Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
If Lorna voiced any objection to being carted off to Matlock police station, Daisy didn’t hear it over the rattle of the typewriter’s keys and the ding of the bell.
She had nearly finished—Was that word repress or depress?
No, impress, if she looked at the sense rather than just rattling along—when Worrall came in.
“Just a moment, Mr. Worrall.” She finished the last sentence, rolled the page out, removed the carbon papers, squared the three sheets with the others, and presented the second copy to him, saving the top copy for Alec. “Alec’s interviews. I haven’t proofread—”
“As long as I can read ’em. Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.
Now, I’ve never worked with Scotland Yard before, and it’s a rare pleasure watching how the chief inspector goes about things.
And seeing he trusts you to take notes on his interviews, I’m going to ask if you’d be so good as to do the same for me.
DS Tring and Bagshaw are still searching, and my other chap needs to be in the hall—not that he or Bagshaw is much hand at taking notes any road. ”
“Have they moved on to the west wing? Oh, will they search my room?”
“’Fraid so. Someone could’ve hidden something in there. Sergeant Tring’ll be doing it.”
“That’s all right then, I don’t so much mind Tom rummaging about in my things.”
“He’s doing the west wing. Bagshaw’s taken on the back of the main house, the kitchens and rooms above.”
“Good luck to him!”
“Seeing they didn’t find anything in Mrs. Sutherby’s rooms, I’ve let the doctor go off to do his rounds, as the chief inspector advised.”
“I’m sure his patients will be grateful.” Daisy was torn between going to talk to Sybil and her opportunity to stay involved in the investigation. Actually, the decision wasn’t difficult: “I’ll do your note taking, Inspector.”
“It’s very good of you. I’ll just read this through and then I’ll fetch Ilkton’s servant, unless Norman Birtwhistle has turned up.”
“I’d almost forgotten the servant. I still don’t know his name. Do you?”
“MacGillivray. Archibald MacGillivray.”
“Heavens, what a mouthful! I’ll fetch him for you, him or Norman.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Fletcher, that would never do. We’ll go back to Mr. Humphrey’s office and you sit yourself down comfortable by the fire.”
“Comfortable and inconspicuous?” she suggested.
“That’s the ticket. You’ve had plenty of practice, I see!”
Sitting at Humphrey’s desk, he read quickly, underlining bits in pencil and making notes in the margins.
Daisy tried to review mentally everything she had heard.
She couldn’t put it together to make a coherent story pointing at Lorna or anyone else as the poisoner.
She had missed too much, she decided. Somewhere in the missing parts was the answer.
But she had a feeling she had failed to spot the significance of something she did know, or omitted to put two facts together. She hoped Alec would be more percipient.
Worrall emerged from his reading with a frown. “Very neat, Mrs. Fletcher, very complete, only reports never quite give you the feel of a person. What’s your opinion of young Simon?”
“I thought he was sincere.”
“And what he said of people’s movements last night?”
“It doesn’t contradict anything I remember. He didn’t try to make it seem he had no opportunity, either.”
“Ah, but he’s a clever one, isn’t he?”
“He certainly likes to think so. You mean, he might have worked out that you’d be suspicious if he’d given himself an alibi?”
“And there’d always be the chance that someone else would contradict it.”
“But, you know, though he had time to go to a chemist’s shop when he said he was at a pub, I can’t see that he could possibly have managed to see a doctor to get a prescription in the time available after we all came down from the Hydro.”
“He could have visited a doctor earlier. In Leeds, even. Could have had it filled there and waited to use it till there were plenty of people in the house. It’d’ve looked pretty funny if his father’d been done in just after he came home from the university.
Lor’, if we have to check all the chemists in Leeds… !”
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”
“The Chief Inspector seems certain Miss Birtwhistle is involved.”
“It doesn’t look good for her. Only for the bromide, though.”
“Two poisoners in one household’s stretching it a bit!”
“Not if it’s Lorna and Norman. Perhaps he found out what she was doing and decided to take it one step further. Perhaps he even hoped she’d get the blame.”
“I don’t recall you saying they disliked each other.”
“No, it’s just a possibility. They could equally well be in league. I really have no idea how they feel about each other.”
The inspector sighed. “Something else that needs finding out. And people wonder why we have to interview them more than once! First time round, we don’t properly know what questions we ought to be asking.
But I’ll tell you this, Mrs. Fletcher, if it all comes down to trying to find a medicine bottle on the farm, we’re sunk. ”
He went out gloomily. Daisy seized her chance to appropriate the last biscuit on the plate. She would have liked more coffee, but it had been brought in cups, not a pot.
She wondered whether to take the tray to the kitchen, as Alec had promised Betty, or would Worrall return and find her missing? Before she decided, Etta crept in.
“Good, you’ve come for the tray.”
The maid let out a startled squeak. “Oh, madam, I didn’t know you was still here.”
“I’m just waiting for the inspector.”
Etta cast a frightened glance at the door.
“He doesn’t bite, you know. But if you’ll answer a question for me, then he won’t have to ask you.”
“Oh, madam! I’ll try, madam.”
“It’s very simple,” Daisy reassured her. “How do Miss Lorna and Mr. Norman get on with each other?”
“I’m sure I can’t say, madam.”
“Come along, Etta, you must have noticed whether they’re friendly or not.”
“Oh, madam, it’s not my place to talk about…”
“I suppose you’re right.” Daisy heaved a sigh. “You ought to be telling the police, not me.”
“Oh no, madam, I didn’t mean … The truth is, they don’t hardly say a word to each other at all. Unless maybe evenings, when me and Betty go home. What’ve they got to talk about, after all? He don’t care ’bout housekeeping and she don’t care ’bout farming.”
Depressing, Daisy thought, but no doubt true.
“Any road, Mr. Norman’s out all day most days, ’cepting dinnertime—what you’d call lunch, madam. And when Mr. Simon and Miss Myra’s not here, nor Miss Monica that’s such a chatterbox you wouldn’t believe!—mostly it’s Mrs. Humphrey and Mrs. Sutherby that talks, not Miss Lorna.”
Daisy sighed again, a genuine sigh this time. She had hoped for something worth reporting to Alec, whether sightings of Lorna and Norman with their heads together in a corner or the pair of them quarrelling noisily. Apparently, two less likely conspirators would be hard to find.
“Thank you, Etta,” she said. “Are you and Betty preparing lunch? Or dinner?”
“Yes, madam. The inspector said to make lots and lots of samwidges because Mrs. Humphrey’s not fit and Miss Lorna … He said the man from Scotland Yard’s tooken her away.”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, madam!” But Etta’s mind was on the fearful responsibility of preparing lunch without supervision. “Betty’s worried the bread’ll run out afore we’ve made enough for everyone.”
“Baked potatoes in their jackets?” Daisy suggested. “Or scones or something like that?”
“Oh, yes, madam, thank you. There’s lots of ’taties and Betty makes ever such good scones. Even Mrs. Humphrey says so.”
“There you are then. You’d better go and get on with it.”
Etta bobbed a curtsy and scuttled out with the tray.
Out in the passage, cups rattled, Etta squeaked, and Worrall said, “Careful, young woman!”
The inspector came in, followed by Ilkton’s servant, the small sandy man in black who rejoiced in the imposing name of Archibald MacGillivray.
Or perhaps he hated it. His face was as bland and impassive as was proper to a gentleman’s gentleman.
When Worrall sat down behind the desk and waved him to a seat, he chose to remain standing, hands folded in front of him.
Worrall asked for his name, occupation, and address for the record.
Without a trace of a Scots accent, he gave two addresses, one of which Daisy recognized as a very superior and expensive block of flats in Mayfair, the other a country house in Lincolnshire.
Ilkton’s background was such that he must move in the same elevated sphere as Lucy and Gerald.
He might even be an acquaintance of theirs.
Daisy wondered whether the Bincombes’ paths had ever crossed Myra’s when that young lady was living in her other world.
“How long have you worked for Mr. Ilkton?” the inspector asked.
“Six months. And it probably won’t be much longer. This is the second time Mr. Ilkton has come to visit this farm.” He pronounced the word with distaste. “And I don’t mind telling you, it’s not what I’m used to. Even without this … this murder.”
“Very unfortunate,” Worrall agreed. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to help us clear it up, so that you’ll be able to leave the farm.
They say the onlooker sees most of the game, so I expect you’ve a very good notion what’s been going on in the household.
Give me a bird’s-eye view, so to speak, of the people involved. ”
“I fear that is quite impossible,” MacGillivray said stiffly.
“There being no housekeeper’s room—indeed, no staff worth speaking of—I’ve kept myself to myself.
Apart from taking care of Mr. Ilkton’s clothes, and polishing his motor-car, which is not something I’d normally demean myself with, but lacking a chauffeur in the house, and no nearby service facilities, I’ve taken it upon myself to keep up its appearance as best I can. ”
“I’m sure Mr. Ilkton appreciates your care.”
“Him! He doesn’t even notice. Eyes for nothing but that young woman, and if he’s going to marry a girl from a farm— Well, I assure you, I can get a good position elsewhere at any time without scarcely lifting a finger.”
“So, as you were saying, Mr. MacGillivray, you’ve kept yourself to yourself, but a noticing person such as a gentleman’s gentleman must be has surely formed his own opinions of the family—”
“Indeed, I have not! The doings of farmers can be of no interest to one who has had the opportunity to observe the aristocracy in most of the best houses in the kingdom. Here, I have even been forced to take my meals on a tray in my room, since the family is constantly in and out of the kitchen.”
“Very shocking,” Worrall commiserated, almost ready to give up. “But you’ve observed the young … person Mr. Ilkton intends to make his bride.”
“In and out of the kitchen! Helping to serve at meals! I have observed Miss Olney in other company, admittedly. Pretty enough manners, I dare say, but no breeding. Thoroughly unsuitable.” He sniffed. “With proper training, she might make a passable lady’s maid.”
The inspector stroked his face to conceal a smile.
Daisy was amused at the notion of the volatile Myra as a lady’s maid, but also angry on her behalf.
She was a nice girl who was making the best of her opportunities, performing a skilful balancing act between two worlds.
True, she was not a suitable wife for Ilkton: She deserved better than that conceited snob.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. MacGillivray,” said Worrall, despairing of extracting anything useful. “I’ll let you go back to your room.”
The manservant departed at a dignified pace.
“As snooty as his master,” Daisy observed.
“Dead useless. I hope the Chief Inspector’s getting on faster than I am!”