Chapter 11
Melanie left and Daisy returned to her typewriter, determined to finish off her article before lunch.
“Finish off” was an unfortunate choice of phrase.
Someone had brutally finished off the man she had to write about.
Once again unable to concentrate, she gazed out of the window at the now-sunny day and decided to take the dog out.
Poor Nana had been having a thin time of it since Belinda’s departure for boarding school and the twins’ subsequent arrival.
Now that she was old enough not to chew anything and everything she came across, she was allowed to wander freely in the house.
When Daisy was working, she’d lie patiently under the desk, submitting to the occasional use as a footstool, ignoring the chatter of the typewriter keys and the ping at the end of each line.
Not that the keys were doing much chattering at present.
Nana’s overwhelming joy when she heard her mistress say “Walk!” made Daisy feel frightfully guilty.
As they strolled along Prince Albert Road towards Primrose Hill, she made up her mind to put the Tower entirely out of her mind for the moment, to enjoy the fresh air washed clean by the morning’s rain and the capers of the little dog at her heels.
Turning onto a grassy path, she let Nana off the lead.
With forays after rabbits, squirrels, and other enticing smells, Nana covered four or five times the crow’s-flight distance to the top of the hill, but Daisy’s legs were in good shape after all those steps at the Tower and they soon reached the summit.
And she wasn’t going to think about the Tower.
She turned about to admire the view. As usual when she came up here, Wordsworth’s sonnet floated through her head: “Earth has not anything to show more fair . . .” There was the Crystal Palace, and over there, almost lost in the haze raised by the sun from damp streets and roofs, was the Tower, which she was not going to think about.
Nana was making friends with a large shaggy dog of breeding as indeterminate as her own, belonging to an elderly man seated on a bench. Daisy sat down. The big dog, assuming this to be a friendly overture, came over to sniff her fingers.
“Off, Rummy!” He doffed his hat. His dog gave Daisy’s hand a lick and went back to Nana. “Sorry about that. Beautiful day.”
“Lovely,” Daisy replied, but her attention was drifting. “Nice dog.”
Rummy. Rumford. Somehow he was the key. At first sight, or on a foggy night, it would be easy to mistake Crabtree for Rumford, both red-cloaked and bushy-bearded. But surely anyone with a deadly grudge against Rumford would know they looked alike and make jolly sure he got the right man.
The murderer must have expected Rumford to be there at the top of the steps at whatever time Crabtree had been killed—which suggested an appointment.
Why had Crabtree been there instead? Had he for some reason kept the appointment in Rumford’s place?
Or had the two arranged to meet there for some inscrutable purpose, something that could not be carried out indoors, in their next-door houses?
What had Rumford said to Crabtree earlier, when he waited for him at the top of those same steps?
If only Daisy had overheard, she would probably know now exactly what had happened later, and why!
Or if they had not met by appointment, then one knew the other would be there, for whatever equally inscrutable purpose, and sought him out.
Perhaps Rumford had deliberately set out to kill Crabtree.
Perhaps they had quarrelled and Rumford had accidentally pushed Crabtree down the steps—though that didn’t explain the partizan.
Or perhaps Crabtree had set out to kill Rumford and Rumford had fought back.
There was a whiff of blackmail about Rumford, the man who could see through walls. How many Tower residents might he be blackmailing?
Daisy wondered whether she ought to telephone Alec to suggest he take a close look at Rumford. But even if she could get hold of him, when he might be anywhere in the Tower, he would only say she was speculating wildly.
She sighed.
“Troubles?” said the old man sympathetically.
“A pretty young lady like you didn’t ought to have troubles.
Now when you get to my age . . .” He proceeded to tell her all about his grandson, who had been killed in the War, his difficult daughter-in-law, who didn’t want the dog in the house, and his rheumatism.
When he began on his hernia operation, Daisy excused herself, called Nana, and headed for home.
She wasn’t quite sure what a hernia was, but she was quite sure she didn’t want to hear about his.
Being the sort of person complete strangers chose to confide in was often interesting and even useful, but it had its drawbacks.
It was a pity Mrs. Tebbit had not felt that urge to confide, Daisy thought, walking down the path towards the street.
What little the old lady had said suggested she knew Rumford was blackmailing General Carradine.
As Resident Governor, the general could presumably send his yeomen hither and yon as he wished, as long as he didn’t contravene the traditions of the Tower.
He could easily have ordered the Yeoman Gaoler to perform some task that would have taken him to the steps at a certain time.
Yet Crabtree had turned up instead. Of course, any blackmailer worth his salt would be suspicious of being sent on a midnight errand by one of his victims. Had he found some excuse to persuade the Chief Warder to take his place?
Daisy found herself at the bottom of the hill with no Nana frisking around her ankles. She put two fingers in her mouth and uttered a piercing whistle.
Instantly horrified at her own disgraceful behaviour, she watched with mingled pride and dismay as half a dozen dogs raced towards her.
Gervaise had taught her to whistle, but she had never made the attempt in anyone’s company but his.
Having grown up into a rather proper young man—at least where his sisters were concerned—he would probably have been as shocked by her exploit as anyone.
A lady simply did not whistle in public.
She hadn’t really expected to remember how.
But as the unknown dogs veered off and the truant came to sit at her mistress’s feet, panting and wagging, Daisy was on the whole almost as pleased with herself as Nana. She sent a silent “Thank you” heavenward, whither she hoped Gervaise had proceeded from the Flanders trenches.
Lead attached, they set off along Prince Albert Street.
All the same, it was very naughty of her, and she hoped no one she knew had witnessed her performance. How could she presume to teach Brenda and Fay proper behaviour when she, at her advanced age, was still at heart a tomboy?
The Carradine girls would be devastated if their father was arrested for murder. Daisy’s case against him was very tenuous, not worth mentioning to Alec.
On the other hand, if General Carradine was the murderer and Daisy hadn’t mentioned her suspicion, Alec would rightly accuse her of sheltering Fay and Brenda. One way or t’other, she couldn’t win.
When Alec reached Colonel Duggan’s office, he found that the commander of the garrison had foreseen his needs and mustered all the Guardsmen who had taken sentry duty during the night.
“Thank you, sir, that’s a great help. My sergeant will be along shortly to deal with them. Meanwhile, I’d like to have your recollections of last night.”
Duggan’s account agreed exactly with his wife’s.
Like his counterpart at the King’s House, the sentry at the front door of the Officers’ Quarters could hardly have helped seeing anyone who went in or out.
Presumably, there was at least one other exit, for servants and deliveries and so on.
Checking on that would be another job for Tom.
However, Alec was inclined to believe the Duggans.
One last personal question remained. “I gather you transferred to the Hotspur Guards from another regiment. Was that during Crabtree’s tenure as RSM or after he left?”
“A year or so before he came to the Tower. He was a damn good soldier and a pleasant fellow. He could have made life sticky for me, me not being one of the ‘Gentlemen’s Sons’ who are supposed to officer the Guards, but he was always most cooperative, even positively smoothed my way.
I’m damn sorry he came to such a nasty end, after managing to survive the War. ”
“My wife gave me the impression there was a certain amount of strife between the garrison and the yeomen.”
Duggan laughed heartily. “Between the Resident Governor and myself, perhaps, though it was mostly in his mind. I married his sister-in-law, and not for what she inherited, whatever people say, though I’ll admit we couldn’t have married without it.
But there’s nothing Carradine can do about it.
Otherwise, I suppose there’s always some friction between the members of a temporary garrison and the permanent residents, but remember, the yeomen were all once serving soldiers, and NCOs at that.
It’s not like being quartered in a civilian area. ”
“So you’d reject the possibility of the murder being the result of some sort of feud between Hotspurs and Yeoman Warders?”
“Absolutely! I’d wager Mrs. Fletcher got her impression from Christina’s nieces.
Nice girls, but given to dramatic embellishment.
As for the personal matter with the general, that splendid old lady Mrs. Tebbit seems to be bent on putting an end to that, which I’m heartily grateful for.
It was making my poor Christina damn uncomfortable. ”
“Mrs. Tebbit is a force to be reckoned with,” Alec agreed. “All right, I won’t take that feud too seriously. What about any personal disagreements between members of your battalion and the yeomen? Since Crabtree was the Regimental Sergeant Major, it’s not unlikely that he had a few enemies.”