Chapter 10
TEN
A month passed before Daisy heard any more from Tommy about the heirs. Then came a cry for help.
Miss Watt rang up at half past ten that morning. “Mrs. Fletcher, Mr. Pearson wondered whether you could possibly come in to chambers right away. We have … ah … something of a situation here.” She sounded uncharacteristically flustered.
“What on earth…? Can’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s a bit complicated. But if—”
“Never mind. I’ll come. About an hour?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher. I’ve had to clear Mr. Pearsons schedule. He’ll be very relieved.”
Daisy was rather annoyed. She was in the middle of drafting a proposal for an article about Hampton Court for Mr. Thorwald, her American editor.
The result was always smoother if she did the whole thing in one sitting.
If she drove into the City, she’d just have time to finish the section she was working on.
It wasn’t raining, and now that she had seen Lincoln’s Inn she knew where she would be able to park the car.
Perhaps Mr. Thorwald would be interested in an article on the Inns of Court, too, she thought.
End of paragraph, full stop: Leaving the paper and carbons in the typewriter, she hurried upstairs to change her summer frock for a more sober costume.
Half an hour later, she left the car in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and walked under the impressive arch of the early Tudor main gate, into New Square.
Tommy’s chambers were on the opposite side.
As she approached, she wondered what sort of emergency Tommy imagined she might be able to help with.
Miss Watt came out of her room to meet Daisy on the landing, closing the door behind her.
“I’m so glad you came, Mrs. Fletcher. Mr. Pearson asked me to apologise and to explain.”
“He doesn’t need me after all?” Daisy asked indignantly.
“Oh yes.” She lowered her voice. “But there’s a person—a young woman—in my office.”
“Not the one from Jamaica?”
“Yes. Mrs. Samuel Dalrymple.”
“Didn’t he advise her not to come?”
“Yes, but she’s come anyway.”
“And Tommy doesn’t know what to do with her?”
“Exactly. Mr. Pearson would like to consult you. Unfortunately, it’s necessary to pass through my room to get to his, so he asked me to warn you of her presence. After you have talked to him, he’ll introduce her to you if appropriate, depending on what’s decided. Will you see him?”
“Since he’s haled me down here…” Not that she wasn’t dying to meet Mrs. Samuel Dalrymple. Martha, she remembered.
Martha Dalrymple sat in a chair against the wall of shelved deed boxes.
She wore a cheap cotton frock, flowered, a bit shabby, with a light cardigan.
Her bowed head let Daisy see pale blond hair—natural blond, Daisy thought enviously, her own shingled locks being light brown.
Martha’s was pulled back into a knot at her nape.
The style was severe, but when she raised her head, she revealed a round, youthful face, woebegone, with a hint of tears in her blue eyes.
She looked little more than a child. Daisy smiled at her, and she gave a tentative, rather wobbly smile in return.
Miss Watt swept Daisy onward into Tommy’s office, then returned to her own, closing the door with a firm click.
“Well?” said Daisy.
“Er, hm … What do you think of her?”
“Honestly, Tommy, I’ve just had the briefest glimpse of her. Miss Watt didn’t give me time even to say good morning. She’s the one who wrote from Jamaica, isn’t she?”
“That’s right.”
“Why did she come, when you advised her not to?”
“She still doesn’t know when her husband will return to Jamaica,” Tommy said crossly, “and she was still afraid of missing a great opportunity for him and the family if no one turned up in person to advance his claim. Frankly, I suspect there’s more to the story—something she isn’t telling me.”
“And you expect me to ferret it out for you? She looks just as na?ve and innocent as Sakari and I guessed from her letter and even younger.”
“I knew you’d have formed an impression, at a glance. Can it be true, or could it be a clever pose?”
“You really think it might be, that she’s another false claimant?”
“I never said so!”
“The rest were living in England, weren’t they? Oh, and that Scottish chap from the village called Dalrymple. Britain, anyway. Jamaica’s a long way to come on the strength of a remote possibility. Especially as her clothes suggest the fare must have been a strain on her budget.”
“Anyone can buy cheap clothes.”
“True. And didn’t you say the estate would pay the fare?”
“Only if Samuel’s claim has a valid basis.”
“Jamaica is suggestive, isn’t it? Since we know Julian went there. Hasn’t she brought any sort of proof with her?”
“Various documents, good enough as far as they go, but none leading directly back to Julian. At least, unlike the others, she doesn’t claim to have heard a family story about descent from an English lord.
As for what her husband would have to say of the entire business …
According to her he’s entirely unaware of it, having sailed off before my advertisement was brought to her attention.
He’s the principal, and nothing can be decided without him.
You must admit, it’s put me in a difficult position. ”
“Aren’t difficulties what lawyers thrive on?”
“An impossible position!”
“What do you want me to do, then? Have a good long heart-to-heart with her?”
“Er, hmm…” Tommy was not in general the kind of lawyer who prefaces every remark with a premonitory cough. “Well, yes. She may well speak more freely to you. But also … You see the thing is…”
“Spit it out, Tommy.”
“I don’t know what to do with her. I can’t very well send her back to Jamaica.
A young girl like her, married or not, shouldn’t have undertaken such a voyage all by herself in the first place.
She can’t stay alone at an hotel, even if she could afford it or the estate could legitimately pay her expenses.
A cheap women’s hostel doesn’t seem right when she may be the next viscountess.
On the other hand, I can’t send her down to Fairacres for several weeks, not knowing whether she has any actual connection with the family!
I’m sure Madge would be willing to put her up, but it could lead to a perception of favouritism among the other possible heirs. ”
“I thought I saw it coming.” Daisy sighed. “You’re hoping we’ll put her up. Of all the cheek!”
Tommy looked abashed. “Sorry. It seemed like a solution. Grasping at straws.”
“I’ll have to ask Alec.…”
“You mean you’ll do it? It’s an awful lot to ask, particularly as we know so little about her. But if there’s anything fishy about her, you’ve got a copper in the house.”
“One night. We’ll see how it goes. I’m not promising anything, even if Alec consents.”
“Of course. Perhaps I’ll come up with a better idea by tomorrow.” He pushed his phone across the desk. “Here, ring up Alec.”
“At the Yard? Not likely! This doesn’t exactly qualify as a life or death emergency.”
“Oh, is that the criterion? You won’t be able to take her home with you right away, then. What on earth am I to do with her in the meantime?”
Daisy pictured the dejected face of the blond girl, her brave, pathetic attempt to smile. “Let me talk to her. In private.”
With a harassed air, Tommy glanced round his sanctum. “I don’t—”
“You must have somewhere. Miss Watt’s room? Can’t you call her in here to take dictation or something? Or a partner who’s presently in court? A garret? A cellar?”
“Really, Daisy! The basement is full of archived files, all still confidential, and the garrets are full of clerks.…”
“I’ll take her out for a cup of coffee.”
The cautious lawyer examined this proposition from all sides. “I suppose that would be all right.”
“For pity’s sake, I promise I won’t lose her!”
That made him laugh. “Come on, then.” They went through to Miss Watt’s office.
As they turned towards Martha Dalrymple, she stood up.
She was small and her figure would normally have been slight; five months pregnant, Daisy guessed.
Hadn’t Tommy noticed? Apparently not, or he’d have been in even more of a flap.
And Miss Watt—a spinster dedicated to her job, she might not have realised either, or might not think it proper to notice.
“Mrs. Fletcher—Mrs. Samuel Dalrymple. Mrs. Fletcher is the daughter of the late Viscount Dalrymple.”
“How do you do?” Daisy said in her friendliest manner, holding out her hand.
Martha took it tentatively, but she did not—thank goodness—have a hand like a dead fish. Equally tentatively, she said, “How do you do?” as if she wasn’t at all sure it was the correct thing to say. Unsurprisingly, she looked tired and worried.
“If it’s all right with you, Mrs. Dalrymple, I’m taking you out for morning coffee.”
“Th-that’s very kind of you.” She gave Tommy an anxious glance.
“Mrs. Fletcher will bring you back here,” he assured her, before retreating back into his office.
Recalling the discomforts of pregnancy and taking into account the girl’s shyness, Daisy said to Miss Watt, “I’d like to powder my nose before we go out.”
“There’s a cloakroom at the rear, Mrs. Fletcher. Just turn right outside this door.”
“Thank you. Shall we go, Mrs. Dalrymple?” Leading the way along the narrow, dimly lit passage, she said, “When I was expecting the twins, I was always hunting for the nearest lav. Would you like to go first?”
Martha gratefully accepted. Her voice was soft, her accent—presumably Jamaican—a lilting cadence with a touch of almost jazzy syncopation. Daisy found it pleasant.
A few minutes later, as they walked slowly towards the Strand, Daisy asked, “Is it your first baby?”
“Oh no.” She blinked back tears. “I left my two little girls at home, with my sister. You’ve got twins?”
“A girl and a boy. It was very brave of you to cross the ocean alone.”
“I didn’t dare wait any longer,” she explained, patting her burgeoning abdomen. “Another month and I couldn’t have done it.”