Chapter 10 #2
“I dare say there was a bit of morbid curiosity in it.”
“Likely. But just because he was dead, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t dump the tea-leaves on his plants, like he always said to do.
Seems it’s good for ’em. And she showed me which plant she dumped them on and I took a look.
There’s some cut-up leaves that don’t look like tea to me.
Dr. Philpotts thinks it could be oleander. ”
“You’ve taken a sample?”
“Sealed in one of them nice little jars with a label they put in the Murder Bag. Didn’t I always say we needed something like it? Just over a month we’ve had ‘em and how many times have we used ’em already?”
“You were dead right, Tom. Now give the jar to those mortuary men and I’ll leave you to persuade them they have to take it and the
body to London post haste. Spilsbury’s agreed to do the autopsy this evening.”
“Right, Chief.”
Alec came back. “What were you saying about Crummle, Daisy? What is he putting where?”
“Not where. He’s busy putting the wind up all and sundry.”
“Damnation! Sorry, love. What is it Arbuckle used to say? Tarnation! All the man is supposed to be doing is checking everyone’s whereabouts at tea.”
“He seems to be leaving people with the impression that there’s a homicidal maniac about, or alternatively that they’re about to be hauled off to the police station to be grilled. Dire warnings in all directions. Sir Leonard’s madly trying to pour oil on the troubled waters.”
“Oh … heck! Useful language, American. I’d better go and see what … Piper!”
Detective Constable Ernie Piper came into the library with a jaunty step, waving his notebook. “Got the goods, Chief. I’d’ve been here ages ago but the car that met me had a burst tyre. Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Piper. Let’s hope you can at least narrow the field of suspects!”
“Off with you, Daisy. This is not for your ears, remember. Go and help Sir Leonard with the soothing oil.”
“Right-oh,” said Daisy reluctantly.
In the hall, Tom Tring was arguing with two men in white coats, who held respectively a roll of canvas and two poles. Daisy lingered, lurking beside a pillar, to listen, in case she might be able to put in a decisive word.
“Who’s a-goin’ to pay for the petrol, that’s what I want to know,” said the man with the canvas in the voice of one repeating himself for the umpteenth time.
“Us come to fetch a corpus to the morgue in Cambridge,” said the other obstinately, “not Lunnon.”
“Plans have changed,” said Tom with monumental patience. “Your orders—”
“My orders is what the guv’nor told me afore us set out.”
“May I be of assistance, Sergeant?” Sir Leonard came out of the antechamber where Crummle was interrogating and infuriating Fotheringays and Devenishes and twigs of their family trees.
“Mr. Fletcher has arranged for Sir Bernard Spilsbury to do the post-mortem, sir. Lord Fotheringay’s body must be taken to London. These gentlemen are concerned about having the proper authorization to go so far beyond their usual bounds.”
“What I want to know,” said the man with the canvas, “is who’s a-goin’ to pay for the petrol?”
Taking out his note-case, Sir Leonard said, “I am the Chief Constable of this county. I authorize and order you to follow Detective Sergeant Tring’s instructions. Here, take this.” He handed over a five-pound note. “I shall want an accounting.”
“Us’ll be on the road come supper-time,” said the man with the poles suggestively.
“A shilling apiece for supper,” spluttered Sir Leonard, “after you make your delivery. Be off with you before I change my mind!”
The stretcher-bearers scuttled away.
“Thank you, sir,” said Tom.
“I suppose this mean Mr. Fletcher is convinced of foul play?”
“No, sir, this is to find out. I understand the local police surgeon feels the determination is beyond his resources.”
“I’m afraid my people are letting you down right and left,” said Sir Leonard, pulling a rueful face. “I’ve just removed Inspector Crummle from the case. I really can’t have him upsetting so many people of standing. Luckily HQ rang through with news of a new case I was able to transfer him to.”
“Most fortunate, sir,” said Tom blandly.
“It’ll mean more work for you and Mr. Fletcher, I’m afraid, but I’ll leave you several constables.”
“I’m sure Mr. Fletcher will be very grateful, sir. As it happens Detective Constable Piper has just joined us, so Mr. Crummle’s … ah … assistance is no longer of such importance.”
“Excellent, excellent. I have all Crummle’s notes with me here, so I’ll just hand them over to Mr. Fletcher now, then I’m off home for dinner. In the library, is he?” The Chief Constable limped towards the library.
Following the mortuary men, Tom winked at Daisy. He’d known all the time she was there, of course. Nothing much escaped Tom Tring’s small, brown, twinkling eyes.
Giving him a wave, she was about to head for the drawing room when the wicket in the great front door started to open.
Curious as to who would come in that way without ringing the bell and waiting for a servant, Daisy paused.
In stepped a very smart middle-aged woman, her hair marcelled beneath a cockaded cloche Lucy would not have disdained, her face unobtrusively but perfectly made-up.
Her navy linen costume, piped in pale yellow and worn over a pale yellow pleated blouse, was the last word in elegance.
Beneath a hem barely covering her knees, slim legs in skin-toned stockings ended in navy glace shoes with Cuban heels.
A wedding guest, Daisy assumed, and one sufficiently closely related to the family to walk in unannounced. John Walsdorf must have failed to reach her with the message about Lady Eva.
Reluctantly, Daisy decided it was up to her to break the horrible news before the newcomer dropped a brick. She moved towards her.
The woman met her with an amused smile. “Don’t you recognize me, Mrs. Fletcher?”
Daisy stared. She felt her mouth drop open and closed it abruptly. “Good heavens,” she said, “Lady Ione?”
“In the flesh, and a lot of new clothes.”
“Lady Ione Fotheringay,” said a loud male voice, “it is my duty to warn you that—”
Crummle! Daisy swung around. “Don’t be an ass, Inspector. Lady lone has returned, hasn’t she?”
“Wanted for questioning,” said Crummle doggedly.
“By Alec—the Chief Inspector—not you. I believe you have been urgently summoned to take over a new case.”
He scowled. Without another word, he stalked to the front door. Daisy heaved a sigh of relief as he disappeared, with luck for good. Alec would get on much better without him.
“Thank you,” said Lady lone gaily. “I suppose he wanted to arrest me for Aunt Eva’s murder?”
“I’m not sure that he was actually contemplating an arrest, but you must admit it looked a bit fishy when you departed so abruptly. Especially after your pronouncement at breakfast.”
“Yes, when you put it like that, I can see I ought at least to have told someone where I was going. When one is suddenly and unexpectedly released from prison, one rather loses sight of common sense. I should have held my tongue in the first place.”
“You’d have had to give Alec some explanation in any case. Of your transformation, I mean. He’d hardly credit that it’s unconnected with the murder.”
“Alec?” Lady Ione’s cheerful insouciance began to give way to uneasiness.
“My husband, Detective Chief Inspector Alec Fletcher. Of course, you don’t know, your father had Alec called in to head the investigation.”
“He won’t think I killed her, will he? Just because I went shopping?”
“Not exactly ‘just because,’” Daisy pointed out.
“I didn’t do it, you know. After twenty-five years, why should I choose this moment?”
“If you didn’t do it, you have nothing to worry about, but you must see you’ll have to explain.”
“I can’t! For twenty-five years, I’ve danced to Aunt Eva’s tune to stop her telling! How can I turn around now and bare my soul to a policeman?”
“Well,” said Daisy doubtfully, “I dare say he doesn’t actually need the details. You could try just saying she knew something you didn’t want broadcast to the world. Not that he’d broadcast it if he did know. Policemen have to be frightfully discreet.”
“And policemen’s wives likewise, no doubt. Oh, they’re taking her away. The endless nightmare is really over.”
Daisy looked round. The stretcher-bearers had put their canvas and poles together and were stolidly carrying their burden across the hall under Tom’s vigilant eye.
“Oh, that’s not Lady Eva,” she said. “Gosh, I forgot, you don’t know about that, either.”
Behind the delicate cosmetics, Lady lone turned alarmingly pale. “What? … Who? …”
“I think you’d better come and sit down.” Daisy led her unresisting to the anteroom.
Opening the door, she saw that it was a small room only by Haverhill standards, but crammed with furniture, massive Victorian stuff perhaps moved out of the family sitting room upstairs.
She was well inside before she saw Constable Stebbins, sitting bootless, tenderly massaging one foot in its darned regulation sock.
Daisy hastily turned Lady Ione to face away from him, while gesturing at him behind her back to get out. Her ladyship didn’t seem to have noticed him.
“Who?” she asked again, sitting down and looking up at Daisy, all the newfound animation gone from her face.
“I’m afraid it’s Lord Fotheringay.”
“Aubrey! No! But why would anyone want to kill poor Aubrey?”
“That’s what Alec is trying to find out.” Daisy failed to mention
the possibility that Lady Ione’s brother had died naturally. “Which is why it’s so important for you to tell him everything you can bear to. One can never guess which details may turn out to be vital.”
“All right, for Aubrey’s sake I’ll talk to him. But … would it be too much to ask you to come with me?”
“Not at all,” said Daisy. “I’m sure you’d like to get it over with. Shall we go right away?”