Chapter Twenty-Three
TWENTY-THREE
Daisy dined alone, an occurrence too frequent to be bothersome. It allowed her to read while she ate, though, naturally, she’d rather have been talking to Alec. After a delicious apple snow, light and frothy and sweetened just enough, she took her demitasse of coffee up to the nursery.
Miranda was fast asleep in her crib, but Oliver was teething yet again and inclined to be fretful. Daisy rocked him in her arms, crooning a lullaby, while Nurse Gilpin and Bertha went down to the kitchen to have supper with Mrs. Dobson and Elsie.
Oliver soon settled down, sucking his thumb.
Mrs. Gilpin would have strongly disapproved.
Daisy let him suck. Pulling it out of his mouth would only get him upset again.
She debated whether to lay him down in his crib, but she was very comfortable in the rocking chair by the fire, and it was difficult to get out of it holding a large baby, so she stayed put.
It was a cosy comfort, not at all conducive to thoughts of murder, yet she couldn’t help her mind turning that way.
Aidan was in hospital in Manchester, suffering from the effects of a concussion. Perhaps he had fallen getting in or out of the train. Perhaps something had fallen on his head from the overhead rack.
Unfortunately, it seemed more likely that he was feeling the delayed aftermath of a fight with Castellano.
Had he attacked because Castellano had threatened him or Patrick?
What had become of the mysterious vanishing gun, or had Castellano not carried one?
And why—the question always recurred—why was Alec convinced Castellano’s death was cold-blooded murder?
Not knowing made it very difficult to see either Aidan or Patrick as a cold-blooded murderer.
And she must not forget Lambert, though he seemed still more unlikely.
Elsie came in. “Oh madam,” she said in a hushed voice, “Enid just brought a note from them next door.”
“Whatever can they want now?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, madam. It’s sealed. Not that me or Enid would stoop to reading someone else’s letter!” She came over, holding out a blue envelope. “Ooh, who’s a sweetie pie, then!”
“Do you think you could take him and lay him down in his crib without waking him?”
“Sure enough, madam. I’ve got little brothers and sisters, I have.” She picked up Oliver and bore him away.
The envelope was addressed to “Mrs. A. Fletcher” in a hand she didn’t recognise. Opening it, she glanced first at the signature—”Maurice Jessup.” What on earth …?
He apologised for troubling her. Moira was greatly distressed by the latest development in this horrible business and begged for Mrs. Fletcher’s advice. Would she be so very kind as to call at her earliest convenience, tonight if possible?
“Little lamb,” cooed Elsie, leaning over Oliver’s crib. She turned to the other crib. “And I haven’t forgot you, Miss Miranda. Such a good quiet mite.” She tucked a blanket in more securely.
Daisy hardly noticed. Her advice? About what? Did Mrs. Jessup still, after Daisy’s denials, believe she knew everything in Alec’s mind and would be willing to share it?
Alec would undoubtedly say she shouldn’t go. Luckily, he wasn’t here to say it. She knew she’d never sleep tonight with curiosity gnawing at her. If she could satisfy it while bringing some comfort to Mrs. Jessup …
“Elsie, I’m going to pop next door for a few minutes. Did you finish your supper?”
“All but the pudding, madam. Mrs. Dobson will save me some if you want me to stay with the babies.”
“Would you, please, until Nurse comes back? I’d hate her to find Oliver crying and no one here. I shan’t be long.”
Daisy dispensed with hat and gloves, but she did don a coat for the brief venture out into the frosty air, down the steps and up the steps. Enid opened the Jessups’ front door promptly.
“I’m ever so glad you’ve come, madam,” she said. “We’re all that worried about poor Mr. Aidan in the hospital.”
Hospitals were still regarded by many as a place where you were taken to die. “It’s the best place for him,” said Daisy. “He’ll get proper care there.”
“I’m sure I hope so. If you’ll please to come this way, madam.” She showed Daisy into the drawing room.
Mrs. Jessup, as immaculate as ever, came to meet her and took both her hands. “How kind you are!”
“I don’t know if I can help.” Daisy’s voice was full of doubt.
“Come and sit down and let us explain our quandary.”
Daisy had expected to see Mr. Jessup, but somewhat to her surprise, Mr. Irwin was still there, as well.
As Aidan’s father-in-law, she wondered, or as a lawyer, or a bit of each?
He had freely given Alec the address of Audrey’s sister.
Daisy wouldn’t give much for his legal advice in a criminal matter.
He was the first of the two men to speak. “Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher. We are approaching you as a friend of my daughter, the only friend we feel able to bring into this shocking affair, as you are already conversant with its details.”
“Yes?” Daisy said cautiously.
“Audrey must be told that Aidan is in hospital,” said Mrs. Jessup. “I simply can’t countenance keeping it from her.”
“She ought to know,” Daisy agreed, reflexively accepting a tiny liqueur glass Mr. Jessup pressed into her hand. She tasted—Drambuie.
“The trouble is, Vivien isn’t on the telephone. Jonathan—Mr. Irwin—was going to send a telegram, but I can’t help thinking how I’d hate to get such news in a wire, not knowing what to do or—”
“I’ve said I’ll go to her.” Irwin sounded goaded.
“And take her to Manchester.”
“And take her to Manchester, if that’s what she wants. I’ll hire a motor, leave at once, and drive through the night. But it’s my opinion that the police will consider our arrival unwarranted interference. I repeat,” he added doggedly, “I am not conversant with criminal law.”
“Mrs. Fletcher,” Mrs. Jessup appealed to her, “do you think your husband would consider it—what’s the phrase?
—‘obstructing the police in the execution of their duties’ if Jonathan took Audrey to Manchester?
Heaven knows, Aidan and Patrick seem to be in trouble enough already.
The last thing they need is any further complications. ”
Daisy’s sympathies were entirely with Audrey.
How much comfort her father would be to her was uncertain, but he was indubitably better than a telegram announcing her husband’s having been rushed into hospital.
On the other hand, Alec might reasonably be annoyed if Mr. Irwin reached Audrey and whisked her away before Mackinnon had spoken to her.
“I can’t see that Alec can possibly object to a wife hurrying to her husband’s sickbed,” she said, thinking fast. “And I don’t believe he’s allowed to object to the presence of a lawyer, at least in certain circumstances.
Couldn’t you go with them, Mrs. Jessup? A worried mother as well as a worried wife would be awfully hard to take exception to. ”
Mrs. Jessup shuddered. “There’s nothing I’d like better, but I simply can’t travel by motor-car. I’d be no use to either Aidan or Audrey if they had to tuck me up in the bed next to his.”
“Mal de voiture,” said Daisy understandingly, “or it ought to be. I don’t know if the French have a word for it. You ought to learn to drive, you know. A friend of mine gets frightfully sick when she’s driven, but she’s perfectly all right driving herself.”
“Oh, I’m much too old to learn.”
“Rubbish! But that’s beside the point. The more I think about it, the more I think Audrey needs a woman to go with her to hold her hand. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh yes!”
“We can’t bring anyone else into this,” Jessup said grimly.
All three looked at Daisy.
“Well …”
“My dear Mrs. Fletcher,” said Irwin, “I’d be exceedingly grateful if you could see your way to coming with me. I’m certain your support would mean a great deal to my daughter. Women are so much better on such occasions—‘When pain and anguish wring the brow, a ministering angel thou!’ ”
The solicitor’s lapse into poetry startled Daisy.
She didn’t mind that couplet, but she took serious isssue with the first part of the verse.
“Uncertain, coy, and hard to please” was not a description any modern young woman would put up with.
Not that she couldn’t think of a few to whom it applied neatly, but in her opinion, not a one of them would ever turn into a ministering angel under any foreseeable circs.
“It’s a lot to ask,” said Jessup, refilling Daisy’s glass.
His wife just projected hopefulness that would have easily reached the balcony in a theatre.
“I think it’s quite a good idea, actually,” said Daisy. “If Alec’s furious, it’ll be with me, not with you, and I’m used to it. However, I can’t possibly be ready to leave before the morning. Reasonably early in the morning, but not tonight.”
Mrs. Jessup agreed that the support Daisy could offer her daughter-in-law was more important than speed in announcing the bad news. Mr. Irwin agreed to have his hired car pick her up at eight o’clock the next morning.
Returning home, Daisy breathed a sigh of relief.
They might think they had persuaded her into going, but it was just what she wanted.
By the time she and Irwin arrived at the farm, Mackinnon would have had his talk with Audrey.
When she explained that to Alec, he’d have to agree she’d acted for the best. On top of that, she would not only be a comfort to Audrey; she’d be back in the thick of things, instead of languishing in London while the action was in Manchester.
As she entered the house, the telephone bell was ringing. She reached the instrument just as Elsie pushed through the baize door. “You get it,” she requested, stepping back. “I’m not sure I can cope with any more excitement this evening.”
“It’s that Mr. Mackinnon,” Elsie announced a moment later. “The Scotch detective. It’s a trunk call.”
“Oh dear! Right-oh, I’ll talk to him.” Daisy took the receiver and put her hand over the transmitter.
“Elsie, I have to go out of town for a couple of days. Would you get started on packing? I’ll wear country clothes tomorrow—the heather tweed costume and a motoring coat—and then—Whatever do you suppose one wears in Manchester? ”
“A dirty place, by what I’ve heard, madam. You’ll want something dark.”
“Right-oh. I’ll be up in a minute.” She uncovered the transmitter. “Hello, Mr. Mackinnon, this is Mrs. Fletcher. What can I do for you?”
The line was terrible, with a crackling noise interrupted by periodic pops.
“Mrs. Fletcher?” Mackinnon shouted.
“Yes!” Daisy shouted back.
“I’m in Lincolnshire, at the Boston police station.
The Chief told me to ring up to find out whit’s going on, but they told me at the Yard he’s on his way to Manchester, and Mr. Tring’s gone hame.
” He always sounded more Scottish than ever when harassed.
“Can ye no gie me an inkling whit’s happened sin’ I left? ”
Using initials for those involved, in case the exchange girl was listening in—country operators usually having more time to spare than those in town—Daisy passed on all she knew.
Her exposition was punctuated at regular intervals by the operator’s “Your time is up, caller. Would you like another three minutes?” The really irritating thing was that the line always cleared miraculously for these announcements, then reverted to hissing and spitting like an angry cat for Mackinnon’s reply.
“So you don’t have to try to find out from Mrs. A.J.
where her husband is. And that’s about the lot,” Daisy said at last, “or at least all I can remember. Alec doesn’t tell me everything, of course.
But if I may venture a suggestion, I wouldn’t mention Mr. A.J.
being in hospital, if I were you. It’d only upset Mrs. A.J.
and make it more difficult for you to get answers out of her. She’ll find out soon enough.”
“Yon’s no the Chief’s notion, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“No, just my opinion.”
“I s’ll have to consider—”
“Your time is up, caller. Would you like another three minutes?”
“No, thank you, operator. Thank you, Mrs. Fletch—”
The line went silent.
Oh well, Daisy thought, she had done her best for Audrey. She could only hope Mackinnon would see the sense in her suggestion. She went upstairs to pack.