Chapter 17
Chilly,” observed Wookleigh. “Bit of a breeze come up. Morning, Mrs. Yarborough. Don’t let us disturb you, ladies,” he continued apologetically. “It’s time I was getting along.”
“Won’t you stay for lunch, Sir Nigel?” asked Babs, her invitation extended with more propriety than enthusiasm.
“That’s kind of you, Miss Tyndall, but you won’t want an unexpected guest on a day like this.
I just stopped in for a word with Fletcher, but he’s obviously up to his ears in his investigation.
Mrs. Fletcher, please tell him to telephone if there’s anything I or my force can do to help.
And not a word to your revered mama, eh?
Miller, my dear chap, it’s been enlightening talking to you.
” He shook hands with the engineer. “I might take you up on your offer one of these days. Good day to you all.”
He bowed, and Babs escorted him towards the door to the entrance hall. Daisy wondered whether she ought to suggest he leave by the French doors so as not to disturb Alec. Indecisive, she drifted after the pair. After exchanging a frigid “Good morning,” Adelaide and Miller followed.
At the door, Babs turned back. “I suppose you’d better lunch here, Addie,” she said.
Daisy continued into the hall behind the chief constable. As Babs, Adelaide, and Miller followed her, Alec glanced up, his dark brows lowering in annoyance at the interruption. Lady Tyndall summoned up a faint smile for Sir Nigel, who went to her to present his mingled apologies and condolences.
A voice from the stairs drew everyone’s attention. “He needs fulltime care, of course,” said the doctor to Gwen as they reached the bottom. “I’ll send day and night nurses.”
Lady Tyndall stood up, steadying herself with a hand on the back of a chair. “Yes, Dr. Prentice, please do,” she said firmly. “The best possible.”
He came over. “And you, Lady Tyndall, are not to sit up with him. Take care of yourself, or we’ll have you laid up, too.” He turned to Alec. “Chief Inspector? I must speak to you. You’ll want a report of my findings last night.”
“Yes—”
“I’m first,” Addie declared.
“Dr. Prentice must be anxious to return to his patients. Detective Sergeant Tring will take your statement, Mrs. Yarborough.”
“A sergeant!” Addie was outraged.
“Adelaide,” her mother said sharply, “you forget yourself. Kindly remember why Mr. Fletcher is here. You are to comply with his requirements without a fuss.”
“Bravo, Mother,” said Babs in an undertone.
A modest cough from the direction of the door to the passage turned every head that way. PC Blount blushed and saluted. “I come as soon as I could, sir,” he said to Alec.
Even more like Piccadilly Circus than the far end of the drive, thought Daisy. Who would turn up next?
Alec looked a fraction of a degree less harassed. “Thank you, Constable. Go upstairs and relieve DC Piper, please. He’ll explain.”
“I’ll show you the way, Blount,” Gwen offered. “I must have accommodations prepared for the nurses. Then I’ll sit with him until they arrive.”
“Who would that be, miss?” Blount enquired, mystified, as he tramped after her to the stairs. “Nurses?”
“I must get back to work,” said Babs, “if you can spare me, Mr. Fletcher.”
“For the moment, yes, as long as you’re not going to be too far from the house. Let me know, please, if you intend to go as far as the village, or farther.”
“Right-oh.” She went out with Sir Nigel.
“I should like a little fresh air before luncheon,” said Lady Tyndall. “Daisy, would you care to walk with me? We might see if there are any flowers to be cut for the table.”
Daisy had already set out for one morning walk that day, only for it to end in catastrophe.
She reminded herself that she had actually walked only one way, though the trip back to the house in Struwwelpeter’s car had been anything but restful.
Besides, her kind hostess ought to have someone with her, and all her daughters were otherwise occupied.
If Lady Tyndall should happen to want to talk about Mrs. Gooch’s letter, so much the better.
“Do let’s,” she said. “It’s jolly cold outside, though. You’d better wrap up well.”
She was still wearing her outdoor clothes. Lady Tyndall went to the cloakroom and emerged bundled up in hat, gloves, scarf, and a long dark grey woollen cape trimmed with green.
“Gosh, that looks warm,” said Daisy.
“It is, and fairly waterproof, too, though it gets rather heavy when it’s wet. It’s Tyrolean. Lodenmantel, they call it. I’ve had it over twenty years, well before the Germans and Austrians became our enemies, but I didn’t wear it during the War.”
“It looks good for another twenty.”
They went out through the drawing room, leaving Miller looking rather lost, Adelaide sulking on a sofa, and Alec and the doctor in close confab at a discreet distance from both.
From the north end of the terrace, a stone-paved path led into a shrubbery of evergreens, ilex, yew, and laurustinus.
“Rather gloomy at this time of year.” Lady Tyndall apologized.
“The holly and yew berries brighten it up a bit, and it’s sheltered from the breeze.”
“It’s pleasantly shady in the summer. I love to walk here on hot days.
” She continued to utter polite nothings, but her mind, unsurprisingly, seemed elsewhere.
Why had she invited Daisy to go with her unless she really wanted to talk about the calamities afflicting her family?
Perhaps she simply didn’t know how to begin.
Daisy, bursting with questions, tried in vain to think of a tactful way to broach the subject of Jack’s parentage.
A side path took them to a well-concealed potting shed, its weathered wooden walls and lichened slate roof blending into the bushes.
“I’ll just fetch a trug and secateurs.” Lady Tyndall lifted the latch and went in. Daisy stood in the doorway.
The shed contained the usual clutter of garden implements—clay pots, watering cans, bottles of turps and linseed oil, balls of twine, old sacks, a stepladder, bamboo plant stakes, a scythe hanging from a high hook, and a still higher shelf with rusty tins and dusty jars of poisons equally fatal to insects and humans.
“I simply can’t persuade Biddle to keep it tidy. Of course, the poor man has far too much to do these days with just a boy to help. But my flower things belong in this corner—yes, here they are.”
She tucked the secateurs into one of the Lodenmantel’s capacious pockets.
Daisy took the shallow reed basket and followed Lady Tyndall past the shed.
The shrubbery opened out into a sheltered vegetable garden with several beds dedicated to cutting flowers for the house.
Not much was in bloom at this season, but they managed to fill the trug with Michaelmas daisies, calendulas, and greenery.
“That will do for now. The Chinese lanterns are ready to cut for drying, but they can wait.” She turned towards the path, saying in a detached tone, “Isn’t it odd.
Everything is . . . falling apart, yet one carries on doing the little, everyday things, as if they still mattered.
Did your husband tell you about the letter from that woman? ”
“Gosh no, Alec wouldn’t tell me something like that. But I happened to be there when Jack opened it, and I know what she wrote.”
“It’s nonsense. Jack doesn’t believe it, does he? He mustn’t! He’s my son, the best son any mother could ask for.”
“He said he absolutely couldn’t believe it.”
“Thank heaven! He must have been hurt and bewildered, though. I thought he seemed distressed when I came downstairs. I should have stayed with him.”
“He was very anxious that you should not be distressed. He hoped Alec wouldn’t have to tell you about the letter, but it’s part of the investigation. He couldn’t keep it from you.”
“Part of the investigation?” Lady Tyndall looked shocked. “Oh, surely not.”
Daisy decided it was inadvisable to point out that Mrs. Gooch’s claim must somehow explain her meeting with Sir Harold. “Well, let me put it this way: Alec has to treat it as if it’s part of the investigation. That’s his job.”
“I suppose so. But does he believe what it says? Your husband?”
“He wouldn’t tell me if he’d made up his mind, but I’d be surprised if he’s not keeping an open mind about it. That’s also part of his job.”
“Oh dear, just when one thinks things can’t possibly get any worse, some new horror raises its head. Is it true that my grandsons caused Mr. Gooch’s accident?”
“I’m afraid it seems very likely.”
Lady Tyndall fell silent. They entered the house by a back door and thence into a small whitewashed scullery with a stone sink.
Daisy set the trug on the slate draining board.
Lady Tyndall opened a cupboard and surveyed the several shelves of vases.
She selected a tall one, green porcelain, for the Michaelmas daisies, and reached for a step stool.
“Let me help,” Daisy offered.
“That’s all right, dear, I always do the flowers myself.” She stepped up on the stool and took down a pair of smaller vases from a higher shelf. “I find it soothing, and I have a great deal to think about.”
Daisy accepted this gentle dismissal. “I’ll leave you in peace, then.”
At the door, she glanced back. The big vase was in the sink, filling with water, while Lady Tyndall stripped and snipped the stems of the Michaelmas daisies. Though she seemed completely intent on her task, the slump of her thin shoulders looked less like weariness than utter defeat.
What must it be like to have doubt cast on the legitimacy of one’s beloved son? Mrs. Gooch’s letter had made a strong impression on Daisy, but after due consideration, she couldn’t believe it was true.
Things had changed since the days of the Warming-Pan Plot, when people believed the Old Pretender, as a baby, had been smuggled into queen’s bed to provide James II with an heir. Even the king hadn’t been able to suppress the rumours.