Chapter 3 #2
“The funny bit is that the Petries, our neighbours, fought for Henry all along and were also rewarded with a barony.”
Tommy grinned. “That can’t have pleased them. And I see what you mean. It’s not the sort of story the Dalrymples would be keen on broadcasting to the world.”
“I don’t suppose anyone would care two hoots nowadays. Or be in the least bit interested, come to that.”
“Except those ivory-tower historians of yours. The Petries—I met your friend Phillip Petrie at Fairacres, but I didn’t make the connection. It was the Petries’ governess Julian Dalrymple ran off with.”
“Propinquity,” said Daisy. “The two families have always been friendly in spite of inauspicious beginnings. There was probably lots of visiting back and forth. She—What was her name, by the way? I can’t keep calling her ‘she.’”
“Marie-Claire.”
“Julian and Marie-Claire. I can’t help thinking of her as Jane Eyre. I picture her looking like Mabel Ballin. Have you seen the film?”
“Madge dragged me to the 1915 version, with Louise Vale,” Tommy said impatiently.
“To return to business. We know that Julian and Jane—Louise—Marie-Claire, that is, you’ve got me thoroughly confused.
They were married in Bristol and the marriage properly registered, so the legitimacy question doesn’t arise that far back.
The letter from Julian found in the muniments room declared his intention of taking ship for Jamaica if his wife wasn’t welcomed into the family. ”
“Which she wasn’t? I gather that’s another family legend come true.”
“So it seems.”
“What about the travellers’ tales of their having a large, barely respectable family?”
“Just that: travellers’ tales. Rumours, hints, but no details, and certainly nothing that could be described as evidence.
Even if it’s true, my correspondent in Kingston hasn’t been able to discover records of the births of Julian’s children.
There was a halfhearted attempt to set up a national registry in 1843—”
“Twelve years after they left England. Time enough to have any number of children.”
“Exactly. And in any case, that law was pretty much neglected. It wasn’t till 1880 that the civil registration of births, marriages, and deaths was really put into effect.
Besides, the islands had all sorts of upheavals: earthquakes, tidal waves, slave revolts and the freeing of slaves, sugar tariffs—”
“I don’t want to hear about sugar tariffs,” Daisy said firmly. “Just tell me about the earliest records of the family you’ve discovered. If any. Just a minute, I want to write this down.” She took out her notebook.
“The earliest official record is a ship’s crew list of 1882: James Dalrymple, aged seventeen; then his marriage in Kingston in 1891; James, aged twenty-six, son of Alfred Dalrymple, who may have been Julian’s son.
Alfred died in 1900, age unknown. James was lost at sea in 1917, his ship sunk.
Torpedoed. His son—” A knock on the door interrupted. “Come in. Yes, what is it, Miss Watt?”
“It’s twelve o’clock, Mr. Pearson. You have an appointment with Mr. and Mrs. Liston and they have arrived.”
“Thank you. I’ll be with them in just a moment,” said Tommy. Miss Watt withdrew.
The sound of church clocks far and near chiming the hour wafted in through the window, a multitude of different tones, unsynchronised so that the ringing seemed to go on and on.
Daisy asked, “James’s son?”
“Samuel. Also a sailor.” Tommy looked and sounded evasive. “He’s at sea, his present whereabouts uncertain. Sorry, I can’t give you any further information now, but I’ll be in touch.” He stood up.
Daisy wrote down Samuel and regarded with dissatisfaction her very sketchy family tree:
Julian Dalrymple m. Marie-Claire Vallier
***
Alfred d. 1900
James d. 1917
Samuel
Putting away her notebook and gathering her gloves and handbag, she said, “Just one more thing, Tommy. Geraldine’s house party.
She said—or implied, I can’t remember exactly—that she’s going to invite all the claimants.
She’s not thinking of gathering them together and then revealing the heir, is she? ”
“Good lord no. If we have an heir by then, prospective guests will be told who he is beforehand. Then they can attend or not, as they choose. If we still haven’t confirmed the heir, it’ll be a further opportunity to sound them out.” As he spoke, he came round the desk and opened the door.
“And about…?”
“I’ll let you know in due course, Mrs. Fletcher.”
Too well brought up to stay put and insist on an answer when people were waiting, Daisy meekly let herself be shepherded through to the outer office.
Miss Watt gave her a cool, professional smile and a nod that could have meant anything. “The Liston file, Mr. Pearson?” Laden with a deed box, efficiently ready to hand on her desk, she followed the elderly, expensively dressed Mr. and Mrs. Liston and Tommy into his office. The door closed.
Daisy, thwarted, thought furiously. Tommy said it would be “most irregular” for any member of the family other than its head to be present at his interviews.
What if she posed as his secretary, sitting in a corner taking notes?
She had done it often enough for Alec, when the men he had available were needed elsewhere.
Unorthodox and not according to police procedure, but he couldn’t deny that she had been useful.
She might as well at least propose it to Tommy.
Was taking notes at interviews part of Miss Watt’s duties? Daisy decided to wait a few minutes to see if the secretary reappeared and was willing to chat.
She glanced about the room, looking for something that could conceivably have held her attention enough to delay her departure.
A couple of chairs were provided for clients forced to wait, and on a table between them was a selection of magazines, including an issue of Town and Country containing one of her articles.
It might provide a subject of conversation but she could hardly pretend to be reading it.
Studying the names on the shelved deed boxes would just look nosy.
The desk … Aha! On the desk was a shiny new typewriter.
Daisy stared at it with genuine envy. She didn’t like to go closer to examine it properly lest Miss Watt should pop out and assume she was inquisitive about the document protruding from the roller. How long would be reasonable to linger to ask a few questions about it?
Luckily, Miss Watt appeared after only a few moments. Seeing Daisy still there, she raised her eyebrows. “Is there something I can help you with, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“I was wondering … I see you have a new typewriter. I’m thinking of buying one—mine is ancient and rather creaky—but I can’t decide which model to get. The salesmen are all so very persuasive. May I ask, are you satisfied with this one?”
“Very. It’s the new Imperial 50. You’re a writer, aren’t you? I’ve read some of your articles, and enjoyed them. I didn’t realise you type them yourself.”
“Oh yes. Some writers prefer longhand, but having learnt to type I find it much faster, and publishers like it better, of course. Do you do a lot of typing? I noticed two typists downstairs.”
“They deal mostly with correspondence, for all our partners. One of them deals with the telephones, as well, and the other acts as receptionist. Each partner has his own secretary. I type Mr. Pearson’s legal documents and any of his letters that include confidential information.”
“I should think the legal terminology must get pretty complicated.”
“Much of it is standard wording, conveyances and wills and trusts, sometimes partnership agreements, though we don’t touch company law, let alone criminal, I’m glad to say.
Most of our clients are professionals and businessmen.
In any case, I don’t have to understand it, just get it right.
No mistakes permitted in legal documents!
One misplaced comma can ruin everything. ”
“Goodness, I’m glad I don’t have to worry about every comma. I write shorthand, too, when I interview people.”
“I take shorthand dictation sometimes, but generally I work from Mr. Pearson’s notes. Most clients don’t much like a secretary listening to their business, even though it’s obvious I’m going to deal with the results of their consultations.”
Blast! thought Daisy. Not much chance that Tommy would be willing to try to pass her off as an unremarkable part of his office routine.
* * *
The last post brought a brief letter from Tommy.
Full of misgivings, Alec watched Daisy as she read it. “Well?”
“He’s decided to ask each claimant whether he’d have any objection to the presence of a representative member of the family, without mentioning beforehand that said representative will be a junior female member. Junior female! What a revolting description!”
Alec couldn’t help laughing. “Accurate, love, you must admit. It sounds like a reasonable compromise.”
“And he says their responses could be revealing. True; what reason could a legitimate claimant have for refusing?”
“None that I can think of,” he said obligingly.
“So, unless they’re too stupid to realise it would look suspicious, I’ll be there.”
He grinned at her. “I never doubted it for a moment.”