Chapter 5
Saturday morning dawned misty, but with a promise of heat to come. Before breakfast, Belinda and Deva went out to the garden to make sure Sid’s cart was still where Baxter had parked it, behind the shed.
Daisy had told them she thought the beachcomber would be freed today.
“We’re going to stay nearby till he comes to fetch it,” Belinda announced at the breakfast table, “so that I can give him his new hat.”
“You don’t need to do that, darling. You’re bound to see him around sometime.”
“But we have to stay at home today anyway, because of Daddy coming.”
“He won’t be here till after lunch. The train gets into Abbotsford just at lunchtime, so I’m sure he’ll stop and eat there before he catches the ferry.”
“He might come early, Mummy. You never can tell. We can’t wait on the beach, because the tide’s coming in. Anyway, we don’t mind staying in the garden, do we, Deva? We’ll go on reading The Wind in the Willows together. It’s a ripping book.”
“I like books with talking animals,” Deva agreed. “My ayah knows
lots of stories about Hanuman, the monkey god, and Ganesh, who has the head of an elephant, but Mole and Ratty are more fun.”
Daisy was amused. This was the first time she had heard Deva prefer anything English to the Indian equivalent. “All right,” she said, “wait to see Sid and give him his hat, and then we’ll consider the rest of the morning.”
Donald Baskin was intrigued. He hadn’t come across Sid in his wanderings and asked all about him. Daisy let the children tell him.
“And it’s not fair,” Belinda said indignantly; “people pick on him just because he can’t talk. It’s not his fault! Besides, he can sort of talk with his hands, can’t he, Mummy?”
“He certainly explained very cleverly that the glass ball he gave me should be kept on a windowsill to catch the sun.”
“It sounds as if his intelligence is at least not far below normal,” said Baskin. “I wonder whether something can be done for him. A friend of mine is active in teaching the deaf and dumb to express themselves in sign language and writing. Where does Sid live? In the town?”
“I don’t know. Do you, girls?”
“No, but we’ll ask him, won’t we, Bel?”
“Yes. May we get down, Mummy? We don’t want to miss him.”
“Finish your milk, Deva, then you may both go.” Daisy sighed as the girls rushed out of the door. “I’m quite new at this mothering business,” she said. “It’s sometimes rather wearing. Belinda’s my stepdaughter, you see, and this is our first summer holidays together.”
“I thought you looked too young to have a daughter that age,” Baskin said gallantly. “I’d say you’re doing an admirable job, and I speak as an expert. I see all sorts of mothers in my work. May I trouble you for the marmalade?”
Passing the marmalade, Daisy decided another piece of toast with Mrs. Anstruther’s heavenly raspberry jam would not come amiss. They munched in companionable silence. When they finished, Baskin opened the door for her and followed her out into the hall.
At that moment came a brisk tattoo on the front door. It was flung
open without ceremony and a stocky, bearded man appeared on the threshold, blinking at the dimness within after the bright sun outdoors.
He wore a navy blue jacket, with gilt buttons and a narrow band of gold lace around each cuff, and navy trousers.
In one hand he held a uniform cap with the crown, laurel wreath and foul anchor badge of the Royal Navy.
In response to the knocking Mrs. Anstruther hurried from the kitchen. “Peter!” she cried, and ran into his widespread arms.
Dropping his cap, he lifted her up and swung her around in a hug, his tanned face split by a wide, white beam between his neat moustache and the short, pointed beard à la King George.
“Well, Cecily, m’dear, your sailor’s home from sea.
And in such a hurry to see his gal, he took the early mail train down and did without his breakfast.”
Half laughing, half crying, Mrs. Anstruther said, “Put me down, you big lubber, and there’ll be bacon and eggs on the table in a jiffy.
” As he obeyed, she caught sight of Daisy and Baskin.
She smoothed her hair, blushing. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Fletcher, I didn’t see you.
May I introduce my husband? My lodgers, Peter—Mrs. Fletcher and Mr. Baskin.
Mrs. Fletcher has two little girls with her and Mr. Fletcher arrives today. ”
Polite greetings were exchanged and the Anstruthers went off to the kitchen, arm-in-arm. Baskin turned to Daisy with a grin.
“If I hang about, may I hope to see an equally enthusiastic meeting when Mr. Fletcher arrives?”
Smiling, Daisy said, “Don’t delay your walk. I’m not sure when he’ll get here.”
Their landlady reappeared, pink-faced and flustered, with Baskin’s packed lunch. Daisy went slowly upstairs. It was none of her business but she couldn’t help wondering whether Cecily Anstruther was going to confess about her affair with Enderby or simply hope Peter would not find out.
At Belinda’s insistence, Daisy and the girls met every Abbotsford ferry from mid-morning onward. As expected, Alec arrived after
lunch. Daisy spotted him from afar, sitting in the stern, pipe in mouth. Her heart gave a little leap. If she hadn’t been properly brought up and in a very public place, she would have been quite happy to run into his arms.
As it was, she left that for Bel, who barely let him step onto solid ground before launching herself at him with a squeal: “Daddy!”
“Darling!” said Daisy.
That was practically the only word she managed to fit in as they walked back to the guest-house, following a porter with Alec’s bags on a trolley.
Deva was somewhat in awe of Alec to start with, but with Bel chattering away about their castles and dams and walks, and more especially about Sid, Deva soon chimed in.
The porter led the way along the street, which was not much wider than the track by the beach and became an unpaved lane by the time it reached the house.
Generally, Daisy and the girls avoided the lane, after an experience with a motor-car which had forced them to jump into the hedge and hold their breath to let it pass.
However, the front door was no doubt more appropriate than the back garden for a new arrival with luggage.
Daisy opened the door and the porter carried the bags in. While Alec paid him, she rang the bell on the hall table.
Cecily Anstruther came out of the sitting room. Though obviously preoccupied, she welcomed Alec and had him sign her guest-book. “If there’s anything you want, just let me know,” she said. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Westcombe.”
“Judging by my wife’s postcards and my daughter’s rhapsodies, I’m bound to,” Alec said with a laugh.
“Oh, Daddy!”
“Off you go now, Bel, and let your father settle in in peace. The tide must be well on its way out by now. We’ll come and find you on the beach, but—”
“Don’t go in the water till you come,” the girls chorused, and they ran upstairs to change.
Alec declined the assistance of the maid to get his bags upstairs.
But once in their corner bedroom, he ignored the view over the beach and the inlet, took off his jacket and tie, and with a sigh stretched out full length on the bed.
Daisy sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “Tired?”
“It’s going to take me a while to get into the holiday spirit, love. We just finished up a nasty case, and I left the paper-work for poor Tom to cope with. He and his missus are going to Clacton-on-Sea for a couple of days next week. He sent his best regards, by the way.”
“I just posted a card to him and Mrs. Tring.” Daisy was very fond of Alec’s detective sergeant. “Should I send one to Superindentent Crane?”
“Great Scott, no, Daisy! The less the super’s reminded of your existence, the happier he is.”
“It’s most unfair. Anyone would think I actually went around searching for dead bodies!”
“I take it you haven’t found any here. Let us be grateful for small mercies. Who is this Sid Belinda and Deva were going on about?”
“Not at all the sort of person anyone would wish to murder. He’s a beachcomber, a simpleton but perfectly harmless.” Daisy filled in the bits of Sid’s story that Bel had left out. “There’s the glass ball he gave me,” she concluded, “on the windowsill.”
Alec lazily turned his head. “Very pretty. And those long walks Bel mentioned and Deva bemoaned—you haven’t been overtiring yourself, I hope, what with looking after those two and all?”
“I feel frightfully hale and hearty, darling. It must be the sea air. The girls have been very good, and the walks were my doing. Just wait till I get you up on the cliffs. You can see forever.”
“Not this afternoon,” Alec said firmly. “The farthest I intend to walk is to the best pub in town for a drink before dinner. I take it there’s somewhere respectable enough for you to accompany me?”
Daisy hesitated. The Schooner was the obvious answer, yet she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to patronize the place. Still, Alec would be bound to find out about it and wonder why she hadn’t mentioned it, and she didn’t want to spoil his holiday by explaining all the complications
surrounding George Enderby. Surely the dratted man wouldn’t approach her if she had her husband right by her side!
“There’s the Schooner Inn,” she said, trying to hide her reluctance. “It’s the biggest hotel and it has a public bar.”
“The Schooner let it be. Come and lie down for five minutes, love. I’m sure you ought to take an afternoon nap, in your condition.”
Her condition didn’t noticeably cool his ardour. A delightful hour passed before they joined the girls on the beach. If Enderby had a rendezvous on the cliffs that afternoon, Daisy saw him neither coming nor going.