Chapter 10
“I’m afraid it’s my job to be suspicious, Lord Haverhill. Your son’s death may well be perfectly natural, a heart attack induced by the strain of your sister’s murder. But if I were to take it for granted, I should be derelict in my duty.”
“Cardiac arrest,” muttered Dr. Arbuthnot, “well, we all go by cardiac arrest in the final analysis.”
“He was ill.” Lady Fotheringay’s face was blotched with tears. “You said yourself he had a weak heart.”
“Yes indeed. Aftereffect of rheumatic fever. Though I would have expected a more gradual decline—breathlessness, angina, and so on. I confess I am not familiar with the effects of tropical poisons.”
“But what conceivable motive could anyone have for murdering Aubrey?” Grieved and bewildered, the earl was now unmistakably an old man, his voice quavery. “He was the mildest, most inoffensive of men!”
“I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet. Presumably he saw or heard something which could give us a clue to Lady Eva’s death, possibly something he didn’t recognize as significant. Or the murderer may simply have feared he’d seen something.”
“No, not Aubrey!” Lady Fotheringay sobbed.
Sally Fotheringay patted her mother-in-law’s shoulder. “It was probably just a heart attack, all the same. It could have been, couldn’t it, Dr. Arbuthnot?”
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Fotheringay, quite possibly.”
“Lady Fotheringay,” Sally corrected him. “I’m Lady Fotheringay now.”
Lady Haverhill, pale and drawn but still very upright and steadfast, said sharply, “It is usual to wait until after the funeral to assume a new title, out of respect for the deceased.”
Sally flushed. “I’m sure no one could respect Rupert’s father more than I did. I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I’m so upset myself I don’t know what I’m saying.”
A smart young woman Alec couldn’t place said, “Oh, pull yourself together, Sally, or go back to bed till Rupert arrives to hold your hand. Mr. Fletcher, if you truly have reason to believe Father may have been murdered, I for one will do anything in my power to help you find out who did it.” She bit her lip as if struggling to hold back tears.
“He was a dear. I’ve never found another to match him. ”
“Oooh,” wailed Lady Fotheringay.
The young woman—Flora?—crossed to her side. “Come along, Mumsie darling, you ought to be in bed. Doctor, can you give her something?”
Flora and Dr. Arbuthnot supported the weeping widow from the room, followed by a silent young man in a clergyman’s collar.
Alec turned back to Lord Haverhill. “I’m sorry, sir, I hope I haven’t given the impression that I’m certain your son’s death is not natural.
But nor am I asking your permission to investigate it as murder.
If it is so, it can hardly fail to be connected with your sister’s.
I am in charge of the case, and Sir Leonard agrees that I must continue as I see fit. ”
The Chief Constable, hovering unhappily in the background, nodded and muttered, “Terrible business, terrible business.”
“We are extremely grateful to you, Mr. Fletcher,” said the earl, “are we not, my dear? I shall make sure everyone under my roof understands
that they are to give you the utmost cooperation. I only wish your first visit to Haverhill had been under happier circumstances.”
“Believe me, sir, so do I!” A relaxing country weekend, Daisy had promised him.
Alec went back down to the conservatory. The police surgeon had arrived. A young man, he sprang up from his crouch beside the body with enviable ease.
Tom introduced him. “Dr. Philpotts, Chief.”
“No external trauma,” Philpotts said briskly, “barring slight signs of contusion from when he fell forward out of his chair. He was as good as dead when he hit the floor. Either a heart attack or you’re looking at a case of poisoning, I’d say.”
“That was my feeling.”
“I recognized two poisonous plants as I came in here: datura and oleander.” He glanced around.
“And I believe that’s another, over there: poinsettia.
I can’t say I’m up on the symptoms; have to go look them up.
But the garden’s bound to be full of deadly stuff too, foxgloves, lily of the valley, narcissus, rhododendrons, autumn crocus, hydrangeas, you name it.
I have to warn you, I haven’t the facilities for detecting exotic poisons. ”
“No, I think this is a case for Sir Bernard Spilsbury, the Home Office pathologist. Great Scott, Tom, what happened to the teapot? Bincombe said the victim was drinking tea when he died.”
“None here when we came in, Chief. Miss Lucy was more concerned to get the doctor here and it was a while before Mrs. Fletcher decided we ought to take a look.”
“But there was someone here all the time. What happened to the tea-pot? And he said Lord Fotheringay’s cup broke. Where the deuce have they gone?”
“Only person I can think of could take ’em away and no one ’d notice is a parlourmaid.”
Alec groaned. “Damnation! The pot will have been washed out by now. We’ll have nothing to give Sir Bernard.”
“They’ll have thrown out the broken cup. May be some dregs left. I’ll go see what I can find out.”
“Do that, Tom. In the meantime, all these plants seem to be labelled, Doctor. Would you mind making a list of all those you know to be poisonous, and another of any you are not sure about.”
“Willingly, Chief Inspector, but the second list may well be a long one.” Dr. Philpotts turned to a fresh page of his notebook. “I have little knowledge of tropical plants, of which this conservatory holds a great many.”
“It will be something for Sir Bernard to begin with. Incidentally, did my sergeant tell you Bincombe tried artificial respiration when Lord Fotheringay fell and he could find no pulse? Schafer’s method, I understand. Would you consider that appropriate?”
“Certainly; in the case of simple cardiac arrest he had a chance—however remote—of resuscitating the victim.” As he answered, the doctor stooped to peer at plant labels and scribbled on his notepad.
“If it was in fact poison, induced vomiting might have been more useful. But that depends on the poison, and if Lord Fotheringay was already dead it would be impossible in any case. In the circumstances, I’d say Bincombe acted with commendable common sense. ”
“Thank you.” Alec was relieved to have one less reason for suspecting Lord Gerald of doing in his fiancée’s uncle. In fact the only reason he was aware of was the young man’s presence on the spot. “I take it you haven’t done the autopsy on Lady Eva yet, or you’d have mentioned it.”
“No. The cause of death is pretty obvious, though.”
“Is the stocking still around her neck? I’ll need that. For pity’s sake don’t throw it away, and send over any rings she’s wearing, too. Now I’d better go and put in a call to Spilsbury. Thank you, Doctor.”
He spread over the corpse the sheet Philpotts had drawn back to make his examination, then made for the library to telephone. With any luck Sir Bernard would prove quickly and indisputably that Lord Fotheringay had died a natural death. Alec didn’t need any more
complications to the already complicated investigation of Lady Eva’s murder.
Daisy went to the library to wait for Alec. She wanted nothing more than to be told she was an idiot for suggesting Alec ought to look into Lord Fotheringay’s death. Of course it wasn’t another murder. People simply didn’t go around doing in the members of a noble family, however recently ennobled.
But if they did, who was next?
Before she had time to follow up this horrifying train of thought, Alec came in. Striding towards the desk he didn’t notice her until she said, “Darling?”
“Daisy! Wait a moment.” He sat down, pulled the telephone closer, and clicked impatiently until the operator responded, when he asked for a London number. “Yes, I’ll hold the line. What is it, Daisy?”
“I just wondered. About Lord Fotheringay.”
“No answers yet. The local man doesn’t feel competent to do the autopsy so I’m trying to get hold of Sir Bernard Spilsbury.”
“Then you think he was murdered? Someone’s decided to do in the Fotheringays, one by one?”
“If it’s murder, which I don’t yet know, I’m sure it’s because he knew something which might lead to Lady Eva’s murderer. For pity’s sake don’t go putting it into people’s heads that someone has it in for Fotheringays in general.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling. But Inspector Crummle is putting—” She stopped as Alec held up his hand.
“Hello?” He spoke for some time, waited, impatiently told the operator that yes, he’d have another three minutes, spoke again, and finally hung up. “Between the interest of the case and the lure of the peerage, he’s agreed to do it as soon as we can get the body to him.”
“I think I saw the mortuary men waiting in the hall.”
“Yes, hold on just a minute.” He went to the door, which opened as he reached it. “Tom, you’ve got something already?”
“Easy, Chief. Seems Lord Fotheringay told Mr. Baines he’d take his tea in the conservatory today, and the parlourmaid carried in the tray at a quarter to five and then went to help in the drawing room, where the rest had theirs.
She set it on the table near the garden door, in the middle there.
His lordship was off at the far end messing about at his potting bench. ”
“So the teapot was sitting there for up to a quarter of an hour before Bincombe arrived on the scene and found him drinking.”
“She said sometimes he was so busy with his plants he let it grow cold. She usually went in after a bit to see if he needed more hot water, but she had to take up a tray to Mr. Montagu too, then service in the drawing room kept her running, there being so many guests. Later, she went to clear up Lord Fotheringay’s tea-things, just like normal.
That’s her job, she says, and that’s what she did, though extra quiet and quick seeing he was lying there dead.
That was before Mrs. Fletcher started wondering if it was suspicious and came and told us. ”