“No, actually, I’d much rather talk about food. Are you staying to lunch?”

“I suppose I might as well.”

“The butler may not be up to much, but the cook is jolly good. Has she been here long?”

“Several years. The previous cook was a man and he got called up. From what I’ve heard of army food, cooking it must have come as a nasty shock to him after Edge Manor. Father offered to take him back when he was demobbed, but he found a job in a London restaurant. Servants are so disloyal nowadays.”

Once started on this theme, Addie was easily kept going. By the time the gong rang for lunch, Daisy had learnt that Jennings was the only member of the manor’s staff who had worked here at the time of Jack’s birth.

Whether the doddering old man had any recollection of the circumstances was another matter.

“Tom, you have my deepest sympathy,” Alec declared, entering the billiard room.

“That’s nice, Chief. What for?”

“For having had to question the butler.”

“Ah.” Tom grinned. “Selective deafness.”

“Selective senility! As you said, he thinks he has a secret. It may be entirely in his imagination, or he may have forgotten what it is. In any case, I would hesitate to rely on anything he says, if he ever says anything. He’s a perverse old curmudgeon and who knows what goes on in his head.”

“Who knows what goes on in any of their heads. Young Mr. Tyn-dall, f’r instance. Horrified by what’s happened; helpful as you please; don’t care about the title, nor the money, much; shocked and incredulous over the letter; worried about its effect on his ma, and the rest of the family if rumour gets about. Nice lad, butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but he’s got means, opportunity, and the best motive I’ve seen in a long while. Motives, if the letter’s true.”

Alec asked the question that was topmost in his mind: “You think he’s a good actor?”

“Ah!” Tom ruminated. “Seems to me, if you’ve got a father with a short fuse like that, unless you’re a saint or you actually enjoy bran-gling, you’d grow up spending a lot of effort keeping things from him.”

“Yes, they all seem to have gone to great lengths to cover up the Yarborough boys’ misdeeds, just for the sake of peace and quiet. I imagine that’s fairly typical.”

“Hardened deceivers, the lot of them, you reckon?”

“That’s putting it rather strongly. You didn’t get anything useful out of Tyndall.”

“Not a thing. He remembered a few more details of this and that, but nothing to help us. As for that Mrs. Yarborough, a more self-centred creature I hope I never meet. Just about all she can remember of last night is how many compliments she got on her frock, how her brother wrongfully accused her sons of stealing rockets, and how she was forced to help act as hostess though she’s no longer a member of this household.”

“For which they must all breathe frequent sighs of relief. All right, let me see your notes on the interviews with her, Tyndall, and the servants. Here’s mine on the second half of Lady Tyndall’s. I can tell you what was said before, but Daisy has the verbatim notes, in her indecipherable shorthand. She’ll type them up after lunch.”

As if the mention of lunch had summoned them, two maids came in with trays. Miss Gwendolyn had invited Alec to join the family in the dining room, but he had far too much to discuss with his men. Besides, sitting down to eat with a group of suspects was always uncomfortable, though he’d had to do it more than once. Usually because Daisy was a guest of the suspects, come to think of it.

“Ah, hot soup,” said Tom, rubbing his hands together. In spite of the fire Gwen had had made up for them, the room was chilly. “And very welcome, too.”

The girls both beamed, and one of them giggled. “There’s cold meat for after, Mr. Tring. Miss Gwen said you wouldn’t want us popping in and out, disturbing you. And apple charlotte.”

The other nudged her. “For three.”

“DC Piper will be joining us,” Alec said, and thanked them.

He and Tom had finished their thick vegetable soup and embarked on cold beef and ham and hot jacket potatoes when Ernie finally arrived.

“Food!” he said with alacrity, taking a seat.

“Report first,” said Tom.

“Have a heart, Sarge! The soup’ll be stone-cold.”

“Soup first,” Alec decreed, “unless there’s something urgent.”

“I’d’ve told you right off, Chief, if there was.” The soup rapidly disappeared. As he served himself a lavish helping of sliced meat and a couple of potatoes, Ernie said, “Nothing interesting from any of the guests they’ve talked to, which is most of the list. Half of ’ em can’t remember who they talked to, and none of ’ em noticed the time, nor noticed Sir Harold or anyone else entering the house.”

“Pretty much as I expected. What about the search warrant?”

“The Lord Lieutenant’s going to get one for us. He offered to bring it over himself, but I think I managed to persuade him to send a motorcycle officer.”

“Good for you, laddie!” Tom said approvingly.

“Yes, we can do without Mr. Dryden-Jones. All right, eat up: We’ve a busy afternoon ahead.”

Luncheon in the dining room was one of the most dismal meals Daisy had ever attended. Not that there was anything wrong with the food, but the nervous tension was palpable.

Everyone was there. Gwen had deputed the housekeeper to take her place at Gooch’s side while she ate, and Babs eschewed her usual bread and cheese with the farm workers in favour of family solidarity. As far as Daisy could tell, she and Gwen, like Adelaide, didn’t know about Mrs. Gooch’s letter. Neither the letter nor the murders were discussed, and a brief enquiry from Lady Tyndall to Gwen was the only mention of Gooch’s accident.

He was still deeply unconscious.

Everyone was too well brought up to talk about tragedy and trepidation at table, with servants bobbing in and out. But no one was able to forget for long enough to carry on a conversation about anything else— no one but Addie. She had seen an evening dress she fancied in
Vogue
and she went on and on about it, and the handbag, shoes, gloves, and jewellery to go with it, in the most excruciating detail. Daisy alternated between wanting to wring her neck and being grateful that she saved everyone else from having to think of things to say.

After lunch, as they left the room, Lady Tyndall held Daisy back.

“My dear, I have a favour to ask. But you must promise to tell me if you don’t feel up to it.”

“Right-oh. What can I do for you?”

“You know about this . . . this wretched letter. The girls will have to hear about it. That is, not Adelaide perhaps, but Gwen and Barbara must.”

“Did Alec tell you not to mention it?”

“No.”

“He won’t tell them unless he absolutely has to.”

“He might consider it necessary, and it’s not fair to let them learn about it from the police. Yet I don’t think I can bear to explain it to them. It’s a lot to ask, but would you mind very much . . . ? I don’t want to impose, but it can’t be as painful a subject for you, not being one of the family. . . .”

“Willingly,” said Daisy. “I’d better go and catch Babs before she goes back to work.”

What luck, she thought, hurrying after the others. With Lady Tyndall practically begging her to talk to Gwen and Babs about the letter, Alec could hardly cavil when she did so. Well, he could and doubtless would object, but at least she had a defence, for once. Her quarry was just going out of the front door.

“Babs!” she called. “I’ll walk a little way with you, if you don’t mind waiting a moment while I fetch my coat. It’s down here.”

“Shouldn’t you put your feet up for a while? You had quite an energetic morning.”

“It’s no good lying down right after a meal, believe me. In fact,
quite
the wrong thing to do. The pressure—”

“Spare me the details, please! I can cope with cows and sheep, but if you’d heard how Addie carried on . . . !”

Daisy laughed. “Right-oh. I’ll just come a little way, so I won’t hold you up.”

She fetched her coat and hat from the cloakroom and they set out.

“I’ll spare you the details,” Daisy said, “but really on the whole I’m very well. I gather your mother had a hard time with her pregnancies.”

“Yes. At the time, we didn’t know why she was sometimes such an invalid, of course.”

“You must have been ten when Jack was born, though. It’s hard to keep anything from a child that age. Didn’t you find out what was going on?”

“I dare say I might have if she’d been here. Father took her to a sanatarium abroad. Switzerland, I think. Don’t the Swiss rather go in for that sort of thing? Rest cures and such?”

“I believe so,” said Daisy, trying to hide her shock. What better cover for a secret adoption? How on earth was she going to tell Babs about the letter?

Babs gave her an odd look, but she was distracted at that moment, as Adelaide sailed by in her chauffeur-driven Humber, giving Babs and Daisy a regal nod as she passed. Babs uttered a wordless growl.

“I would hate,” she muttered, “to have gone through a difficult pregnancy and have nothing to show for it but Adelaide.”

“You should sympathize with Addie, even if her pregnancies were easy, for having gone through two with nothing to show for them but Reggie and Adrian.”

“They’re still young. Jack and I and a decent school will soon straighten them out. As long as Gooch doesn’t die!”

“It’d be almost worse if his brain is permanently damaged.”

“They won’t be able to try him for murder if he can’t defend himself, will they?”

“I shouldn’t think so. Even if they were pretty sure he did it, which they’re not.” Daisy ordered herself to stop procrastinating.“He had a letter in his pocket. Your mother asked me to tell you about it.”

“What?” Babs stopped and turned to face Daisy. “Why on earth . . . ?”

“It’s rather upsetting, and I don’t think she felt up to talking about it.”

“A letter in
Gooch
’s pocket that
Mother
doesn’t want to talk to
me
about?”

“Or Gwen. Jack already knows. It was addressed to him. Actually, there were two letters. I’m explaining this very badly.”

“Start again at the beginning. Pretend you’re writing an article and your readers expect to understand what you’ve written,” Babs suggested sardonically. “Gooch had a letter— two letters— in his pocket?”

“An envelope, sealed, with your father’s name on it.” Under Babs’s somewhat fierce regard, Daisy’s busy morning caught up with her and she began to feel rather weak at the knees. “Oh dear, is there somewhere we could sit down while I tell you?”

“There’s a stile a few yards farther on. You’re not going to faint, are you?”

“Heavens no!”

They reached the stile, flat stones projecting out of the banked wall on the uphill side of the drive. Daisy perched precariously on one of the steps.

Babs stood in front of her and resumed in gentler tones, “Gooch had two letters in his pocket in an envelope addressed to Father?”

“Yes. In the circumstances, Alec opened it and read the note to Sir Harold.”

“In the circumstances, I can see that he had to.”

“I ought not to have read it over his shoulder, though,” Daisy admitted guiltily. “I’m afraid curiosity is my besetting sin.”

“‘’ Satiable curtiosity,’ like the Elephant’s Child?”

“Exactly!”

“Well, your nose seems to have survived intact. What did it say?”

“That she— it was written by Mrs. Gooch— she felt she ought to warn your father first but, whether he approved or not, she was going to tell Jack the facts.”