Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
After chatting with several people, Daisy decided she’d better go and check on Martha.
Martha was knitting. “A scarf to start with,” she said proudly, holding up a pale blue square. “Purl as well as plain. Mrs. Latchett says I can keep the needles and this ball of wool.”
“Very nice.” Knitting was another skill Daisy had never attempted. “Are you ready for a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please. Mrs. Latchett, I can’t thank you enough for teaching me.”
“Anytime you want another lesson, bach, just you have Bill Truscott run you down to the shop—Latchett’s, in the main street.”
“It’s very kind of you, Mrs. Latchett,” said Daisy. “I’ll have someone bring you a cup of tea.”
“That’s all right, thank you, madam. Someone’ll soon be taking over for me here.” She chuckled. “And thank you for making Mr. Raymond buy the looking glass! It’s all over the fair.”
They made their way to the tea tent. Daisy was pleased to see her sister sitting at a table to one side.
“Vi, you remember Martha. Mrs. Samuel.” They had met at lunch the day before.
“Yes, of course.” Violet smiled her gentle smile. “Do come and sit down, Mrs. Samuel—”
“Martha, please, Lady John!”
“As you wish. We’ll make Daisy fetch your tea. John’s getting mine.”
“Is Mother here?”
“Come and gone, like a whirlwind. The gardener was sent to spy for her, to let her know as soon as Geraldine left. She had a word with Edgar. I don’t know what was said. Then she departed, in case Geraldine should come back. Martha, you’re one of the family, so I know you’ll be discreet.”
Martha blushed with pleasure. “Oh yes, Lady John.”
“Violet,” Vi told her, smiling, just as her husband arrived with a tray of tea and pastries.
“Hello, Daisy. Hello, Cousin Martha. Just let me empty this tray and I’ll go back—Oh, here’s Owen. Be a good chap, and fetch tea for Mrs. Fletcher and me, will you?” He gave the dowager’s gardener a handful of coins. “And keep the change.”
Owen grinned. “Right away, m’lord.”
“Milk and sugar not optional, I’m afraid,” John said, passing a thick white cup of muddy liquid to Martha and one to his wife. “Have you seen Derek about, Daisy?”
“Belinda told me he and Ben are taking a turn at archery.”
“Bows and arrows?” Violet exclaimed. “Oh no! John, remember what happened last time Derek got his hands on bows and arrows? Will you go and—?”
“Darling, he was only seven when he put an arrow through the butler’s best bowler. Jolly good shot, too, and Mitchell wasn’t wearing it at the time. But I’ll track him down and see what he’s up to as soon as I’ve had my tea. Here it comes.”
Seeing that Vi was really worried, he drank his tea quickly, excused himself, and departed.
Violet and Martha started talking about their children, subjects that had been thoroughly covered with each of them separately by Daisy.
She was happy to see them getting on well together, but she had little to add.
Violet’s concern had to some extent infected her.
She doubted that Derek was not by now to be trusted with a bow and arrows, but what about Ben?
Was Frank keeping an eye on him or still helping Alec with the twins?
He seemed to have a genuine liking for children.
No doubt he would make as excellent a father as he was stepfather if Ben was the sought-after “heir of the body” and Frank was able to marry his Carlotta when he returned to Trinidad.
Ben as viscount—had there ever been a black peer? If so, no doubt Lucy would have the details at her fingertips. Daisy knew only of Lord Sinha, who was Indian, not of African descent.
Across the crowded marquee, Daisy saw Vincent standing in the line at the tea urns. He still favoured his left leg, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
Reminded of his accident, Daisy wondered again how accidental it had been.
Had someone attacked him? A disgruntled hotel employee?
Or someone who wanted to put Vincent out of the running as heir?
Raymond? Frank—surely not! One thing was certain, not Martha.
Unless her Sam was actually in England, known or unbeknownst to her. …
Because she liked Martha, Daisy had been assuming that Samuel Dalrymple was a pleasant man, but he was—at least in American terms—a criminal.
Though rumrunning and bootlegging had a touch of the romantic allure of Robin Hood, some of those engaged in the illegal trade were violent ruffians. She must not forget that.
She watched as Vincent shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
Then he limped past the queue to speak to the women dispensing the tea and cakes and collecting payment sixpences.
Daisy couldn’t hear what he said over the general chatter and clatter, but she saw him making authoratitive gestures, like a bobby on point duty.
Vincent got results. The three volunteers and a couple of people from the queue started moving cups and saucers and plates and trays around. In no time the table was set up in a much more practical way, more like what Mr. Arbuckle, the American automobile magnate, would call an assembly line.
Balancing his own tray with the skill of a practised waiter, Vincent went to join Laurette. In no time, the queue was down to four people. One might not like the man, but his efficiency was undeniable.
On the other hand, everything now moved so smoothly that people were standing about waiting for somewhere to sit down, and the more considerate among those already seated were eating and drinking hastily to make room.
Though Vincent had doubtless created the ideal conditions for a restaurant that wanted to keep its patrons moving so as to seat and feed as many as possible, the result was less satisfactory for leisurely country folk.
However, the ladies in charge were also leisurely country folk. By the time Vincent and Laurette left, a few minutes later, the usual muddle was restored.
“Don’t you think so, Daisy?” asked Violet.
“What? Sorry, my mind was wandering.”
Vi and Martha burst out laughing. “I told you so,” Vi said to Martha.
“She hasn’t heard a word we’ve said.”
“And ate and drank without tasting a morsel.”
Daisy was pleased to see them so much in sympathy.
She had no qualms about leaving them together.
She was feeling a bit anxious about Belinda having taken Raymond to the archery.
John had gone to make sure Derek was being sensible and careful.
No doubt he’d do the same for Ben—and for Belinda, come to that—but he wouldn’t be watching for an attack on Ben.
A surreptitious attack, made to look like an accident. The archery range seemed like an ideal spot. A demonstration shot from Raymond, going astray? Or someone concealed nearby and shooting from hiding.…
Suddenly Daisy was in a great hurry to inspect the setup, to make sure it was not a convenient spot for an ambush.
“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go and see what Belinda’s up to.”
“Do,” said Vi. “If you happen to see my younger ones, tell Nanny she can come and leave them with Martha and me for a few minutes while she has a cup of tea.”
On her way out of the marquee, Daisy crossed paths with the local GP coming in. Dr. Hopcroft was a slight, rather shy man. She had met him and his tubby wife two or three times as dinner guests at Fairacres, though she had never had cause to call for his medical advice.
“Hello, Doctor,” she greeted him. “Are you here in your professional capacity?”
“Strictly speaking, no.”
“And leniently speaking? Your services have been called upon?”
“Just a broken toe. A young fellow won a coconut, tossed it in the air, and failed to catch it.”
“Good gracious, I never thought of the coconut shies as dangerous. I’m just on my way to the archery butts to find my daughter. Do you happen to know where it is?”
“Over at the foot of the hill. They have straw targets set up with the slope behind them, so that if anyone overshoots the arrows hit the ground rather than supplying me with patients.”
He looked mildly pleased when Daisy laughed at his little joke. He obviously missed the note of uneasiness in her laughter, but she heard it herself and was anxious to be on her way. “Then I hope your enjoyment of the fête won’t be spoilt by any further accidents,” she said fervently.
“We medical men must always be prepared. You’d be surprised how many people fall over guy ropes at these affairs. I keep my bag in the fortune-teller’s tent.”
“And the fortune-teller is the district nurse. Most appropriate. I must be going. Please give my regards to Mrs. Hopcroft in case I don’t come across her today.”
“I’m supposed to meet her in here.” He scanned the still-crowded marquee.
Daisy hurried on her way. The hill, so-called, was the low, shallow ridge between Fairacres and the Dower House.
The drive from the lane to the mansion curved around the southern end.
Some quirk of geology had created on the west side a short stretch of steep slope which was ideal as a backing for the targets.
However, the slope was not too steep to support a fair number of hazel and hawthorn bushes, ideal for an ambush.
She passed several acquaintances with a smile and a wave.
When she reached the butts, Belinda was fitting an arrow to the bow under the guidance of Raymond.
The boys were nowhere to be seen. As Daisy watched, he helped her pull back the string, aim, and loose the arrow. It hit the edge of her target.
“I did it! We did it. Thank you, Uncle Raymond.” Turning towards him, she saw Daisy. “Mummy, did you see? My first five arrows didn’t even reach the target. Derek said I should do press-ups to make my arms stronger. He has to do them at school. But at least I got one arrow in the target.”
“Well done, and thank you, Raymond.” Did the diamond magnate have a soft side after all? “Where are Derek and Ben, pet?”