Chapter 18
With the help of a chance-met maid, Daisy found her way from the flower room to the main hall. As she entered, she saw Jack and Miller leaving through the door to the drawing room. Going to finish off dismantling the fireworks apparatus, she thought. How long ago the Guy Fawkes celebration seemed!
She nearly called out to them, but stopped herself just in time.
She didn’t know whether Miller had heard about Mrs. Gooch’s letter; she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know about it; and anyway, she wasn’t at all sure what to say to Jack next time they met.
Not that she cared who his mother was. It wasn’t his fault if his father had had an affair with a young woman from Evesham, twenty-one years ago.
Nearer twenty-two. Someone must know whether Lady Tyndall had been pregnant or not.
As though in response to the thought, the baby turned head over heels inside her. “It’s all right,” she said soothingly, patting her bulge. “It’s nearly lunchtime. I expect you’re as ravenous as I am. Somehow we missed elevenses.”
Still a bit chilled from her tramp around the gardens with Lady Tyndall, Daisy subsided into a chair by the fire. She stretched out hands and feet towards the flickering flames, then quickly assumed a more ladylike posture when Adelaide came in from the passage.
“Oh, Daisy.” Addie didn’t sound pleased to see her but came to sit down. “I do think your husband is the pink limit, foisting me off on that sergeant while he talked to Jennings.”
“I’m sure he had a good reason.”
“I can’t imagine what Jennings could tell him. He never does a stroke of work, hardly ever leaves his pantry. He should have been pensioned off twenty years ago.”
“He’s worked here that long?”
“As long as I can remember.”
“How far back can you remember?”
“When I was five or six, I suppose. I remember the first time I joined in lessons with Babs. We had a perfectly foul German governess. I wasn’t a bit surprised when we went to war with Germany.”
“So you don’t remember Gwen being born.”
“Of course not. If I remembered that far back, it would be her suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Children weren’t allowed to know about pregnancies.”
“True,” Daisy agreed with an inward sigh. She should have realized it was no use expecting Jack’s sisters to know anything about his birth. After all, she hadn’t told her eleven-year-old stepdaughter she was pregnant. Belinda had found out for herself.
“I suppose you want to talk about pregnancy and childbirth and all that,” said Adelaide. She didn’t utter the words but her tone said, What a crashing bore!
“No, actually, I’d much rather talk about food. Are you staying to lunch?”
“I suppose I might as well.”
“The butler may not be up to much, but the cook is jolly good. Has she been here long?”
“Several years. The previous cook was a man and he got called up. From what I’ve heard of army food, cooking it must have come as a nasty shock to him after Edge Manor.
Father offered to take him back when he was demobbed, but he found a job in a London restaurant. Servants are so disloyal nowadays.”
Once started on this theme, Addie was easily kept going. By the time the gong rang for lunch, Daisy had learnt that Jennings was the only member of the manor’s staff who had worked here at the time of Jack’s birth.
Whether the doddering old man had any recollection of the circumstances was another matter.
“Tom, you have my deepest sympathy,” Alec declared, entering the billiard room.
“That’s nice, Chief. What for?”
“For having had to question the butler.”
“Ah.” Tom grinned. “Selective deafness.”
“Selective senility! As you said, he thinks he has a secret. It may be entirely in his imagination, or he may have forgotten what it is. In any case, I would hesitate to rely on anything he says, if he ever says anything. He’s a perverse old curmudgeon and who knows what goes on in his head.”
“Who knows what goes on in any of their heads. Young Mr. Tyndall, f’r instance.
Horrified by what’s happened; helpful as you please; don’t care about the title, nor the money, much; shocked and incredulous over the letter; worried about its effect on his ma, and the rest of the family if rumour gets about.
Nice lad, butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but he’s got means, opportunity, and the best motive I’ve seen in a long while. Motives, if the letter’s true.”
Alec asked the question that was topmost in his mind: “You think he’s a good actor?”
“Ah!” Tom ruminated. “Seems to me, if you’ve got a father with a short fuse like that, unless you’re a saint or you actually enjoy brangling, you’d grow up spending a lot of effort keeping things from him.”
“Yes, they all seem to have gone to great lengths to cover up the Yarborough boys’ misdeeds, just for the sake of peace and quiet. I imagine that’s fairly typical.”
“Hardened deceivers, the lot of them, you reckon?”
“That’s putting it rather strongly. You didn’t get anything useful out of Tyndall.”
“Not a thing. He remembered a few more details of this and that, but nothing to help us. As for that Mrs. Yarborough, a more self-centred creature I hope I never meet. Just about all she can remember of last night is how many compliments she got on her frock, how her brother wrongfully accused her sons of stealing rockets, and how she was forced to help act as hostess though she’s no longer a member of this household. ”
“For which they must all breathe frequent sighs of relief. All right, let me see your notes on the interviews with her, Tyndall, and the servants. Here’s mine on the second half of Lady Tyndall’s.
I can tell you what was said before, but Daisy has the verbatim notes, in her indecipherable shorthand. She’ll type them up after lunch.”
As if the mention of lunch had summoned them, two maids came in with trays.
Miss Gwendolyn had invited Alec to join the family in the dining room, but he had far too much to discuss with his men.
Besides, sitting down to eat with a group of suspects was always uncomfortable, though he’d had to do it more than once.
Usually because Daisy was a guest of the suspects, come to think of it.
“Ah, hot soup,” said Tom, rubbing his hands together. In spite of the fire Gwen had had made up for them, the room was chilly. “And very welcome, too.”
The girls both beamed, and one of them giggled. “There’s cold meat for after, Mr. Tring. Miss Gwen said you wouldn’t want us popping in and out, disturbing you. And apple charlotte.”
The other nudged her. “For three.”
“DC Piper will be joining us,” Alec said, and thanked them.
He and Tom had finished their thick vegetable soup and embarked on cold beef and ham and hot jacket potatoes when Ernie finally arrived.
“Food!” he said with alacrity, taking a seat.
“Report first,” said Tom.
“Have a heart, Sarge! The soup’ll be stone-cold.”
“Soup first,” Alec decreed, “unless there’s something urgent.”
“I’d’ve told you right off, Chief, if there was.
” The soup rapidly disappeared. As he served himself a lavish helping of sliced meat and a couple of potatoes, Ernie said, “Nothing interesting from any of the guests they’ve talked to, which is most of the list. Half of ’em can’t remember who they talked to, and none of ’em noticed the time, nor noticed Sir Harold or anyone else entering the house. ”
“Pretty much as I expected. What about the search warrant?”
“The Lord Lieutenant’s going to get one for us. He offered to bring it over himself, but I think I managed to persuade him to send a motorcycle officer.”
“Good for you, laddie!” Tom said approvingly.
“Yes, we can do without Mr. Dryden-Jones. All right, eat up: We’ve a busy afternoon ahead.”
Luncheon in the dining room was one of the most dismal meals Daisy had ever attended. Not that there was anything wrong with the food, but the nervous tension was palpable.
Everyone was there. Gwen had deputed the housekeeper to take her place at Gooch’s side while she ate, and Babs eschewed her usual bread and cheese with the farm workers in favour of family solidarity.
As far as Daisy could tell, she and Gwen, like Adelaide, didn’t know about Mrs. Gooch’s letter.
Neither the letter nor the murders were discussed, and a brief enquiry from Lady Tyndall to Gwen was the only mention of Gooch’s accident.
He was still deeply unconscious.
Everyone was too well brought up to talk about tragedy and trepidation at table, with servants bobbing in and out.
But no one was able to forget for long enough to carry on a conversation about anything else—no one but Addie.
She had seen an evening dress she fancied in Vogue and she went on and on about it, and the handbag, shoes, gloves, and jewellery to go with it, in the most excruciating detail.
Daisy alternated between wanting to wring her neck and being grateful that she saved everyone else from having to think of things to say.
After lunch, as they left the room, Lady Tyndall held Daisy back. “My dear, I have a favour to ask. But you must promise to tell me if you don’t feel up to it.”
“Right-oh. What can I do for you?”
“You know about this . . . this wretched letter. The girls will have to hear about it. That is, not Adelaide perhaps, but Gwen and Barbara must.”
“Did Alec tell you not to mention it?”
“No.”
“He won’t tell them unless he absolutely has to.”
“He might consider it necessary, and it’s not fair to let them learn about it from the police.
Yet I don’t think I can bear to explain it to them.
It’s a lot to ask, but would you mind very much .
. . ? I don’t want to impose, but it can’t be as painful a subject for you, not being one of the family . . ..”
“Willingly,” said Daisy. “I’d better go and catch Babs before she goes back to work.”