Heirs of the Body (28 page)

“And winkle out as much information as you can.”

“Of course. Perhaps he’ll voluntarily tell me about the heirs. Assuming he knows. Pearson didn’t actually say so, I gather.”

“He’s a cautious lawyer. I’m sure …
pretty
sure that’s what he meant. I can’t see why Sam wouldn’t be willing to tell us—”

“Not ‘us.’ I don’t want you getting any deeper into this imbroglio than you are already.”

“But darling—”

“No. Great Scott, Daisy, most of these accidents have been minor, but now a man’s dead!”

“And that’s why we need to know who’s the heir. In fact, everyone should be told. Then we can concentrate on protecting that one person. As it is, we can’t possibly keep watch over all of them!”

“We can do a pretty good job with Ernest’s help. Has it dawned on you that if Sam is the heir, he’s not particularly keen to announce it and make himself a target?”

“Oh! No, it hadn’t occurred to me. It would apply to all of them, too.”

“Great Scott, Daisy, I hadn’t thought of
that
!” Alec admitted with a wry smile.

“So, you see, you need me.…”

Edgar came to join them, sitting on the wall beside Daisy. “Are you comparing notes?” he whispered.

“Not exactly, sir. It’s a bit too public out here.” Two could keep their voices low enough not to be overheard, but three made it difficult not to look conspiratorial rather than merely casually conversing. “Also, I’m hoping for a word with Samuel before I report my observations.”

“You won’t give him a hard time, will you, my dear chap? Don’t want to upset Martha.”

“I’ll do my best. Sometimes it’s difficult to judge what will—”

Ernest reappeared. “Mr. Fletcher, you’re wanted on the telephone, sir.”

“Who…? No, never mind, I’m coming.”

A chilly little breeze had sprung up. Martha shivered.

Sam jumped up at once. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you indoors. We can’t have you catching a chill.”

“If you don’t mind, Cousin Geraldine,” Martha apologised. The rough edges natural to her upbringing had smoothed during her stay in Hampstead.

“Of course, dear, you mustn’t catch cold. Unless anyone would like some more tea, I shall go inside now myself.”

Martha gave Sam her hands and he hauled her out of her chair, undignified but effective. At six months, there wasn’t really a dignified way to get out of a seat.

In the couple’s wake, everyone straggled through the French window into the drawing room. Daisy glanced back and saw Vincent and Laurette coming up from the garden. Geraldine stopped to speak kindly to Laurette, suggesting she might like to lie down for a while before dinner.

“I believe I will,” said Laurette. “It is a great pity the English do not use
tisanes. La camomille
would be soothing to me now.”

“Camomile? I’ll ask Mrs. Warden, but wouldn’t mint do? It seems to help Martha.”

“Mint, no! Mint is not for the nerves.”

“I’ll send a maid with a hot-water bottle.”

Frank approached Daisy.

“I suppose I oughtn’t to go down to the Beetle this evening,” he said wistfully.

“Well, Raymond wasn’t a relative of yours, except in the widest sense, but he was a fellow guest.”

“Yes. Better not.” He sighed. “A quiet game of snooker? No money involved? No, I mustn’t drag Sam away from his wife.” He brightened as he spotted Vincent, at a loose end as Laurette went out. “Vincent, snooker?”

“All right,” said Vincent without enthusiasm.

Daisy had a vision of the two of them hitting each other over the head with the billiard cues. Not that Vincent could possibly have a motive for attacking Frank—unless in self-defence? Should she go with them? Or ought she to check up on the children’s whereabouts?

Seeing Ernest and a maid out on the terrace clearing up the tea things, she went out. “Does either of you know where Miss Belinda and the boys are?”

The maid curtsied. “I saw them in the nurseries a few minutes ago, madam. Miss Belinda was playing with the babies. Master Derek was teaching Bla—Master Benjamin, I mean, how to play Parcheesi.”

“Thanks.” It sounded as if they were safely settled for the present. “Ernest, Mr. Crowley and Mr. Vincent have gone to the billiard room. Would you go and offer them drinks, and pop in now and then to see that they have all they need?”

“Consider it done, madam,” said the footman, with a wink that Daisy hoped the maid hadn’t noticed.

She went back in just as Alec returned from taking the phone call. He came to meet her.

“Worcester super,” he answered her unspoken question. “He’s offered to send a motorcycle officer with the file on Raymond’s accident, including the initial medical exam. He wanted to know if it can wait till the pathologist’s report is also available. He’s doing the autopsy tomorrow morning.”

“What did you say?”

“That I can wait for an informal postmortem report but not until an official document has been typed up. Now for Sam.”

“Darling, can’t I—”

“No. Sam, I’d like a word with you if you don’t mind. We can use Lord Dalrymple’s study.”

“Sure thing.” Sam rose willingly, but Martha clung to him, looking frightened.

“I want to go with him!”

“It’s all right, sweetie. He’s not going to arrest me. Are you, Chief Inspector?”

“I have absolutely no cause to do so.”

“See?”

“Please, Alec! Let me go too.”

Daisy could see Alec swallowing a sigh. “All right, Martha. Come along.”

“And Daisy. Daisy, you’ll come, won’t you?”

This time Alec’s sigh was overt, and Daisy, though she tried not to look too triumphant, couldn’t hide her smile.

TWENTY-SIX

By the
time Daisy, Alec, Sam, and Martha reached the study, Sam had reconsidered his initial willingness to cooperate.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, with a hint of belligerence.

“I wish I knew.”

“What the dev—deuce do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t understand the situation. Could you just take it on trust that I need details of your travels? If you’ll be so kind as to give me the information, then I’ll explain why I’m asking.”

“Go on, Sammy. Alec and Daisy have done so much for me, you can at least answer a few questions.”

He smiled and her and squeezed her hand. “All right, fire away.”

“I’m not going to ask about your adventures in America.”

Sam grinned. “Good.”

“When you made it back to Jamaica—When was that?”

“I couldn’t tell you the exact date. It was what you might call an informal return. They dropped me off at night in a small cove near Runaway Bay, on the north coast. I walked most of the way to Spanish Town. Picked up a few lifts, but outside Kingston there aren’t many motor vehicles, it’s mostly mules and donkeys, so it was no faster. Then I took the train from Spanish Town to Kingston. End of June, that’s the best I can do.”

“When you reached Kingston and found Martha gone, did you write to her?”

“No.” A guilty glance at his wife, who smiled forgivingly.

“Sammy’s not much of a letter writer.”

“I would have, but I thought I’d be here as soon as a letter. Then I looked further into the legal business and I got caught up in sorting that out.”

“Sorting it out?”

“I had to go back north, to Cockpit Country in St. Elizabeth Parish, to dig up some information for the lawyer.”

“Were you successful? What information did you obtain?”

“Mr. Pearson told me to keep it to myself until he gets here.”

“Mr. Pearson didn’t foresee that I’d have to switch over from being a guest and relative by marriage to my rôle as a copper.”

“Sorry. What’s the good of getting advice from a lawyer if you’re going to ignore it?”

“You have a point,” Alec admitted. “I’ll try to contain my curiosity. On that point. When did you leave Jamaica again?”

“My ship sailed from Kingston on the tenth.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t bring your little girls.” Daisy said, ignoring Alec’s frown. She had ceased to find those dark eyebrows intimidating long ago.

“If I’d had to pay for the passage, I would have. As I was first officer, it just wasn’t practical. They’re quite happy with their aunt and uncle, though they miss their mama.”

Martha’s eyes misted over.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer before you see them, darling,” Daisy said hurriedly, to avert a storm of tears. Whether the family would be reunited in England or in Jamaica remained to be seen.

“The tenth of July?” Alec took up his interrogation. “And what date did you arrive in England?”

“The thirtieth.”

“That’s a slow passage, isn’t it?”

“For an old tub like the
Julianna
it’s a pretty good time!”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Alec said.
Pending enquiries
, Daisy thought. “Which port did you arrive at?”

“Plymouth. Our cargo was mostly rum, so it had to be unloaded into a bonded warehouse. My contract included helping to supervise the unloading. That took all day Saturday. I spent the night in a rooming house in Plymouth—”

“Address?”

Sam shrugged. “I have no idea. One of my mates took me there. I slept late, then went to catch a train to London without looking at the house number or street name.”

“I suppose you didn’t keep the ticket stub.”

“Good lord no. I travel light, don’t stuff my pockets with odds and ends of paper. What’s this all about? Why do you want to know when I got here? Look here, if you don’t believe me, you can ask the harbour authorities. They’re supposed to keep the crew manifest.”

“I don’t disbelieve you. But I may—let me stress
may
—have to check. Would the
Julietta
still be at Plymouth?”

“
Julianna
. No, she was due to sail Monday for Clydeside, to deliver the rest of the cargo. Sugar. It’s not easy to sell rum to the Scots!”

“I imagine not. Is
Julianna
equipped with wireless?”

“The owner stuck in a second-hand set, but most of the time it doesn’t work.”

“All right, let’s move on. You took the train to Paddington and went straight to see the lawyer?”

“It was Sunday. Maybe I’m a fool, but not fool enough to look for a lawyer on a Sunday! I found lodgings, then I walked up to Hampstead—Martha’s letters had given me your address. Nice house you have! You weren’t there and the maid couldn’t be coaxed into telling me where you’d gone or when you’d be back. So I went to see the sights. When I got back to the lodging house, I found out that the next day was a bank holiday. Still no hope of seeing Mr. Pearson!”

“So you did some more sightseeing.”

“I did. I can’t wait to take the girls to the zoo and Madame Tussaud’s. There’s plenty to see in London.”

“‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life,’” Alec said.

Sam was quick to pick up his tone. “A quotation? Who said that?”

“Dr. Samuel Johnson, your namesake.”

“Never heard of him. I haven’t got much book learning, excepting the navigation manual.”

“‘A man’s a man for a’ that,’” Daisy murmured.

Alec gave her a look. Sam gave her a questioning glance but turned back to Alec.

“Monday was a bank holiday, yet you went to see Mr. Pearson? At home?”

Sam grinned. “I got impatient. I found his address in a telephone directory and I thought I might as well give it a try. At least he might give me an appointment for the next day, so I wouldn’t turn up at his office and find him gone.”

“That’s a point. I’m surprised he saw you, though. Gentlemen of the law always prefer to go about things in the proper way.”

“He gave me ten minutes, maybe quarter of an hour. I showed him what I’d brought. He got about as excited as I reckon gentlemen of the law ever get, then his servant came in to say a taxi had come for him and Mrs. Pearson. He wanted me to leave the … papers there for him to look at later. I wasn’t about to do that, with no knowing what’d become of them. I swore to the person who lent it—them—to me that I’d return them unharmed. They’re irreplaceable.”

“Originals. Not official records then.”

“That’s as may be. I was good and ready to get out of the city, begging Dr. Samuel Johnson’s pardon, and I didn’t want to let another day pass without seeing my gal!”

“Yet you didn’t exactly hurry here from Worcester.”

“I’ve always liked to get to know foreign places. And after being adrift in strange country in Florida, I wanted to be familiar with the territory hereabouts. You never know when it’ll come in handy.”

“I don’t mind,” Martha said earnestly. “I’m just happy that he’s safe.”

Safety was questionable, Daisy thought, or at least relative. If Sam was as honest and open as she would like to believe, he might be in danger. But she recognised the truth of Alec’s accusation that she always, when mixed up in a case, took one of the suspects “under her wing,” and found it hard to believe ill of him or her. Her faith was sometimes misplaced. For Martha’s sake she wanted Sam to be innocent, so she viewed him through rose-coloured spectacles.

“What time did your train get in?” Alec asked.

“It was due at Worcester Shrub Hill at about twenty past eleven, but it arrived a few minutes late.”

Sam had been in Worcester at the time of Raymond’s fall. However, it would have been an astonishing coincidence for him to have happened to spot Raymond—assuming he could recognise him—at a moment when he was vulnerable.

Coincidences do happen, Daisy reminded herself. She suspected Sam had the quick wits to take advantage of an unexpected opportunity.

“You’ll understand that I’m going to do some checking,” Alec told him.

“I might understand if you’ll tell me what this is all about!”

“Fair’s fair.” Alec’s account of the string of odd incidents was a model of conciseness.

By the end, Sam was frowning. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I see why you have to look into every possibility. I—No, I think I’d better keep my own counsel for the moment.”

“And your eyes open.”

“And—believe me—my eyes open! Who—” The telephone bell interrupted him.

Alec automatically reached for the receiver, hesitated with a glance at Sam, then picked it up. “Fletcher here.” He listened for a moment, grimaced, said, “Yes, Ernest, put her through.” Holding out the receiver and sliding the stand across the desk towards Daisy, he informed her, “Your mama.”