Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Daisy’s heart stood still. For a moment she couldn’t speak, then she cried out, “Stop!” so loud that Smethwick heard her, although she didn’t use the tube.
He glanced back, his expression startled. A hundred yards farther on, he pulled into a farm gateway. “Madam?”
She opened the door and jumped out, her one thought was to escape from the immediate vicinity of Raymond’s body. “I can’t find a pulse,” she blurted out as Smethwick, alarmed, also sprang out of the Daimler. “I think he’s dead.”
“Let me check,” he said in a businesslike way. “I drove an ambulance in the war. Flat feet.”
He climbed into the back of the car, leaving Daisy thinking sad thoughts of her fiancé, Michael, who had likewise been an ambulance driver during the war but had not returned.
“You’re right, he’s gone.” The chauffeur emerged from the interior. “Had an accident in Worcester, did he?”
“Yes, but the police seem to think he just fell, and he himself said he hadn’t hit his head.”
“Heart attack. Or stroke. He’s the age and figure for it.”
“He seemed so vigorous!”
“Oh well, you never can tell. I s’pose I better lay him out on the seat. Otherwise he’s going to slide off when we start moving. If you don’t mind sitting in front with me, madam.”
“Yes, please!” said Daisy.
Once the Raymond’s body was in a decently recumbent position, Smethwick fetched a car rug from the boot to spread over him.
The cheerful red-and-yellow tartan was altogether inappropriate, but as the chauffeur said, “Beggars and corpses can’t be choosers.
” He returned to his seat behind the steering wheel.
“I haven’t driven around with a stiff behind me—if you’ll pardon the expression—since the Armistice. Where to now, madam?”
“Oh dear, I expect we ought to take him to Dr. Hopcroft, even though it’s too late. He’ll know what to do.”
“Right you are. I’ve got to find a post office and send a wire to my company, too. The boss isn’t going to be happy.”
“If he didn’t pay in advance, I daresay Lord Dalrymple will cover the expense.” She only half listened to Smethwick’s response. She was wondering whether Raymond’s death fitted into the pattern of accidents—assuming there was in fact a pattern—and if so, how.
From what the copper had said, it sounded as if someone had pushed him aside at the last minute, possibly saving his life. It was slightly odd that the Good Samaritan hadn’t stayed to make sure he was all right and to enjoy the kudos. Perhaps he’d been in a tearing hurry, or perhaps just shy.
He might yet be found. Daisy had learnt from experience the sequence of events that Raymond’s death would lead to.
As he had not, to her knowledge, been under the care of a doctor, and no medical practitioner had been present, an inquest would be necessary.
In the circumstances, after Alec’s hobnob with the CC, the coroner would surely require an autopsy.
If there was anything fishy about Raymond’s death, a police investigation would follow.
The police—
“Hell!” Smethwick jammed his feet on the brake and clutch. The car slithered to a halt in a few inches of brown water. Ahead, the lane was under water as far as they could see, ripples spreading round the next curve. “Begging your pardon, madam. I was took by surprise.”
“Never mind that. Upton must be flooded again.”
“It’s not just a big puddle, or a water-splash?”
“No, it’ll be deeper farther on. We can’t drive into the village. Blast! I wonder what we should do? I don’t want to dash about trying to find another doctor.”
“Go back to Fairacres and use the telephone.”
“I dare say we ought to take him back to Worcester, to the hospital or the police station. But I must say, I don’t feel like spending any more time in the car with the poor man than I must.” She shuddered.
“Back to Fairacres and telephone.”
“I expect you’re right.” She brightened. “I’ll ring up the Talbot and speak to Alec. My husband,” she elucidated.
Smethwick grinned. “Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher of Scotland Yard.”
So even the visiting hire car driver knew!
Daisy wondered why Alec bothered to try to keep quiet about his profession.
Not that she was really in any doubt: A policeman’s wife was almost equally subject to the phenomenon of people falling silent when she entered a room.
Except when he was working, life was simpler if he vaguely introduced himself as a civil servant.
His being a copper didn’t seem to bother Smethwick, and the chauffeur’s awareness didn’t necessarily mean all the heirs knew, Daisy assured herself.
He put the car into reverse gear and they motored backwards up the lane.
Hedged and without verges, it was too narrow for the big Daimler to do a three-point turn.
They soon came to a cart track, where Smethwick, muttering about mud, backed in and drove out forwards.
Ten minutes later they reached Fairacres.
Daisy was so anxious to talk to Alec, she didn’t wait for the chauffeur to open the car door for her. Getting out, she said, “I may want you to fetch—Oh no, I suppose not.”
“No, madam. In fact, I was thinking I better get the car out of the sun.”
“Oh dear, isn’t it awful.…” Suddenly Daisy was on the edge of tears. Poor Raymond had been a relative, after all, even if she hadn’t liked him much. She swallowed. “You wanted to send your employers a telegram. I’ll have Ernest let you know when I’m finished on the phone.”
“I could walk over to the post office in Morton Green, madam.”
“No, I’m sure Lord Dalrymple would want you to use his telephone. I’d … I’d rather you stayed nearby, please. But please don’t tell anyone.…”
“Of course, madam,” Smethwick said soothingly.
He really was a very nice man, Daisy thought, going up the steps.
Ernest appeared as she entered the house. “The chief in—I mean, Mr. Fletcher telephoned, madam, from the Talbot Hotel in Worcester.”
“Thanks. I’m just about to ring him, anyway.”
“He said he’s coming back right away.”
“Good. Is his lordship in?”
“No, madam. He took the young ’uns bicycling. Off to Cooper’s Wood, they was, dogs and all, hunting a Wood Tiger. Sounds dangerous, don’t it?”
“Butterfly or moth?”
“Moth, I believe, madam. Cook packed lunches for them, so they won’t be back for a while.”
“And Mrs. Samuel?”
“Lady John didn’t feel well enough to come here, madam, so she sent the car to fetch Mrs. Samuel over to the Dower House. Mrs. Samuel telephoned later to say she would stay there for lunch.”
Daisy was relieved. The fewer people about while Raymond’s body remained in the Daimler in the garage, the better.
She hoped Alec would arrange to have it removed before the children and the pregnant Martha came back.
And she hoped Martha would not suffer for going without her usual cup of mint tea before the meal.
“I’ll wait for Alec in Lord Dalrymple’s den, Ernest. Would you go and tell Smethwick the telephone is available for his use?”
Too agitated to sit in one of the huge leather armchairs, Daisy stood at the window in the study, gazing out but seeing only the scene at The Cross—the trams, cars, lorries at a standstill, and people crowding forwards.
If only she had been closer, had been able to see exactly what had happened.
The point-duty policeman hadn’t noticed anything more than a stumble, though, and he surely would have noticed anything suspicious.
Perhaps not; he had to keep an eye on the movements of all those vehicles and people.
She should have taken Raymond straight to a hospital.
Not more than five minutes passed before Alec strode into the room. “Daisy, what’s this garbled story of Laurette’s? Raymond’s had an accident?”
“Oh darling, he’s dead!” Daisy burst into tears and flung herself on Alec’s chest.
He gave her a handkerchief and put his arms round her. “Dead! Laurette seemed to think he just had a fright.”
“That’s what I thought. He said he wanted to come back here and go to bed, so I decided I’d better go with him, and if only I’d taken him to a doctor right away he might still be alive. But he died in the car. Alec, it was simply frightful!”
“Come and sit down and tell me all about it. Does Edgar keep any booze in here?” After scanning the room in vain, he unceremoniously yanked open the kneehole desk’s two bottom drawers. “Damn.” He rang the bell, then went impatiently to the door.
It opened as he reached it, revealing Ernest with a silver tray. On it stood a decanter, a bottle, and a soda syphon.
“You’ve read my mind,” said Alec.
“Mr. Lowecroft did, sir. Brandy for madam. He thought you’d prefer whisky.”
“Perfect.” He took the tray from Ernest and closed the door.
“I don’t want brandy,” Daisy said crossly.
“Whisky, then. You’ve had a shock.”
“I don’t like whisky.” She accepted the B and S—more B than S—that he handed to her, and took a sip. “Alec, could Raymond have died of shock?”
“That’s for a doctor to say.” He frowned. “I’d have thought it would be instant or not at all. You’ve sent for a doctor? The man who was at the fête?”
“I was going to, but then he died, so I thought I ought to—”
“Better start at the beginning, Daisy, if I’m to have a hope of sorting this out.”
She described the scene in Worcester and her recognition of Raymond.
“He was obviously dizzy and he said his head hurt. He denied he’d hit it, though.
He wanted to come home so I sent for his car.
Then he suddenly got worse. I thought he ought to see the doctor right away, but he died.
… And then we couldn’t get through. The road’s flooded. ”
“So you came back here. I take it Dr. Hopcroft couldn’t get here, either.”
“I haven’t talked to him. I didn’t know who to tell, so I was going to phone you at the Talbot, but you were already on your way. Thank you for rushing to the rescue! Did they all come back with you?”
“No, no one. I sent Truscott back to pick them up when they’re ready to leave.”
“Thank goodness, and the children and Martha are all still out. Edgar, too, so I couldn’t ask his advice. Should I try to get hold of Dr. Hopcroft? Or report Raymond’s death to the local bobby?”
“You were quite right to ring me first, love. I’m going to go straight to the top.” He went over to the telephone on the desk.
“Sir Nigel?”
“Sir Nigel. He was quite chummy, and sent you his best regards. I’ll try the main police station first, but if he’s not there, I’ll call him at home.” He picked up the receiver and the daffodil base and sat on the corner of the desk.
“Smethwick was sending a telegram to his employer.”
“He’s not on now. Hello? Put me through to the main police station in Worcester, please. I’ll stay on the line.”
“What did Sir Nigel think of the string of accidents?”
“He was inclined to pooh-pooh the whole thing. Not that he doubts the incidents occurred, but that they might have any sinister significance. I have a feeling he sees my profession as making me apt to see crime where none exists.”
“Darling!” Daisy said indignantly.
“However, Geraldine—Hello, this is Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher of the Metropolitan Police. Is the chief constable still there? Put me through, please. Yes, I’ll hold.”
“‘However, Geraldine’…?”
“He seems to have considerable respect for her. I shouldn’t be surprised if—Yes, Fletcher speaking, sir.”
Abandoning the remains of her brandy, Daisy hurried over to perch on the desk beside him, her ear as close to the receiver as possible.
She heard Sir Nigel say, “… another already?”
“Another ‘accident.’” Alec managed to put quotation marks in his voice. “And a fatality. The same person, though the two may not be connected.”
“Some unfortunate person suffered an accident and died within … what … an hour or so? It’s not much more than that since you left my office. And you say they may not be connected!”
“Sir, only a doctor can pronounce on that question. And a coroner’s jury.”
“No doctor present?”
“No, sir. The local man’s surgery is in Upton, which is flooded, so he’s out of reach. In any case, with your permission, I would prefer to call in your police surgeon.”
“Of course. You’d better talk to my superintendent. He’ll be in charge of the investigation, if there is one. No, by damn! You’re on the spot and up to the neck in things already. If there’s a case, I’ll get on to your AC right away. No sense in wasting time fumbling about.”
“Er … I’m not sure the Assistant Commissioner will think it’s appropriate to put me in charge in the circumstances. My wife’s family, I mean.…”
“Bosh, my dear chap. Who better? That’s settled. Now, just where is the deceased?”
“Here at Fairacres, sir. In his car—”
“He died at the wheel? By gad, how the devil did he—?”
“No, no, his chauffeur was driving. I gather the body is laid out on the rear seat. In the garage.”
“You gather? You haven’t seen it?”
“No, sir, it seemed more important to get in touch with you at once when I was told—”
“Who told you?”
“My wife,” Alec admitted reluctantly, glowering at Daisy.
“Indeed! And just how did Mrs. Fletcher come to be—”
Interrupting in his turn, Alec explained Daisy’s involvement.
“And she’s quite certain he’s dead,” Sir Nigel asked plaintively, “not merely unconscious?”
“The driver was an ambulance man in the war, as it turns out. He was quite certain.”
“Oh, good enough, I suppose. You’ve sent for the local bobby?”
Alec looked at Daisy, who shook her head and pointed at him. “You were already on your way,” she mouthed.
“Not yet, sir. It seemed more important to notify you immediately.”
“Yes, yes, of course, quite right.”
“As soon as I’ve finished reporting to you,” Alec hinted, “I’ll get on to the local chap.”
“Anything else to report? Still no idea who’s responsible, eh? If anyone.”
“No, sir, no idea. The dead man was at the top of my list.”