Chapter 14
Alec crept into the house well after midnight. The light in the hall was turned down low. By its dim glow, he saw on the hall table an unlit candle and a sheet of paper headed MR. FLETCHER. He turned up the gas.
“Sandwiches in larder,” the note continued in a small, neat hand. “Please lock and bolt front door and turn out gas. Cecily Anstruther. P.S. Peter did not do it.”
So they knew who he was. Mallow hadn’t mentioned that in his oral report. Perhaps it would come out in his written report, but if not he’d have to be told that Alec expected every detail.
Of course, the Anstruthers and Baskin would inevitably have discovered his profession this morning, but Alec hoped Daisy had not been made too uncomfortable in the meantime.
Probably not, he reflected. She had not been cast out into the night, and it took more than an awkward social situation to discomfort Daisy.
After Mrs. Puckle’s tasty fish pie, he had no need of sandwiches. They would do for breakfast in the morning, as he had to get going before the normal breakfast hour. The door locked and bolted, he lit the candle, turned out the light, and went up to bed.
He looked in on the girls. Deva had thrown off her covers, so he pulled them up and tucked her in before turning to Belinda. As always
his heart clenched with love as he gazed down on his sleeping daughter.
In the months since his mother had removed herself and her Victorian strictures to Bournemouth, the last little lines of anxiety had smoothed from Bel’s freckled forehead.
Her mouth curved in a slight smile suggesting happy dreams. Daddy had found a body on the beach, but Mummy was not making a huge song and dance over it, as Granny would have, so why worry?
Alec kissed her cheek. She didn’t stir. He went on to his and Daisy’s room.
Daisy was lying on her back, the position she found most comfortable at this stage in her pregnancy.
At a later stage, Alec remembered with a touch of guilt, Joan had been uncomfortable in any position.
What women put up with! He was grateful that Daisy wanted to have his baby, in these days when women had a choice, almost as grateful as he was for her love and care for Belinda.
He kissed her on the nose. She stirred and murmured, “Silly nose,” but didn’t waken.
Grinning, he took his pyjamas and sponge-bag and headed to the bathroom.
Daisy’s nose wasn’t at all silly. It was, in fact, a very ordinary nose, not snub, not Roman, not even the aristocratic sort of nose her birth entitled her to.
It occasionally garnered a few freckles, nothing like Belinda’s crop, but the summer sun had sprinkled a few that she didn’t bother to cover with powder here at the seaside.
He just happened to like to kiss it. What could she have been dreaming to come up with “Silly nose”?
Or had he misheard her? His grin faded as he contemplated the first substitute that sprang to mind: “Cecily knows.” Whatever Mrs. Anstruther knew, he would doubtless find out. He was more concerned with the unexpected use of her christian name.
In every case Daisy had managed to get herself mixed up in, she had taken one or more of his suspects under her wing.
While he didn’t for a moment believe she deliberately concealed evidence tending to implicate these protégés, the fact remained that she saw them through rose-tinted spectacles. And now, unless he missed his
guess, she was on christian name terms with the wife of the man he had to regard as his chief suspect.
Alec groaned.
Monday morning, waking early in spite of his late night, Alec dressed without disturbing Daisy. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed. She turned towards him. He kissed her cheek and she opened her eyes, blinking up at him.
“Good morning, love.”
“Morning, darling. Morning? You’re already up! What time is it?”
“Nearly seven.”
“Seven! You’re supposed to be on holiday … Oh no. Enderby.”
“Enderby it is. Daisy, last night when I came in, you said, ‘Cecily knows.’”
“I was asleep when you came in.”
“Well, maybe you were talking in your sleep, but you still might have had a reason for those words.”
“‘Cecily knows’? Oh yes, Cecily knows who followed her in Enderby’s affections. If affections is the right word, which I rather doubt.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t tell me, and she refused to tell Inspector Mallow, after the way he behaved. I must say I don’t care for Mallow, darling. He looks so frightfully saintly, and then he drops a bomb and goes on looking saintly.”
“A bomb?” Alec was interested in her view of the inspector.
“The Anstruthers thought he’d come about Saturday night, till he started asking about yesterday.
Cecily assumed Enderby had been assaulted again and was afraid Anstruther had done it.
And then Mallow mentioned quite casually, with no attempt to break it gently, that Enderby had gone over a cliff, whereupon Cecily fainted. ”
Alec frowned. “I can see why she wouldn’t confide in him, then. But surely she must realize that widening the field of suspects can only help Anstruther.”
“That’s what I told her. She’s willing to give you the name.”
“Did you reveal my secret identity, or was it Mallow?”
“Mallow practically forced me to. At least, he deliberately put me in a position where if I hadn’t, they’d have had every right to be shirty when they found out. That man has a very misleading exterior!”
“So it would seem. I’ll have to keep an eye on him.
Antagonizing a witness is sometimes unavoidable and occasionally useful, but the Anstruthers appeared to be cooperating—there was no call to go upsetting them unnecessarily.
What about Baskin? He knew Enderby was dead, of course, but not that I’m a CID man. ”
“I was too concerned for Cecily to notice his reactions, but at the very least he’ll be wary of the inspector after seeing the way he broke the news to the Anstruthers.”
“Mallow may have had his reasons. I’ll have to see if he explains himself in his written report, and if not I’ll try to think up a way to ask him without giving you away as a tale-bearer.”
“Beast! After I persuaded Cecily that revealing the name of her successor to the police didn’t count as tale-bearing!”
Alec grinned. “Thanks, love. I’m off now.” He stood up.
“Darling, is it all right if the girls go exploring the stream with Baskin this morning?”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asked doubtfully. Mallow had reported the hiker’s staff undamaged, no sign of splintering, but that didn’t let him out. “He’s on my list of suspects.”
“If he pushed Enderby over I’m sure he had an excellent reason, which has nothing whatsoever to do with Bel and Deva. They’re frightfully keen. He’s good with children. Besides, I’ll walk up the lane and meet them at intervals. I shan’t be far away.”
“In that case, I don’t see why not. Don’t overtire yourself.”
“I shan’t. I’m going straight back to sleep now.”
Downstairs, Alec found the Anstruthers and their maid already at breakfast in the kitchen. Cecily was pale and heavy-eyed as though she had not slept well, if at all. Anstruther’s eyes looked more wary than tired. A sailor learns to catch his sleep when he can, whatever
the circumstances, especially in wartime.
He was jacketless, shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbow exposing muscular arms with a tattoo of a twisted rope and anchor on his left wrist, a musical stave around the right.
St. Cecilia was the patron saint of music, Alec remembered. Someone—Purcell?—wrote an ode to her.
“Good morning, Chief Inspector,” Anstruther said dryly.
“Sorry about that. There was no point telling you as long as I had some hope of not being dragged in.”
“Dragged in? Baskin says you found the … Enderby.”
“Yes, but I hoped to get away with being called as a witness at the inquest. No such luck.”
“That inspector of yours—”
“Peter, let Mr. Fletcher be. He didn’t choose to have his holiday spoilt. Mr. Fletcher, you didn’t eat your sandwiches last night.”
“It was very kind of you to make them for me. Mrs. Puckle gave me something to eat, so I thought I’d save them for breakfast.”
“Good gracious, no, all curled up at the edges as they are! I’ll have bacon and eggs ready for you in just a moment, if you don’t mind setting yourself down in here. Peter, pour Mr. Fletcher some coffee.”
Whether she was motivated by hospitality or a desire to curry favour with the police, Alec didn’t feel it incumbent upon him to refuse. He did say as he sat down, “I have a few questions for each of you, but most of them can wait till later.”
“Long as you don’t go springing any more nasty shocks on Cecily, like that Inspector Mallow did,” Anstruther said truculently. “Seeing you were in the Schooner Saturday, we’ve nothing to hide.”
“I’m glad to hear it. As I recall, you told the inspector you left here at about quarter past two yesterday afternoon. Is that correct?”
“I didn’t notice the time. That’s what Cecily said. It was right after dinner.”
“That’s about right,” said Mrs. Anstruther, breaking a large brown egg into the sizzling frying-pan. “Sunday dinnertime for guests is one o’clock, same as weekday lunch, and we ate after you finished. In fact, I remember glancing at the clock when Vera took the dishes into
the scullery to wash up, and thinking it was time I started making your picnic tea.”
Alec looked at the maid, who had continued to eat with no sign of hearing a word, lost in a world of her own. “No doubt Vera will be able to confirm the time.”
The Anstruthers glanced at each other and laughed. “Not likely,” Cecily said. “The only time Vera notices is what o’clock the pictures begin at the cinema in Abbotsford on her day off.”
“Twenty past five, The Thief of Bagdad,” said Vera reverently, “with Douglas Fairbanks. Last week I saw—”
“That will do, Vera. If you’ve finished your breakfast, go and sweep the hall, please. You see, Mr. Fletcher?”