Chapter 15 #2
Alec followed in the yellow Austin Seven with Sergeant Tring.
Daisy wished she could hear what they were saying.
Between them, they might solve the mystery of what brought Bott and Lord DeLancey together on Temple Island at dawn.
It was very unfair, she reflected, that Alec expected her to reveal her speculations to him, without any guarantee that he would reciprocate.
She sighed. As a detective’s wife she’d have to get used to it, she supposed.
As they entered the town, a board outside a newsagent’s caught Daisy’s eye: STROKE STRICKEN—Regatta Death. Admiring the clever headline, she hoped the Press hadn’t yet found out where Basil DeLancey had been staying before his dramatic demise.
Bott turned his head and moaned.
“Piper, he moved!”
The young detective twisted to look back. “Is he coming round, miss?” he asked anxiously. “D’you want me to come back there to give you a hand?”
“No, he’s perfectly still again,” Daisy reported with regret. “But it must be a good sign, don’t you think?”
“’Spect so, miss. The Chief’ll be happy.”
She watched Bott carefully the rest of the way without observing so much as a twitching finger or flickering eyelash.
By the time they reached the cottage hospital a couple of minutes later, she wondered if she had imagined Bott’s all too brief signs of life.
He remained horribly limp when he was lifted from the car.
“I’m almost certain he moved his head,” she told Alec. “I was thinking about something else, but I felt it more than saw it, and heard him moan, too.”
“He didn’t open his eyes?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“I’ll tell the doctor about the movement. It sounds promising. Thank you for looking after him on the way here.”
That sounded to Daisy like the opening of a dismissal.
“I’ll go to fetch Miss Hopgood,” she said quickly, not giving him a chance to tell her she wasn’t wanted at the hospital.
She had already decided not to go in yet.
She couldn’t very well horn in on getting Bott to bed and the medical examination, even if she wanted to, which she didn’t.
“However versatile Bister may be,” she explained, “I can’t ask him to break the bad news. ”
“No, it would be a bit much, and I’m sure she’d rather hear it from you. I agree that she must be informed, but do try to persuade her not to come to the hospital.”
“I’ll see how she feels,” Daisy said noncommittally.
“Your aunt wouldn’t mind if you took her back to Bulawayo, would she? Then you could keep her company and she’d be near a telephone in case there’s any news.”
“Aunt Cynthia wouldn’t mind, I’m sure, but I think Miss Hopgood will want to be with Bott. She’s very fond of him.”
Alec frowned. “I could—perhaps I should—bar her from his room.”
“You wouldn’t be so beastly! He’s the victim, not the villain, after all. Besides, he’s a different person with her, not pugnacious because he’s not constantly on the defensive. She’s very sensible. She might be useful in getting him to talk when he comes round.”
“If he’s difficult, I can always send for her,” Alec pointed out.
“I’ll see how she feels,” Daisy repeated, getting back into the Humber.
She knew she had no chance of being present at the interview with Lord DeLancey. No matter whether Susan Hopgood chose to rush to Bott’s bedside or not, Daisy was going to be there.
“Victoria Road, Bister,” she ordered.
Lace curtains twitched all up and down the street as the Humber pulled up before Miss Hopgood’s digs.
Aware of eyes on her, though Daisy didn’t go so far as to send Bister to knock before she descended, she did wait for him to get out and open the car door for her.
Let Miss Hopgood’s kind landlady milk the arrival of a chauffeur-driven motor-car at her little house for all it was worth.
Before Daisy could knock for herself, the front door
opened and Susan Hopgood appeared on the doorstep, her pretty face alarmed.
“Miss Dalrymple! What’s wrong?” She glanced at the open window of the next house and lowered her voice. “Has Horace got himself into trouble? He hasn’t gone and done something dreadful, has he? That ’tec who fetched him yesterday wouldn’t say what was going on.”
“He hasn’t been arrested or anything like that,” Daisy reassured her. “But I’m afraid I do have bad news. May I come in?”
Susan paled. “He’s not dead, is he?”
“No, no. But he is in hospital.”
“Did you come to take me to him? Couldn’t you tell me about it on the way?” She pulled herself together with a visible effort. “It’s awfully kind of you. Just let me get my handbag, I won’t be a moment.”
So much for trying to persuade her not to go, Daisy thought, turning back to the car. “Miss Hopgood is coming with me to the hospital,” she told Bister.
He saluted. “Right, miss, only was you wanting me to wait? Acos the taties wants lifting, see, if there’s to be any for lunch. Them young gents gets through a powerful lot o’ taties.”
“No, you need not wait.” Daisy would be only too pleased to let him go.
Alec could not expect her to abandon Susan on the hospital’s doorstep.
By the time she had gone with the girl to find Bott’s room, Bister would be well on his way home without her.
Surely Alec wouldn’t want to waste time taking her back to Bulawayo before he interviewed Lord DeLancey.
If he did, she would remind him that Horace Bott had
confided in her before, and might be persuaded to do so again, however reluctant to explain himself to Sergeant Tring.
Susan hurried out of the house and Bister handed her into the Humber beside Daisy, before returning to his seat behind the wheel. Though being assisted by a chauffeur into a smart motor-car was surely a new experience, she was far too worried to appreciate it.
“I’m reelly glad it’s you who came, Miss Dalrymple, not a p’liceman,” she said as the Humber moved off. “What’s happened to poor old Horace? Is he bad?”
“Not good, I’m afraid. He’s been hurt—a head wound.
” Remembering Alec’s caution, Daisy didn’t mention the pistol.
“I don’t know how much blood he lost, but the scalp does tend to bleed a lot.
Also, he fell into the river and was half-drowned.
He may well be perfectly all right, but all sorts of beastly complications are possible.
I didn’t wait to hear what the doctor had to say. ”
“Poor Horace.” Susan’s lips quivered. She looked much younger than her straightforward common sense had made her seem before, and a bit frightened. Daisy took her hand. “He must be feeling ever so poorly.”
“That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about. He’s still unconscious, or was when I left.”
“Oh. That’s … that’s not very good, is it? But he’s reelly, reelly fit. That’ll help, won’t it?”
“Bound to,” Daisy assured her.
“How did it happen? I mean, did he hurt his head when he fell into the water, or what?”
Daisy hesitated. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.”
“You mean ‘mustn’t,’ don’t you? Are the coppers still after him? What’s he done?”
“Probably nothing. Everything’s very confused at the moment. Alec—my fiancé—you remember I told you he’s a detective?—he hasn’t the foggiest what’s been going on,” Daisy said with a mental apology to Alec.
Susan seemed relieved. “Your fella’s in charge? He won’t try to make out like it was Horace did something when it was one of the toffs, will he?”
“Certainly not!”
“No, you wouldn’t be in love with him if he wasn’t a good bloke. I’m glad it’s him. Poor old Horace. I s’pose, seeing he’s still unconscious, no one’s told his mam and da yet. He’s their only one. Auntie Flo’ll want to come, and it takes ages by train.”
“Auntie? I didn’t realise he’s your cousin.”
“Horace? He isn’t. Auntie Flo’s just my mam’s best friend. Lady Cheringham’s your real auntie, isn’t she?”
“Yes, my mother’s sister.” With a flash of guilt, Daisy recalled the state in which she had left her cousin. She hadn’t spared Tish a thought since. Seeing Bott’s inanimate body lying on the floor had been one shock too many for the poor girl.
Perhaps she should have stayed. But no, her reasons held. Susan Hopgood clung to her hand like a drowning man—Ugh, another morbid cliché! She would telephone to ask about Tish as soon as Susan could spare her.
“Here we are,” she said as the Humber drew up before Townlands Hospital. “Perhaps you’d better tell them you’re his cousin, or his fiancée, in case they’re fussy about who they let in to see him.”
“You’ll come with me, won’t you, Miss Dalrymple? It’s an awful lot to ask, I know, but please.”
“Of course, if you want me,” said Daisy with aplomb, as if the thought had never crossed her mind.
A larger hospital might have questioned the credentials of two young ladies bent upon visiting a patient under police guard.
The cottage hospital porter-cum-orderly simply directed them to the poor young man’s room, shaking his head as he added gloomily, “Sorry to say, miss, ‘e’s in a bad way. Doctor don’t ’old out much ’ope. ”