Chapter Nine
NINE
“Scotland Yard!” Tilton, otherwise rigidly at attention, turned his cap round and round in nervous fingers. His eyes flickered around the entrance hall, to which he and Alec had retreated, as if noting every escape route. “Detective Chief Inspector! Why didn’t you tell me, zir?”
“Because I had … have no intention of trespassing on your territory, Sergeant. If it wasn’t for my mother-in-law blowing the gaff…”
“Ah,” said Tilton, enlightened.
“Do sit down, man. It’s Christmas, I’m on holiday, and in any case the Met has no business in Cornwall unless your Chief Constable calls us in. There’s nothing I can do.”
Tilton perched on the edge of a lyre-back chair. “But the Chief Constable’s away for Christmas.”
“He would be!”
“And you ’eard me, zir; I can’t get ahold o’ the detective branch in Bodmin to request assistance.
I were already thinking o’ telephoning Scotland Yard.
We don’t ’ave murders ’ere, zir, barring young Jackie Levitt that got stabbed outside the Boot Inn back in ’02, and that were a fair fight.
’Zides, I bain’t used to dealing wi’ the gentry, ’zepting motoring offences and zuch.
Won’t you give us an ’and, zir?” he pleaded.
“Not without express authorization.” Alec sighed deeply. “I suppose, in the circumstances, the least I can do is to accompany you back to Calstock. You can ring up the Yard, and should authorization be forthcoming, I’ll be on the spot to send for my men.”
“Aye, zir!” The sergeant started up, eager to go.
In the meantime, the trail would be growing cold, Alec thought, but no colder than if he left Tilton to struggle on unaided. It was already more than twelve hours since Calloway was attacked, he reckoned. He sighed again. “What a way to spend Christmas afternoon!”
“I missed me dinner,” Tilton said reproachfully, “likewise Constable Redkin that I left guarding the chapel.”
“Great Scott, my dear chap, so you did. We’ll stop by the kitchens and have them put together something you can eat as we walk, and send up something for the constable.
‘If it were done, when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly,’ but a few minutes is neither here nor there. And I’d better put on my boots.”
He left the sergeant in the kitchen and went up to change into outdoor clothes. In the bedroom he found Daisy on the same errand.
“So sorry about Mother, darling,” she said.
“Whoever would have guessed she’d practically boast about having a ’tec in the family?
That really set the cat among the pigeons.
Godfrey was inclined to take your ‘deceitfulness’ amiss, but Miles pointed out you could hardly have known beforehand that there was going to be a ‘crime wave’ at Brockdene.
Mr. Tremayne said it would be just as well to have a competent detective in charge.
I take it you’re going to Calstock to ring up the Yard? ”
“Why should you take anything of the sort?” he retorted irritably.
“Miles told me about the sergeant not being able to get in touch with his superiors. I’ll walk with you. I need the exercise after that dinner, and there’s tea and supper to come. Miles and Felicity will keep an eye on the children.”
Alec gave in. He wasn’t on duty yet, after all, and half the point of a holiday was to have time to spend with Daisy. They picked up the sergeant and set out.
It was a beautiful afternoon. At first the path led through woodland, with glimpses of the Tamar between the trees.
Sergeant Tilton had turned gloomy again when he discovered Daisy was going with them.
He tramped ahead, wheeling his bike with one hand, a sandwich in the other, so she and Alec were able to hold hands and talk privately.
“You were saying something,” Alec said, “at the chapel, when we were talking about the possibility of Calloway changing his mind. You said, ‘That was why…,’ and then the clock chimed and your mind instantly turned to dinner.”
“I must say Mrs. Pardon did us proud,” Daisy mused. “I wonder what sort of poor excuse for a Christmas dinner the Norvilles get when Westmoor hasn’t landed them with his unwanted guests.”
“What were you going to say?” Alec asked patiently. “‘That was why’ what?”
“Let me think back. Oh, I know. That was why Calloway went to the chapel, to pray for guidance because he couldn’t make up his mind. Didn’t you hear him talking about it?”
“No. Who did?”
“Felicity was there. Her father, I think. Miles? I can’t remember. Jemima. But they would have talked about it later, I’m sure. They probably all knew.”
“I suppose so. So any of them could have followed to ask him if he’d made a decision and attacked when he said he wouldn’t swear to the wedding.
It sounds a bit berserker. The sensible thing would be to wait and see if he changed his mind again.
You know, Daisy, the logical murderer would be someone who’d be done out of an inheritance if the marriage were proved. Who is Westmoor’s heir?”
“His son, of course. Heir apparent rather than heir presumptive. No one could displace him.”
“He has a son? Bother!”
Daisy was suddenly uncertain. “I think so. Of course, what with the War, I didn’t have to do the social season, so I didn’t get to know all those sorts of people. I’m sure I’ve met a daughter or two though.”
“Daughters are beside the point.”
“Don’t let Bel hear you say that, darling. I bet Sergeant Tilton knows. Westmoor’s a local bigwig, after all. Tavy Bridge—his principal seat, as they say—is somewhere near Tavistock.”
“Devon? Two counties involved. I haven’t a hope of staying out of the business then.”
“I’ll ask Tilton whether Westmoor has a son.”
“No, don’t do that. The Norvilles must know. If I end up taking over, I don’t want to give the local police unnecessary cause for speculation about the family.”
“That’s a point,” Daisy agreed. “Anyway, I can’t see how a putative heir-presumptive-who-is-not-Westmoor’s-son could have found out about Calloway. He and the captain landed in Plymouth just a couple of days ago and came straight to Brockdene.”
“That’s a point,” said Alec, with a smile. “Look, there’s a heron.”
The path had descended a hill, crossed a bridge over a small stream running into the Tamar, and now bordered a marshy area along the river.
They continued past a pair of the ubiquitous lime kilns and a couple of cottages, then under an arch of the spectacular railway viaduct.
Calstock spread up the hillside from the Tamar, a grimy tin, copper, and arsenic mining town and river port.
Walking along the narrow, winding main street, they saw a house with a gleaming brass plaque announcing:
TREMAYNE & WEDGE
SOLICITORS
Notaries Public
Commissioners for Oaths
“They look quite prosperous?” Daisy remarked interrogatively to Sergeant Tilton, who had slacked his pace to rejoin them.
“Aye, doing nicely enough. Mr. Tremayne’s partly retired nowadays, picks and chooses his clients, he does. Young Mr. Miles’ll take over the partnership when he’s done wi’ his articles. Copes pretty well, does young Mr. Miles, considering. Here we are then.”
Leaning his bicycle against the wall of the small police station, he led the way inside. He ushered Daisy into a waiting room at the back and firmly closed the door before tackling the telephone in the front office.
Daisy was left to cool her heels for what seemed an age.
She tried to put her mind to the mystery of Calloway’s murder, but without further evidence she had reached a dead end.
When gazing out of the window palled, she picked up a copy of the Sporting Times which someone had left lying on a table.
Since it was a week out of date, and she had no interest in “The Pink ’Un” at the best of times, it did not hold her long.
Her patience expired. She opened the door a few inches to hear Alec say, “I’m sorry, Tom. My most abject apologies to Mrs. Tring. And I’m afraid I’m going to spoil Piper’s Christmas, too. Will you get on to him?”
So Alec had sent for his team. He was in charge of the case. Daisy was not sure whether to be sorry, because of his ruined holiday, or glad, because she had a much better chance of worming information out of Alec than Sergeant Tilton.
“Yes, the mail train to Plymouth,” he was saying.
“It leaves Paddington at some ungodly hour of the night, but I need you as soon as possible. Enough time has already been wasted. Then the local to Calstock, and someone here will show you the way to Brockdene. All right, Tom, I’ll see you and Ernie in the morning.
’Bye.” He hung up. “You can come out now, Daisy.”
Unabashed at being caught eavesdropping, Daisy emerged from her seclusion. “Where’s Sergeant Tilton?”
“He was called out on a domestic assault. He rang up the Yard, and they ran the Cornish CC to earth. I gather he wasn’t pleased to have his jollifications interrupted. In fact, he was only too delighted to pass off the responsibility, so I’m ‘It.’ Let’s get back to Brockdene.”
“You’re not going to wait for Tom and Ernie before you start asking questions, are you?” Daisy asked as they set out.
“If you’re fishing to be asked to take notes, it would be a help,” Alec admitted.
“As long as no one objects, of course. Is there anyone we can absolutely rule out? Not counting Lady Dalrymple and the children, of course. Old Mrs. Norville, I suppose. I can’t see her traipsing up to the chapel at midnight.
Mr. Tremayne must be about the same age, but he’s a spry old fellow. ”
“With even less motive than the rest. You know, I’m a bit surprised he let his daughter marry a man whose legitimacy was in doubt.”
“I dare say he despaired of getting her off his hands.”