Heirs of the Body (37 page)
“That’s an explanation?” Frank protested.
“It’s the best I can offer.”
“Feeble!”
“He did succeed in muddying waters at first, but his efforts were ultimately unconvincing. His expertise was in hotel management, which requires careful organisation. A messy, improvised plot was very much outside his competence. He was bound to be caught in the end.”
“As far as I’m concerned, the waters are still muddy. But you say he had proof of who bags the prize?”
“That’s properly Mr. Pearson’s side of the business,” Alec said. “I’ll turn it over to him.”
“Thank you.” Tommy bowed acknowledgment. “However, perhaps Lord Dalrymple would prefer to wait until his birthday tomorrow…?”
“No,” said Geraldine. “I want it settled now. Tomorrow half the county will be here for the party and we can break the news to them.”
“As you wish, my dear,” said Edgar with an absent smile. “I’m trying to remember what kind of caterpillar lives on pennyroyal. It grows in the herb garden, you know.”
“I’ll have it dug out this very afternoon,” her ladyship said grimly, “whether that’s where Laurette obtained it or not.”
Daisy wondered silently whether Geraldine would have been equally eager to uproot the laburnum alley, had Vincent used its deadly seeds to poison someone.
Tommy cleared his throat. “Shall we proceed? Mr. Dalrymple, I trust you have kept safely the … item you showed me in London?”
“Of course, sir.” As Sam started to struggle to his feet, Frank gave him a hand and a resigned look. Sam tried to look modest but couldn’t quite hide a grin. “Lord Dalrymple let me keep it in his safe.”
“Edgar!”
“Yes, dear?” His lordship emerged from his cogitation. “
Pyrausta aurata.
The mint moth, as I should have remembered. A singularly pretty creature.”
“Oh
bother
your moths!” said Geraldine sacrilegiously. “Go with Samuel to open the safe. Would anyone care for more coffee?” She rang the bell.
“Champagne, don’t you think, dear?” Edgar suggested from the doorway.
Lowecroft came in and was told to bring coffee and champagne.
“Do go on, Mr. Pearson,” said Geraldine. “We need not wait for their return.”
“As you wish, Lady Dalrymple. In the car from Worcester, DCI Fletcher showed me letters he had received from France. To be precise, notarised copies of letters. They were written by Marie-Claire Dalrymple, née Vallier, wife of Julian Dalrymple, from Jamaica to her parents in Paris. Each announces the birth of one of her sons. They are dated.”
“The Sûreté obtained them from the Valliers,” said Alec, “who had previously sent copies to Vincent when he asked for family papers.”
Tommy sighed. “They had not thought to mention them to my representative, as they naturally assumed Vincent would do so.”
Edgar and Sam returned, as Lowecroft and Ernest brought in the coffee and three bottles of cellar-chilled champagne. “I ventured to bring some up after lunch, my lord,” said the butler, “just in case it was called for.”
“Good thinking, my dear chap. Now!” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s see what Sam has to show us.”
Sam’s parcel was carefully wrapped in oiled cloth and tied with a faded blue ribbon. Unwrapping it, he revealed a bible bound in black calfskin.
“This belonged to my great-grandmother, Marie-Claire,” he said. “On the blank pages she kept a record of the family. She died in a cholera epidemic in 1850, along with her baby, a fifth son. After my great-grandfather, Julian, died in 1870, my grandfather moved his part of the family from the plantation to Kingston. He left this bible with his half sister, the child of Julian and a freed slave.”
Frank, grinning, started to comment, then thought better of it and coughed instead.
Sam placed the bible on the table at Tommy’s elbow, open at the flyleaf, and sat down beside him. “Her daughter, my great-aunt—”
“Second cousin,” said Tommy.
“Aunt Lucea. This was passed on to her, and she’s kept up the family records for all branches of the family still in Jamaica. I had to go over to the old plantation to beg her to lend it to me. That’s why—one reason—it took me so long to get here. Don’t for pity’s sake get sticky fingerprints on it!”
Offended, Tommy put down his coffee, took out his handkerchief, and ostentatiously wiped his fingers. He studied the faded ink of the family tree.
Daisy was tempted to go and look over his shoulder, but she resisted the temptation. Not that she wasn’t pretty sure of the answer, but she considered the lawyer to be prolonging the suspense to an unwarrantable length.
“Yes,” he said at last, “this agrees with the letters from Paris. The eldest son of Julian was Alfred, born in 1832, father of James, father of Samuel. I can see no reason why the two together should not be accepted as evidence of primogeniture. Congratulations, Mr. Dalrymple. Congratulations, Lord Dalrymple, you have an heir.” A buzz of congratulations arose, which he promptly interrupted. “Pending, needless to say, the decision of the College of Arms.”
“Phoo to the College of Arms!” Edgar cried, shaking Sam’s hand vigorously. “What about the rest of them, eh, Pearson?”
“According to the letters from Marie-Claire, her second son, Timothy was born in 1833. Her last letter dates from 1850, and seems to have been carried by Timothy to Paris, where he was sent to escape from the typhoid that killed her. He was Vincent’s grandfather, who moved to England in 1870 to escape the Franco-Prussian war.”
“An unsettled family,” Geraldine observed. “And next?”
“The third son was Josiah, born in 1837. Perhaps Mr. Crowley can fill in some of the history of that branch of the family?”
“Not much. Ben’s father, Luke—Lucas was my friend. I don’t know when Josiah arrived in Trinidad, but I found a record of Luke’s father’s marriage, John he was, giving his father’s name as Josiah Dalrymple of Jamaica. John married Luke’s mama, Dolores, all right and tight. One of Ben’s sisters is named after her. Luke was born in 1889—he was a bit older than me. He married Susanna, and produced four
zanfan
before—”
“
Zanfan
?” Daisy asked. “Children?”
“That’s right. Creole. In 1917, Luke volunteered. He didn’t come back. I’d promised to look after the
zanfan
and Susanna. We were married in 1922. She died having my baby. The baby died too.” A murmur of commiseration arose. “So here I am with four stepkids and I hoped … Oh well, that’s the way the dice roll. Lord Dalrymple, I don’t suppose you’d lend me fifty quid to get me and the boy back to Port-of-Spain? Or a hundred would be even better.”
“Gladly, my dear fellow, but … Geraldine?”
“Mr. Crowley, Edgar and I have grown quite fond of your stepson in the past few days. We would like to propose to you that he remain here at Fairacres, with his brother and sisters coming to join him. We have plenty of room, even if Sam and Martha decide to make their home here, as we hope. We’ll see that they complete their schooling, and it would, I believe, solve a difficulty for you.”
“Would it ever! Carlotta, here I come!” In his exuberance, Frank seized Geraldine in a hug, from which she emerged patting her hair but smiling.
By then, Lowecroft and Ernest, having lingered long enough to hear the outcome, had opened two bottles of champagne.
“Port for the servants,” Daisy whispered in Edgar’s ear.
He gave her a startled look. “Is it customary? Yes, by all means. Lowecroft, a bottle of port for the servants to drink to Mr. and Mrs. Samuel’s health!”
* * *
The champagne bottles were empty. Sam had gone to tell Martha that the lawyer accepted his claim. Frank had gone to find out what Ben thought of Geraldine’s proposal.
“Though,” as he said to Daisy with a wink, “you can be sure I’ll see that he’s happy to agree. It’s best for all of us. Sam’s offered to bring the others over when he fetches his girls.”
With a happy sigh, Daisy said to Alec, “All’s well that ends well. Except for poor Raymond. And Laurette’s children. Alec, you don’t think we—”
“No! Apart from other considerations, I hardly think they’d be happy living with the police officer who arrested their parents.”
“Oh dear! I suppose not. Besides, it would probably be too much for Mother’s nervous system. What she’ll say about Edgar and Geraldine adopting Ben and his siblings boggles the mind!”
ALSO BY CAROLA DUNN
THE DAISY DALRYMPLE MYSTERIES
Death at Wentwater Court
The Winter Garden Mystery
Requiem for a Mezzo
Murder on the Flying Scotsman
Damsel in Distress
Dead in the Water
Styx and Stones
Rattle His Bones
To Davy Jones Below
The Case of the Murdered Muckraker
Mistletoe and Murder
Die Laughing
A Mourning Wedding
Fall of a Philanderer
Gunpowder Plot
The Bloody Tower
Black Ship
Sheer Folly
Anthem for Doomed Youth
Gone West
CORNISH MYSTERIES
Manna from Hades
A Colourful Death
The Valley of the Shadow
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C
AROLA
D
UNN
is the author of many previous mysteries featuring Daisy Dalrymple, most recently
Gone West,
as well as numerous historical novels. Born and raised in England, she lives in Eugene, Oregon. Visit her on Facebook or at
CarolaDunn.Weebly.com
.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
HEIRS OF THE BODY.
Copyright © 2013 by Carola Dunn. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover art by Bradley Clark Studio
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-312-67549-3 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-3643-3 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466836433
First Edition: December 2013
