Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Daisy felt the blood suffuse her cheeks. Twenty-eight years old and still blushing like a schoolgirl! It was downright humiliating. “I’ve …” Assisted? Better not, Alec might deny it. “I’ve been involved in a couple of his cases.”
Boyle’s face went blanker than ever. “No doubt that would explain why he …” He didn’t voice the remainder of his thought, so Daisy was sure it must be uncomplimentary, but whether to Alec or herself she couldn’t be sure. Which was probably just as well.
“I’ll keep going with our arrival,” she said hurriedly.
“It was tea-time. Lady Beaufort and Julia—Miss Beaufort—were in the drawing room. So was Mrs. Howell. She’s Mr. Pritchard’s sister-in-law and she lives here, though they don’t seem to get on very well together.
Let’s see, I think Mr. Howell had come home by then.
He’s her son, Mr. Pritchard’s nephew, or rather his late wife’s, if you want to be precise.
He runs their factory. Fortyish, and a confirmed bachelor to all appearances, but I haven’t talked much to either of the Howells.
I think that’s all—. No, Mr. Armitage was there, too. And Lord Rydal came in after us.”
“Armitage? Who’s this Armitage?”
“He’s staying here, but for a while, not just visiting for a few days as we are.”
“For a while?”
“I don’t know exactly how long he’s been here or how long he intends to stay.
You’ll have to ask him, or Mr. Pritchard.
I don’t know much about him except that he’s Canadian.
” And madly in love with Julia, but let Boyle find that out for himself.
“Oh, and he’s a historian. He was very helpful in giving me information for my article.
” After a still unexplained initial reluctance.
“Article? I thought you and Lady Gerald were writing a book.”
“I’m writing and she’s taking photographs for a book. I’m also writing an article.”
DI Boyle’s inexpressive face actually contrived to brighten. “Lady Gerald has taken photographs of the grotto?”
“Of the two outer caves, at least. I don’t think she took any of the bit that blew up. It wasn’t very interesting. But they’re not snapshots, they’re plates, and she’ll want to develop them herself.”
“I would remind you, Mrs. Fletcher, that this is a murder investigation.”
“You don’t need to remind me. It’s Lucy you’ll have to convince that your investigation is more important than her art. Irreplaceable art, what’s more. We need those pictures. Lucy—”
“Do I hear my name being taken in vain?” Lucy drawled from the doorway. “Rumour reached us, darling, that you were all on your lonesome being interrogated. Julia thought we’d better come and make sure you’re holding your own.” She sauntered into the room.
Her words implied that Lucy herself was not at all concerned about Daisy’s ability to stand up to a policeman or two. As usual, she was cool, calm, and collected, unlike Julia, who followed her in.
But of course, whichever way you looked at it, Julia had a great deal more to worry about. Not that Lucy’s calm was destined to last very long.
Inspector Boyle stood up. Daisy introduced him. “Darling,” she continued, “Mr. Boyle is sure your photos of the grotto are going to prove very useful to him.” She sat back to enjoy the fireworks.
“My photos?” Lucy sounded as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “My photos? The ones I’ve spent the last three days getting absolutely perfect? You can’t be serious!”
“Absolutely serious, Lady Gerald. All I have is a rough sketch plan. Your photographs may be vital in working out exactly what happened.”
“What happened is that some benefactor of humanity turned on the gas and let Rhino blow himself up. You don’t need my plates to work that out. And you’re not getting them.”
“Lady Gerald, you are obstructing the—”
“I’ve obstructed the police in the course of their duties before, and no doubt I’ll do it again!”
“Well, now, what have we here?” Alec came in, looking much more himself, though either his dark hair had greyed a bit while Daisy wasn’t watching or he still had chalk dust in it. “Three little girls from school. I do beg your pardon, Miss Beaufort. We’re not well enough acquainted for me to—”
“Really, Alec!” said Lucy in disgust. “That is not at all helpful. This person wants me to hand my photography plates over for some incompetent nincompoop to ruin, after I—”
“I’ll get a warrant if I have to, sir. They may—”
“Now just calm down, both of you. No, Lucy.” He held up his hand. “Hear me out. Boyle, is there any reason Lady Gerald should not develop her own plates and provide you with prints?”
“I suppose not,” Boyle admitted grudgingly. “But we don’t have our own darkroom in Swindon. I’ll have to make arrangements.”
“Saturday evening,” Daisy pointed out. “You won’t find a commercial photographer open till Monday.”
“It seems to me,” Lucy said, a waspish note in her voice, “if I have to do it, it’ll be quickest and easiest if I dash back to town and use my own darkroom. I don’t know how Gerald’s going to like leaving a couple of hours after he arrived, having spent the interim digging.”
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Lord Gerald yet,” the inspector said doggedly. “I need him to stay, as a witness to finding the victim. Or victims.”
“I’m quite sure my husband will have nothing to add to what Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher can tell you.”
“Nonetheless, I need to hear his description. And if you were thinking of staying in London, I’ll be needing you to come back as soon as the photos are ready. I’ll send Detective Sergeant Thomkin with you,” he added with a reckless air. “Leave your notes with me, sergeant.”
Thomkin looked alarmed—even though he was ignorant as yet of Lucy’s driving habits.
Lucy was furious. “For pity’s sake, Inspector! You expect me to drive off into the night with that …” She glanced for the first time at Thomkin. “… With such a dashing young man? My husband would definitely not approve.”
Daisy and Alec exchanged a glance. Gerald might be a rugger Blue and a financial wizard, but he’d never had a determining influence on Lucy’s actions.
The sergeant protested incoherently, whether at being sent to London with Lady Gerald or at her imputation of dashingness was impossible to disentangle.
“On the other hand,” said Lucy, amusement abruptly taking the place of annoyance, “did you want prints of all the pictures, Inspector? Every single one?”
“Certainly. It’s for me to decide which are important.”
Lucy heaved a deep, dramatic, and undoubtedly spurious sigh. “If you insist, I suppose I have no choice. Come along, what’s your name, no time to waste. You can carry the plates down to the car for me.”
“Yes, your ladyship. Thomkin, your ladyship.” He gave his superior a reproachful look and his notebook, then followed Lucy out.
Inspector Boyle turned to Julia. While he explained to her that he would take her statement later and she had no need to stay at present, Alec said to Daisy in a low voice, “What the deuce is Lucy up to?”
Daisy had an inkling of what was in Lucy’s mind, but she gave him a wide-eyed, misleadingly ingenuous look as spurious as Lucy’s sigh. “Up to, darling? What makes you think she’s up to something?”
“I know Lucy,” said Alec grimly.