Heirs of the Body (22 page)

Daisy pulled the covers back up. “Yes. I nearly brought it back with me, but I thought you might want to make a note of the position of the pieces. And splinters on the banisters—that’s what you spotted last night, wasn’t it?”

“Will the housemaids have done that corridor already?” Alec retrieved his notebook from a drawer and shoved it in his dressing-gown pocket.

“Shouldn’t think so. They start on the ground floor and work up, and it’s still quite early.”

“I hope to heaven the boys haven’t mucked about with it,” he flung back at her from the doorway.

“
They
won’t have dusted the banisters,” she assured the door.

TWENTY

Alec collared
his hostess on her way to breakfast. They disappeared into Geraldine’s sitting room. Daisy had just started on her fresh-cooked scrambled eggs when Ernest came in to convey her ladyship’s request that she join them as soon as convenient.

Daisy looked sadly at the steaming, sunshine-yellow eggs.

“I’ll bring you more when you get back,” Ernest promised.

When Daisy entered the sitting room, Geraldine burst into speech. “Daisy, my dear, I want to ask you about this extraordinary story of Alec’s. He’s reminded me more than once that he’s a police officer and therefore inclined to be suspicious of untoward occurrences, so I’d like to hear what your common sense has to say about the subject.”

Daisy was about to point out that she was just as likely to harbour suspicions. Just in time she remembered that Geraldine was unaware of her occasional involvement in criminal matters, other than the goings-on at Fairacres four years ago. “I thought Alec was just going to request the use of the car to go into Worcester,” she temporised.

“I was,” Alec said dryly. “Geraldine decided to make a party of it, to invite all her guests to visit the town and the cathedral. So I explained that I merely hoped to speak to the chief constable.”

“Who is—I think I may claim—a friend of mine.” Geraldine blushed; she actually blushed. Surely she couldn’t be carrying on a flirtation with Sir Nigel? “You’ll be surprised, I don’t doubt, to hear that I’ve applied to become a justice of the peace.”

“Goodness!”

“I have such an excellent staff here at Fairacres that I simply haven’t enough to occupy me. I really don’t care for bridge, I’m afraid. And a number of women have become magistrates in recent years. One doesn’t have to have to be trained in the law, you know. I approached Sir Nigel. I was already acquainted with him socially, of course. He has agreed to support my application.”

“Geraldine, what a wonderful idea!” Daisy went over and kissed the blushing cheek. “I’m sure your years of nailing schoolboy culprits will stand you in good stead.” She sat down. “Naturally you were interested in why Alec wanted to see Sir Nigel.”

“I hope I’m not nosy, but yes, I was curious. Now I’m horrified, to think one of my guests, one of Edgar’s
relatives
, may be attempting to kill the others!”

“
May
be,” Daisy stressed. “That’s the trouble. Alec can’t ignore what’s happened, but nor can he do anything official about it.”

“Yes, I understand the situation. You, too, are convinced there’s something to worry about?”

“I’m convinced Alec ought to report his suspicions to someone. Sir Nigel is the logical person.”

“All right.” Geraldine sighed. “I must tell Edgar. You won’t mind that.”

“All to the good,” said Alec. “He’ll be another pair of eyes on the lookout for trouble.”

“Since his net is involved in the latest incident, he may take an interest in the matter, especially as he’d be very upset if harm came to the boy. He’s taken quite a liking to Benjamin. Very well. If you have no objection, I should like to be present when you speak to Sir Nigel.”

“As you wish.”

“Would you like me to ring him up and make an appointment?”

Alec looked decidedly taken aback. “No, thank you. I’d better do that myself.”

Geraldine inclined her head. “I believe it will be best if I go ahead and invite everyone to come to Worcester. ‘Camouflage’ is the word the forces used in the war, I understand. Many of the boys are—were—very keen on the notion. Especially the Boy Scouts.”

Grinning, Alec said, “Camouflage let it be.”

“I’ll tell them I have business in town and give them a map of historical sites, so that they won’t expect me to dance attendance. No doubt you are an expert, Alec, at simply fading away.”

“By far the most useful weapon in the detective’s arsenal.”

“And I,” Daisy said mournfully, “shall undoubtedly be stuck touring the shops with Laurette.” She would have liked to be present at the interview with the chief constable, but being ninety-nine percent sure Alec would say no, she didn’t bother to ask.

Sure enough, as soon as Raymond, Frank, and the Vincents had agreed that a day in Worcester sounded like a pleasant outing, Laurette said to Daisy, “You and I, we will look at the shops while the men see the sights.”

Daisy politely agreed, though she couldn’t bring herself to enthuse.

Martha was in no shape for sightseeing or window shopping. She asked Geraldine’s permission to invite Violet to spend the morning with her, and permission was gladly given. “If Lady John is busy, I’ll get on with sewing for the baby,” Martha said without regret. She really was a most placid person.

Daisy remembered their first meeting, with Martha in floods of tears. Was her change of spirits attributable to the progressing pregnancy, or could she, as Alec suggested, have heard from her Sammy?

Edgar, unsurprisingly, declined to accompany the party. The children, turning up for breakfast in spite of their earlier raid on the kitchen, decided they’d rather hunt insects with him than waste a beautiful morning in viewing fusty old buildings.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Edgar promised.

Ben, who had lost his bandage already, looked disappointed. Obviously the decision was Derek and Belinda’s. They had both seen more than once what Worcester had to offer, but Ben might never have another chance to visit an ancient cathedral city. Daisy resolved to arrange a visit later, with a promise of ice cream and buns to lure the others.

Sir Nigel having set an appointment at noon, Geraldine suggested that after their various wanderings they should meet for lunch at one at the Talbot, just opposite the cathedral. “Alec, if you wouldn’t mind driving the Vauxhall, there will be plenty of room for everyone.”

“I’ll take my hire car,” said Raymond brusquely. “Smethwick, the driver, has been sitting about for three days doing nothing at my expense. And that’s just since I came here. I’ve had the same man since I arrived in England. A cushy job he’s had of it.”

As no one else seemed about to volunteer, Frank offered to go with him. Alec frowned. Daisy wondered if he was worried that they might kill each other en route. If so, she didn’t know what she could do to stop them, but she was about to suggest keeping them company when Geraldine said, “In that case, Truscott can drive the Vauxhall. So why don’t you go with Raymond, Alec?”

She thus relieved Daisy of the responsibility of keeping the men from one another’s throats as far as Worcester. Though Daisy still couldn’t see the cheerful, easygoing Frank Crowley as a murderer, his having brought Ben all the way to England at considerable expense showed him to have more determination than was apparent.

The Vauxhall and the Daimler duly came round to the portico to pick everyone up. Geraldine told the chauffeurs to take them to the Edgar Tower, the fourteenth-century gatehouse to the cathedral close.

When they arrived, she instructed her guests to visit the cathedral first, in the school matron voice that was as effective as the dowager’s grande dame voice, as Daisy was amused to note. Even Laurette trailed through the gate with the group.

The ancient building inspired awe in Raymond and Frank, and even in Vincent and Laurette, though they were more accustomed to historical surroundings. In Daisy, familiarity inspired not contempt, but comfort. She had grown up visiting the cathedral quite frequently, for christenings, weddings, and funerals, and for the Three Choirs Festival. Her favourite spot was the sepulchre of Bad King John, whose sinister reputation had fascinated her as a child.

She had a job to do now. She had to spread people out so that the others wouldn’t notice when Alec went off to see the chief constable. Though Geraldine having an appointment in Worcester would arouse no curiosity, the same could not be said of Alec.

If someone was up to something—which wasn’t entirely clear—their suspicions might be awakened. Before they left Hampstead, Martha had been asked not to mention that Alec was a copper. However, the Fairacres servants knew, so the chances were that all the guests knew by now.

In which case, they had a pretty poor opinion of his competence, or they wouldn’t be trying whatever they were trying.

Having thoroughly confused herself, Daisy suggested that the men might like to climb the tower or visit the eleventh-century crypt.

“I’m afraid I’m avoiding steps when I can,” said Vincent, waving the walking stick he was still dependent on.

“Oh yes. You might like to inspect the effigy of King John.”

“King John!” Laurette muttered scornfully.

“I thought you and I would go and admire the stained glass in the lady chapel—Victorian but beautiful—so that we can tell Geraldine we did,” she whispered to the disgruntled woman. “Then we’ll go shopping, I promise.”

The sun shone in through the delicately colourful east window of the lady chapel. Laurette made it plain that she’d much rather be looking through the windows of the best department store in town. She took out her compact and, peering into the small round mirror, powdered her nose.

Daisy delayed her as long as was humanly possible. When they returned to the nave, none of the men was in sight. Hoping Alec had managed to slip away unnoticed, Daisy wished she could, too.

An hour or so later, she and Laurette were walking briskly back along The Tything amidst a crowd of bustling shoppers, many bearing baskets, some pushing prams or accompanied by small children. Laurette complained about the Worcester shops’ lack of any clothes worthy of purchase.

Shopping with her had been a revelation to Daisy. Lucy always dressed in the height of fashion; attaining it was a long drawn-out process that bored Daisy to tears, involving models and seamstresses and milliners and much discussion of everything but cost. Laurette, on the other hand, swept through the ready-to-wear racks with an inerrant eye for what would both suit her and fit her, at a reasonable price. Her aim was not fashion but a businesslike chic.

That was the way to do it, Daisy thought. Now all she needed was the inerrant eye.…

Not that she had any way to judge Laurette’s claim of inerrancy, as she hadn’t actually bought any clothes, just sighed for the shops of London and Paris.

They crossed Castle Street and went straight on along The Foregate. A tram passed them as they walked under the railway bridge. Ahead was the busy intersection known as The Cross. Some traffic, including trams and an occasional horse dray, continued along the High Street, some turned left into St. Swithin’s Street, and some turned right to go down Broad Street to the bridge over the Severn. A white-sleeved policeman on point duty managed the flow with an almost balletic grace.

As Daisy and Laurette approached, he held up his hand to stop the tram that had passed them to allow another, coming up Broad Street, to turn left. Suddenly he waved his arms frantically and blew several piercing blasts on his whistle.

People started screaming and shouting. The trams both came to a halt, as did cars, vans, lorries, motorbicycles, and everything else on the road except for errand boys on pedal bikes. They weaved through the rest, necks craned to see what was going on. Some pedestrians on the pavements held back, others ghoulishly pressed forward.

“Run over by a tram!” said a woman pushing past Daisy and Laurette. She sounded hopeful.

Daisy was relieved that Laurette wasn’t one of the gawkers. It would have been too frightful to have a relative—even if just by marriage—who gaped at accidents.

Accidents. Another accident. Sheer coincidence of course. In the middle of the busy city, the odds against one of the party from Fairacres being involved were enormous.

All the same, she was not displeased when the press of people moving forward forced them to go along with the flow. Not that she wanted to see what had happened, but she did want reassurance that no one she knew was involved. A gruesome rhyme Gervaise used to chant to tease Violet circled in her mind:

“Oh look, Mama, pray what is that,

“That looks like strawberry jam?”

“Hush, hush, my dear, ’tis poor papa,

“Run over by a tram.”

Several more bobbies came running from all directions. Some started to clear away the throng.

“Nothing to see, ladies and gentlemen. Keep moving, please. Move along there.”

In any case, as Daisy and Laurette approached, people started to disperse, talking and shaking their heads. To Daisy they seemed disappointed or relieved, not shocked.

Then two policemen came round the end of the nearer tram, supporting between them a large, hatless man.…

“Raymond! Let me through, please. He’s my cousin!”

A youth came out of the nearest shop carrying a chair, which he placed on the pavement against the wall. “Here, set the gentleman down to catch his breath.”

Looking dizzy and disoriented, Raymond slumped onto the chair. As Daisy reached him, he dropped his head into his hands.

“He’s my cousin,” she repeated to the bobby who stepped forward to stop her. “Is he badly hurt?”

“Not a scratch, madam, saving on his hands from the cobbles. Gentleman stumbled but summun shoved him aside from the tram tracks. Could o’ bin nasty, else.”

“He didn’t get a knock on the head?”

“Don’t b’lieve so, madam, but you better arst him yoursel’. The lady’s the gemmun’s cousin, Jerry,” he introduced her to his colleague, who was bending solicitously over Raymond, notebook in hand, asking his name.