Chapter Twenty-Five
TWENTY-FIVE
By the time they left the Great North Road at Norman Cross, Daisy was heartily wishing she hadn’t come.
A couple of hours confined with Mr. Irwin, even in the luxurious comfort of a chauffeured Lanchester, was enough to convince her that her first impressions, gained when he showed her around Alec’s great-uncle Walsall’s house, were accurate.
He was a fussbox, and an incredibly boring one.
After she had assured him four or five times that she was perfectly comfortable and quite warm enough, he started fretting about the unfortunate state of affairs that was taking them to Lincolnshire.
His concern was natural. Daisy had no quarrel with that.
But she felt he should be more worried about his daughter and grandchildren than about the effect on his standing with the Law Society of having a son-in-law arrested for murder.
Nor did she see why she should be forced to listen to a lengthy diatribe on his advice to Maurice Jessup not to engage in shipping alcoholic beverages to America. He went into great detail about the laws and treaties involved, all of which passed over Daisy’s head.
She had been trying for some time to shut out his droning voice when it dawned on her that his words were addressed not to her but to Alec, through her.
Though she was accustomed to people giving her information they wanted to convey to the police without actually having to speak to the police, she considered it most improper in a lawyer.
He didn’t even have the excuse of being a suspect. She listened with increasing indignation as he explained how he couldn’t possibly be held to blame for the consequences if his clients chose to disregard his advice.
“I’m sorry, I must have missed something,” she said. “Are you saying you advised the Jessups not to bump off Castellano? Because if so, surely it was your duty, not just as a lawyer but as a citizen, to warn the police that they were contemplating murder?”
Irwin stared at her aghast. “Oh, no, no, no!” He took out a linen handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “Oh no, my dear Mrs. Fletcher, you misunderstand me entirely! I knew nothing of their plans in advance, I assure you.”
“They didn’t tell you till afterwards?”
“No, no, they never breathed a word to me, neither before nor after.”
“Then why do you think you could be held responsible?”
“Well, I did know about the … er … the ‘bootlegging,’ and since that led to the murder—”
“So you believe they did it, do you? Aidan or Patrick, or the two together?”
“Not Aidan! No!” he said violently. “Aidan is a very steady and responsible young man, or I should never have let Audrey marry him. But who knows what sort of criminals Patrick consorted with in America? The … victim was American, I gather.”
“Did you know Patrick had gone to America?”
“I was not told. I guessed. Had I been consulted, I should have advised very strongly against it, and with reason. Look what has come of it!”
Mr. Irwin had clearly persuaded himself that Patrick was guilty. Daisy could only be glad he was not her solicitor.
Did he have a reason for that belief, beyond his determination not to suspect Aidan? Did he know something Daisy did not? And if Patrick was the murderer, why had Aidan fled?
As an afterthought, what had happened to Lambert?
Beyond Peterborough, the land was dead flat, crisscrossed by ditches draining the fens. There were pastures dotted with cattle, but much of it was rich arable land. Here and there, a windmill loomed, great sails slowly turning. Daisy’s thoughts turned to Audrey’s sister’s farm.
Audrey had talked about her sister occasionally, saying Vivien had married a farmer.
Daisy had no idea what to expect—it could be anything from a cottage to a mansion.
The inhabitant of either might be described as a farmer, from a cowman to a gentleman who never went nearer the fields than his bailiff’s office.
On the other hand, she couldn’t imagine Mr. Irwin permitting a daughter of his to meet a cowman, let alone marry one; and if she had married into the aristocracy, or even the gentry, the family wouldn’t refer to him as a farmer.
No doubt he was something in between. Daisy realised she didn’t know his name, either, but she decided not to ask Mr. Irwin, who had mercifully fallen silent at last. She didn’t want to incite another peroration. Sooner or later, she would find out.
The driver stopped in Boston to ask the way to Butterwick, and in Butterwick to ask the way to West Dyke Farm. The end of the long trek was in sight.
Farm turned out to be a modest term for a substantial house.
Architecture was not Daisy’s strong point, but she thought the original brick farmhouse must have been enlarged as long ago as the eighteenth century to make a pleasant manor.
The green-and-brown-striped fields extended right up to the gardens, with no extravagant park intervening.
Perhaps a park had been ploughed under during the War.
Or perhaps the family—what was their name?
—that continued to call their home “Farm” when it might have aspired to a grander title, had seen no sense in wasting valuable cropland.
As the chauffeur pulled up the Lanchester in front of the house, Daisy realised that for all his talk, Irwin had said nothing constructive about the purpose of their trip.
“Are you going to tell Audrey about Aidan privately?” she asked him. “I mean, are you going to try to keep it from her sister?”
“I?” he exclaimed. “But that’s what you came for, Mrs. Fletcher, to break the news to Audrey.”
“No, I most certainly did not,” Daisy said crossly. “I came to support her, to hold her hand, and to accompany her to Manchester if she decides to go.”
“But I can’t tell her. She’ll very likely cry!”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. That’s why I’ll be there to hold her hand and make soothing noises.”
“You know much more than I do about what’s happened. You’ll be far better able to reassure her.”
“Nothing I know is in the least likely to be reassuring,” said Daisy, her tone uncompromising.
“Oh dear! I thought I’d keep Vivien occupied while you—”
“So you don’t want her and her husband to be told?”
“That is entirely up to Audrey,” Irwin said with some dignity. “But even if she’s willing for her sister to hear the whole, she may well not want Bessemer in the picture.”
Bessemer—at least Daisy had a name now. She recognised that she was losing the argument, though. What chance had she against a lawyer, trained to keep a dispute running for years? Just look at Bleak House!
“All right,” she said crossly, “but you’ll have to explain why I want to speak to Audrey privately. You can’t expect me to barge into the house of people I’ve never met and drag their guest away from whatever she’s doing.”
Even a lawyer could scarcely argue with that.
Daisy hadn’t realised how stiff she was till she stepped out of the car, nor how cold and hungry she was until she stepped into the warm house and smelled lunch.
The Bessemers and Audrey were, in fact, in the middle of their midday meal.
The newcomers were welcomed without overt curiosity, and places were quickly set for them.
Vivien Bessemer and her husband indeed seemed genuinely incurious about the reason for the unexpected arrival of her father and her sister’s friend.
Audrey, however, was very much on edge, and she pushed her food around her plate without, as far as Daisy could see, eating more than the odd morsel.
Daisy ate well, not so much to postpone the distasteful task she’d landed herself with as to fortify herself for it.
At last, she and Audrey were settled in a small parlour with their coffee.
“What’s wrong?” Audrey asked at once, leaning forward, her hands clasped in her lap. “What’s happened?”
At least Daisy didn’t have to announce the fact of bad news. Audrey was obviously expecting it.
“I’m afraid Aidan has been injured—”
“I know that much. I thought he was all right, though, just a bit of a headache. The policeman who came this morning, that Scotsman, didn’t mention anything else.”
“There have been some aftereffects,” Daisy said vaguely. “He’s being properly taken care of. Don’t worry. Why don’t you tell me about that evening, the evening before you left, so that I don’t go repeating what you already know.”
“I already told the policeman.”
“It’s not for the police I want to know, Audrey. I came as your friend, to try to help. It’ll be easier if I have a better idea of what happened, and DS Mackinnon’s not likely to tell me.”
“Oh, right-oh. Everyone was excited about Patrick coming home. They’re a very close family, you see.
Usually, I feel very much a part of it. I wouldn’t want you to think they shut me out in any way.
No one could have a dearer mother-in-law than Mama Moira.
But … I suppose—I’m afraid, looking back, I was a little jealous.
I didn’t tell Mr. Mackinnon that. I’m so ashamed of it. ”
“It seems to me perfectly understandable, and none of the police’s business.”
“It’s not that I don’t like Patrick, but they were making such a fuss about his return.”
“Mrs. Jessup had been pretty worried about him, hadn’t she?”
“Yes. It was stupid of me to feel that way. Anyway, Aidan and his father came home early the day Patrick was expected. Aidan said he was going to go out to walk about and get a spot of fresh air and see if he could spot Patrick’s taxi arriving.
It wasn’t even a pleasant evening! I went up to the nursery.
I don’t know how long I was there—you know how time passes when you’re playing with the children. ”
“Like a flash,” Daisy agreed.
“Then Mama Moira came in—all the servants would have been busy with preparations for dinner—and she asked me to go down. She didn’t say why.
I assumed Patrick must have come in, but I didn’t ask because she seemed …
well, rather upset. We didn’t go down to the drawing room as I expected.
She took me to our bedroom—Aidan’s and mine—and there was Aidan with a plaster on his head, right on top.
He said he’d had an accident and bumped it. ”
“Didn’t you ask how?”
“He just said he’d been careless and slipped.
I didn’t ask for details because then he told me he’d decided he couldn’t put off his trip to the North any longer and he was going to wait to welcome Patrick home and then catch a train.
And Mama Moira said she was sure I’d want to make the best of my time and leave in the morning to come here, to stay with Vivien.
I felt as if I was being rushed, but they both seemed a bit peculiar, so I didn’t like to make a fuss.
It was all … strange. I did wonder if perhaps Aidan had met Patrick and they’d quarrelled … ?”
Her voice rose in a question. Daisy said, “I’m pretty sure you needn’t worry about that.”
“I didn’t really believe it. They’ve always been such good friends. Anyway, Mama Moira helped me pack for Aidan and start to organise my own packing. Nurse wasn’t to be told till after the children were asleep, for fear of them getting overexcited.”
“Miranda and Oliver aren’t old enough yet to be excited about things that haven’t happened yet.”
Audrey smiled at that. “They will be, all too soon!”
“No doubt. You started to pack….”
“Then Patrick arrived and we all had Champagne to celebrate, in the mirror room. But it was all frightfully artificial somehow. It’s hard to explain.
You know Mama Moira was an actress. It was as if everyone was acting, including me.
I was desperate to know what was wrong, but I just didn’t quite dare to ask.
Then it was time to change for dinner. That’s when Aidan left.
He kissed me, just as if he was going off to work on an ordinary day, and he told me not to worry, but how can I help it?
And now my father’s come all this way, and you … ” Her voice failed.
“Only because Mrs. Jessup decided a telegram would be too upsetting. She’d have come herself—”
“Thank heaven she didn’t! Travelling in a car makes her frightfully sick. She’d have been half dead and in need of nursing. You said Aidan’s getting proper care. What’s wrong, and where is he?”
“I don’t know very much. We tried to ring up the hospital—”
“Hospital!”
“He was taken ill at his hotel, and they couldn’t keep him there.
You know what hotel people are like, always worrying about what the other guests might think.
Aidan just needs rest and absolute quiet and someone to keep an eye on him.
It was too early to speak to anyone at the hospital when we rang up this morning, but I dare say he’s perfectly all right after a good night’s sleep. ”
“I must go to him, of course. Vivien won’t mind keeping the children.”
“Your father intends to take you.”
“You’ll come, too, won’t you, Daisy? I love Father dearly, but …”
“If you really want me,” said Daisy, but what she thought was, Try to stop me!
For one thing, she had no desire to attempt what sounded like a wretched train journey back to London.
Luckily, Audrey didn’t seem interested in why she had come in the first place.
It would be hard to explain that she’d let herself be dragooned into doing something she really wanted to do.
“Oh, I do!” Audrey hesitated. “Daisy, is all this something to do with … all those policemen in the garden?”
“You saw them?”
“They were hard to miss! The morning after Aidan was hurt—but Aidan couldn’t have anything to do with that. It’s just a coincidence. It must be.”
“The most extraordinary coincidences do happen.”
Audrey took a deep breath and visibly braced herself. “Daisy, I don’t know what they were looking for, and I don’t think I want to know, but your husband isn’t going to arrest my husband as soon as he’s well enough, is he?”
“As far as I’m aware,” Daisy said with careful precision, “Alec hasn’t yet worked out exactly what happened in the garden. He’s hoping Aidan may have some information that will help him find out.”
Which was the truth, as far as it went. Daisy had no desire whatsoever to be the one to enlighten Audrey about the murder in the garden and the indisputable connections between the Jessups and the murdered man.