Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Daisy was so flooded with relief at the sight of Alec that she momentarily forgot all the reasons she had hoped he wouldn’t come. She had just enough presence of mind not to alarm the inspector by flinging her arms about the chief inspector’s neck.
“Darling, I’m so happy to see you. How are the twins?”
“You’ve only been away two days, love. They’re blooming.”
“Good. When something like this happens, one starts imagining…” She had awakened earlier to a fresh sense of shock at Humphrey Birtwhistle’s dying so unexpectedly.
It seemed not to have sunk in properly the night before.
She had made his acquaintance just two days ago, but she had liked him, enjoyed his dry wit, and admired his fortitude in trying circumstances.
Worse still, though she knew it was irrational, she felt guilty.
Sybil had invited her to Eyrie Farm to find out whether someone was deliberately harming him, and she had failed to prevent his death.
But what did Alec’s arrival mean? Even if Superintendent Crane had made him head for Derby, at the chief constable’s request, surely he wouldn’t have bothered to come all the way to the farm if Humphrey’s death had been proved natural?
“Has Dr. Jordan found out—?”
“Not here, Daisy. Is there somewhere we can go to be private?”
“Humphrey’s study, I should think. Sybil’s the one to ask. That part of the house is none of Lorna’s business, and Ruby hasn’t put in an appearance yet.” Turning, she saw her friend lingering at the back of the hall, called her forward, and introduced Alec to her.
“I’m sorry we’re meeting in such unhappy circumstances, Mrs. Sutherby.”
“Does it mean … Was Humphrey…?”
“I’m afraid we haven’t a final answer yet. We were wondering—Daisy suggested we might use the late Mr. Birtwhistle’s study for a private discussion, if it won’t inconvenience you.”
“As long as you won’t mind that I’ll be …
typing in the next room. Though it’s not really for me to say.
Ruby—Mrs. Birtwhistle—hasn’t come down, but Simon, their son, might want to look through his father’s papers.
Though I can’t think why he should. He’s never taken the slightest interest in Humphrey’s work. Besides, it’s much too soon after…”
“In any case, we can’t allow it. We have enough information to justify limiting access to Humphrey Birtwhistle’s rooms for the present.”
“I locked ’em last night,” said the inspector, clinking keys in his pocket.
Sybil gasped. “There was something wrong about it! What—?”
“Not now, please, Mrs. Sutherby.” Alec nodded in warning towards Betty, who was dusting the mantelpiece with assiduous care. “We’ll talk to you later, when we have a better idea of what we’re talking about.”
“When Daisy has told you all about us.”
“I hardly think she can know all about you after one day.”
“Perhaps not, but I’m not the only one who’s found her easy to confide in.”
Alec raised his eyebrows at Daisy, who did her best to look as if she hadn’t the foggiest idea what Sybil meant. Presumably she was talking about Myra. No one else had confided in her as far as she could remember. Except for Simon, and he had talked about Myra’s admirers, not himself.
All the same, she did know enough about the household to be useful to Alec, if only to give him a foundation to build on.
They all went through to the east wing. Sybil went into her office and closed the door. DI Worrall took a ring with a couple of labelled keys from his trouser pocket, unlocked the door of Humphrey’s study, and stood back. Alec ushered Daisy in and the men followed.
“That door connects with Sybil’s room, obviously,” said Daisy.
“Locked?” Alec asked Worrall.
“Yes, sir, though the keys to these three rooms are the same. They weren’t usually kept locked. I’ve got two, but I dare say there are others floating about. For that matter, they’re just ordinary household keys and it wouldn’t surprise me if they worked for every door in the house.”
“Very likely. And that door?”
“The bedroom of the deceased.”
“Where he died? I’ll take a look later. He and his wife had separate bedrooms? Suppose we start there, Daisy. Inspector, you take the desk.”
As in Sybil’s office, a couple of easy chairs flanked the fireplace. The grate, however, was empty of all but ashes. The coal scuttle was empty of all but coal-dust and a few splinters from kindling.
“It’s freezing in here,” said Daisy, shivering as she buttoned her cardigan and folded her arms across her chest.
“Ring the bell,” Alec said impatiently. “We’ll get a fire built in here.” He turned the two armchairs to face the desk.
Daisy pulled the bell-rope by the mantel, but she said, “I doubt if it’ll bring anyone running. There’s just the two girls, and they’re busy about the house, not in the kitchen waiting for the bell to ring.”
“Then you’ll just have to put up with it, love. It won’t be for long.”
“That’s what you think.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “When you’ve finished interrogating me, I’ll send one of them to light a fire before you call in your next victim, otherwise you and Mr. Worrall will turn into icicles before you’re through.”
Worrall beamed at her. “That would be kindly done, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Separate bedrooms,” Alec said firmly as they all sat down and the inspector took out his notebook. “They weren’t on good terms, Mr. and Mrs. Birtwhistle?”
“That has nothing to do with it. Humphrey was a writer. You knew that much?”
“Only because you told me, before you came, that your friend was secretary to an author.”
“Oh, yes. Well, apparently he sometimes used to stay up till all hours writing. Many years ago they made that room into a bedroom, so he needn’t disturb Ruby in the middle of the night. Then, about three years ago, he fell desperately ill.”
“Aha.”
“There’s no aha about it. He had bronchitis and developed a severe case of pneumonia. As I’m liable to do, freezing in here.”
“Daisy…”
“Sir, I happened to notice a woollen shawl in the chest-of-drawers in the bedroom next door when I was looking about a bit last night.”
“Yes, please.”
“Oh, all right!”
Half a minute later, Daisy draped about her shoulders a large, warm, but plain shawl, suitable for a male invalid, very likely knitted by Ruby.
It was a pleasant shade of blue, more or less matching the colour of her eyes, she thought, those eyes that Alec frequently described as “misleadingly guileless.” Perhaps it might make him take a more lenient view of her coming revelation.
Or it might remind him of the “misleading” part and make him less forgiving.
“Pneumonia,” he prompted, not visibly affected. So far.
“Obviously it was easier to care for him downstairs. He was very ill, and afterwards very run down. I don’t know if he ever really moved back upstairs—”
“Something you don’t know!” Alec said in a marvelling tone.
“Darling, don’t be beastly. There’s lots I don’t know.”
“Sorry.” He directed his apologetic glance at Worrall, rather than Daisy.
She forgave him. After all, he had resisted reproaching her the moment he saw her, for her involvement in yet another suspicious death, which had no doubt brought down the Super’s wrath upon his innocent head.
She went on quickly, “Humphrey seems never to have recovered. At least, as far as I’ve gathered, his chest wasn’t permanently affected, but ever since his illness he’s been weak and lethargic and abnormally sleepy. Dr. Knox couldn’t see any reason for it—well, it’s for him to tell you.”
“Come on, Daisy,” said Alec, “out with it. What was Mrs. Sutherby worried about?”
“She had an awful feeling someone could be dosing him regularly with sedatives.”
Both Alec and Worrall sat up straighter and looked at each other—evidence enough to convince Daisy that Humphrey had probably died of an overdose of a sedative.
“Who?” asked Worrall, pencil poised.
“She had only the vaguest of suspicions—some, I’m quite certain, unwarranted. I don’t think it would be fair to tell you. It would just be a mixture of hearsay and rumour. Not even rumour; one person’s surmise as told to me.”
“And why,” Alec demanded, “did Mrs. Sutherby tell you?”
Daisy had realised she would have to confess, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“Well, actually, as a matter of fact, you see, she sort of wanted my advice. She didn’t explain till after I got here that she was afraid Humphrey was being poisoned.
She just said she had a feeling something unpleasant was ‘going on,’ so I couldn’t possibly guess it might be something criminal, could I?
In fact, when Lucy said I’d saved a couple of friends from the hangman, Sybil specifically denied that it was anything on those lines. ”
“Lucy! Don’t tell me she’s mixed up in this, too!”
“Not at all. We just happened to be having lunch together when Sybil asked me to investigate. Not investigate,” Daisy corrected herself hurriedly as Alec’s face grew still more thunderous, “just to come and stay and … Well, what she really wanted was for me to tell her she was imagining things. And I did.”
“But she wasn’t,” put in Worrall, who appeared to be enjoying himself. “Or so it would seem. And in the end—”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Inspector.” Alec aimed his formidable frown at the inspector for a change, but only for a moment. “All right, Daisy, we’ll postpone the question of why Mrs. Sutherby brought you into the picture. Humphrey Birtwhistle has been ill for three years?”
“He has occasional good days. Comparatively good. He has a burst of energy, but it runs out quickly. That’s what happened yesterday and the day before.”
“Has his health been improving, or deteriorating?”