Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
The criminals of England had unaccountably allowed Alec an entire uninterrupted weekend with Daisy and the twins.
Evil-doers continued to snooze after she departed on Monday morning to visit her school friend.
Since this provided Alec with no excuse not to tackle the paperwork piling up on his desk, he would just as soon they weren’t quite so forbearing.
By five o’clock on Tuesday evening, he had read, initialled, or signed absolutely everything that could be read, initialled, or signed, and DS Tring, his right-hand man, had forwarded or filed everything that could be forwarded or filed.
Tom Tring was, if possible, even less fond of paperwork than Alec.
“I wouldn’t say no to a nice Bond Street smash-and-grab,” he said wistfully as he shrugged into a plaid overcoat the size of a tent. “Otherwise, you know they’re just going to come up with another load of bumf to keep us busy.”
“Or meetings. We haven’t had a lecture from the Assistant Commissioner for a couple of weeks. At least your wife is there to be pleased to have you home on time for once. With Daisy out of town, I can’t even take her to a show to make up for all the times I’ve spoilt her plans.”
“That’s a pity, that is, Mrs. Fletcher being away just now. Might as well have a smash-and-grab as not.”
Alec laughed. “Don’t say that in the Super’s hearing.”
“Not bloody likely! See you tomorrow then, Chief. My love to my godson and Miss Miranda.”
He went out, walking with the light tread so unexpected in so large a man.
A weekend off and two days of paperwork, however boring, had done Tring good, Alec thought.
Long hours of activity and late nights took it out of him these days, though he’d be the last to admit it.
He was still three or four years from retirement.
Alec knew he dreaded finishing his career in a desk job.
He was still a valuable member of Alec’s team. His expertise in questioning witnesses couldn’t be matched by young Ernie Piper, or even DS Mackinnon, and he intimidated with his sheer bulk those recalcitrant members of society who needed intimidating.
Alec stuck his fountain pen in his pocket, folded his Daily Chronicle—for once he’d had time to read more than the headlines—and went to the window.
The river and, beyond it, the glass roof of Waterloo Station gleamed in the westering sun.
By the time he reached Hampstead, it would be a bit late to go for a walk on the Heath with Oliver and Miranda, but Nurse Gilpin might allow him to take them out into the Constable Circle garden for a quarter of an hour.
They loved to dabble their hands in the fountain and the excitement engendered by throwing a penny into the water was out of all proportion.
Alec collected his Burberry and his hat from the rack and departed homeward.
* * *
Alec was halfway up the stairs to bed when the telephone rang. He was tempted not to answer it, but if he didn’t, one of the servants would. They were accustomed to urgent calls at ungodly hours. Besides, it might be Daisy.
With a sigh, he went back down to the hall and lifted the receiver.
“Fletcher, what the deuce makes your wife think she can call in the Yard when she’s not happy with the local bobbies?”
Alec couldn’t believe his ears, especially as Superintendent Crane’s bellow had set the receiver vibrating in his hand. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“You heard me. Doesn’t like the manners of the Derbyshire police, I’m told.”
“Sir, I’m certain Daisy doesn’t believe any such thing. She knows perfectly well what the protocol is. There must be some misunderstanding.”
“Is she or is she not in Derbyshire?”
“Yes, sir. She’s visiting an old school friend.”
“There you are, then,” said the Super, unfairly though more quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on and I’m damned if I want to know, but you’d better get up there pronto and sort it out. You haven’t anything else on your plate at present, have you?”
“There’s always plenty on my plate, sir, though nothing desperately urgent just now, but—”
“Catch the earliest possible express. Wire the county HQ in Derby and they’ll meet you at the station. You can send for your men tomorrow if you need them. Don’t splutter at me. Apparently your wife needs your help. Get a move on, man!”
Crane hung up, cutting off Alec’s fourth or fifth ineffective, “But—”
He stood for a moment with the receiver in his hand, trying to work out whether the Super was furious with Daisy or concerned for her. Both, he decided. It behooved him to feel likewise, which was not difficult.
Frowning, he went into their shared office to look up trains for Derby. Bradshaw informed him that a mail train left St. Pancras at midnight. He looked at his watch. Time enough to make it, if he didn’t dally.
He wrote notes for Mrs. Dobson, the housekeeper, and Nurse Gilpin and took them out to the hall table, where Elsie, the parlourmaid, would see them first thing in the morning.
He phoned in a cable to the Derbyshire police giving them his time of arrival.
The early hour would not improve his popularity with that undoubtedly disgruntled force, but the Super’s instructions had been precise.
Though Crane was not in general an unreasonable man, he did expect explicit instructions to be obeyed.
Except by Daisy. All hope of that he had given up long since.
Nonetheless, Alec was quite sure Daisy had no illusions about her right or her ability to call in the Yard at her convenience.
What sort of a mess had she got herself into now?
He thought of ringing up the Yard and speaking to whoever had taken the request from Derbyshire.
Crane, he was certain, had either received a garbled message or not passed on all he’d been told.
But time was passing. He hurried upstairs, peeked into the nursery to blow the sleeping twins a farewell kiss, and retrieved from the wardrobe in his and Daisy’s bedroom the suitcase that was kept packed for emergencies.
He’d have to wait till he reached Derby to find out what was really going on.
* * *
It was past midnight when the police reached Eyrie Farm. The hammering at the door startled everyone in the hall out of the silent, somnolent state they had drifted into while waiting. Daisy had actually dozed off for a few minutes.
Rudely awakened, she thought for a moment the noise was Alec’s alarm clock. She detested that alarm clock, but it was definitely preferable to the present reality.
“Here they are,” said Simon. He got up. The knocker sounded again, impatiently, as he went to the door. He flung aside the curtain and opened it.
“Derbyshire police, Detective Inspector Worrall. We’ve had a report—”
“I know. I’m Simon Birtwhistle.” His voice was slightly unsteady as he continued, “My father died unexpectedly and Dr. Knox said he was required to report it.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“So you’d better come in and talk to him.”
“Just a moment, sir. The county police doctor followed us up, and … Ah, here he comes now.”
The sound of a car door slamming reached those inside. “Coming, Inspector, coming!” said a very North Country voice. “Couldn’t find my dashed bag in the dark.”
DI Worrall moved aside. The man who stepped past him into the house looked not much older than Simon, in spite of the dignity lent by the black medical bag he carried.
He must have been several years older to have qualified as a doctor, though.
His slight figure was respectably clad in a dark suit, in contrast to the inappropriate crimson velvet jacket Simon hadn’t got round to changing out of.
“Dr. Jordan,” Worrall introduced him, coming in after him, followed by a single uniformed constable. “This is Mr. Birtwhistle, Doctor, the son of the deceased.”
“How do you do, Mr. Birtwhistle. My condolences on your loss. Now, where’s … Ah, there you are, Dr. Knox.”
“Glad to see you, Jordan. I hope we can sort this out in short order.” They shook hands and, without further ado, went off briskly towards Humphrey’s bedroom, the detective and the constable at their heels.
“Inspector,” Daisy called after them, “are you going to want to talk to everyone tonight?”
Worrall turned back. “No, no, I suggest you all go to bed. There’ll be nothing done until morning, Mrs. … Birtwhistle, is it?”
“I’m Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Ah!” Worrall managed to pack just as much significance into the single syllable as Tom Tring, who was an expert. “It’ll be your husband that’s coming up from the Yard, then.”
“Oh, damn!” said Daisy, her worst fears realised—well, almost the worst. “I’ll wait up and have a word with you after…” She gestured in the direction the doctors had taken.
“Right you are, madam,” the inspector said genially.
At least he didn’t seem to be offended by the interference from London, but Daisy was furious with Roger Knox. Surely for once she might have got away with involvement in a police investigation without Alec finding out about it!
She noticed that Lorna was staring at her with more than usual disapproval. “Really, Mrs. Fletcher, your language is not what I care for!”
“Sorry, Miss Birtwhistle. It slipped out.” Amazing, Daisy thought, that the woman could care about such a triviality with her brother lying mysteriously dead and the police in the house.
Perhaps it was what Sakari, that inveterate taker of classes and attender of lectures, would call “displacement.” If Daisy remembered Sakari’s explanation correctly, it meant something to do with shifting uncomfortable emotions from the appropriate object to a lesser target, as a way of reducing the discomfort.
Lorna headed for the stairs.
Myra was decidedly wan after staying with Ruby for ages. Returning to the hall half an hour ago, she had told them her aunt wanted to be alone. “I’ll go up, too,” she said now, “if you don’t mind, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Of course not,” Daisy assured her. “You look all in. Sleep well.”
Sybil gave Myra a hug. “Sleep well. You’ve earned sweet dreams.”
“Oh, I couldn’t! Poor Uncle Humphrey!” Tears welled in her eyes.
Ilkton handed her another handkerchief. He and Carey followed her to the stairs, a pace behind.
“I hope they’re not going to make nuisances of themselves,” said Daisy.
They both apparently realised at the same moment that they couldn’t very well accompany Myra any farther, her room being in the east wing, theirs in the west. They returned to the fireplace.
“I’m turning in, if you’ll excuse me, ladies,” said Ilkton. “Good-night.” He went on to the west stairs.
“Want company, old chap?” Carey asked Simon.
Simon had been standing looking a bit disconsolate since the doctors and police had walked past him with scarcely a word. He shook his head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just make sure Mother’s all right, then head for bed. Myra’s been a brick, hasn’t she?”
“Sure and didn’t Ilkton tell you, repeatedly, you didn’t appreciate her properly. ’Night, everyone.”
According to Simon, Norman had absorbed the news of his brother’s demise, muttered that he had to get up at six, turned over, and gone back to sleep, so Daisy and Sybil were left at the fireside.
“Waiting for Roger?” asked Daisy.
“And keeping you company, if you insist on staying up to talk to that policeman. As the fog has cleared, Roger probably will want to go home for what little is left of the night.”
“Yes, running from my righteous wrath. I can’t believe they’ve got Alec coming up here! We don’t even know if there really is something unnatural about Humphrey’s death. Perhaps Dr. Jordan will take one look and diagnose a stroke.”
“I hope so. I do hope so. But if it were so simple, Roger would have known.”
“I wonder whether Alec will be angrier if he’s been dragged up here for nothing or if I really have stumbled into another murder.”
“You’ll never know,” Sybil pointed out, “because it can only be one or the other.”
“True.” Daisy sighed. “One way or another, he’s going to be livid. And he’ll say it’s all my fault. And so will Superintendent Crane.”
“You can blame it on me. Not to mention on Roger. I should never have told him about Alec, let alone have asked you in the first place to try to find out whether my fears had any basis in reality.”
“Which, apparently, they did. And it looks to me as if Roger suspected the same, or he surely would have assumed that Humphrey simply had a heart attack in his sleep.”
“So you think it was…”
“I think it was an overdose, whether accidental or purposeful, of some drug someone had been dosing him with for years.”
“That must be why Roger said I’m an obvious suspect,” Sybil said unhappily. “Humphrey’s illness has made a bigger improvement in my life than anyone else’s.”