Chapter 22 #2
Lowecroft came in while she was dictating the telegram. Though he must have heard the message, he preserved the myth that a butler hears what is spoken by his betters only when it is directed to his ears.
As Daisy hung up, he said, “You wished to speak to me, madam?”
“We’re expecting another guest, Lowecroft.” She could have had Ernest tell him, but he would have been deeply offended. Hierarchy must be observed. “I understand Mr. Samuel Dalrymple is on his way. I’m afraid I don’t know when he’ll get here.”
“No matter, madam. Everything will be set in readiness to receive Mr. Samuel. If I may mention it, madam, I believe I saw Lady John’s car arriving. No doubt Mrs. Samuel has returned from her visit.”
“Good! I expect she’ll want to go upstairs for a rest. Please tell her I’d like a word with her and I’ll come up to her room if she prefers.”
“Very good, madam.”
“Don’t let anyone tell her about Mr. Samuel before I do.”
“Certainly not, madam. There is no reason,” he said austerely, “for anyone other than Mrs. Warden to know whose arrival we are preparing for.” He paused for a perfectly judged moment to see whether she had anything else to say, then bowed and made his stately way out.
He crossed paths with Ernest bringing a tray. On it were home-farm cheese, home-farm butter, home-baked bread, a couple of ripe plums, and a glass of local cider, made from a mixture of apple and pear juice.
“Perfect,” said Daisy.
She had her mouth full when Lowecroft returned to say that Mrs. Samuel would be happy to see her upstairs in ten minutes. “Also, madam, the Vauxhall has just returned with, I presume, her ladyship and the rest of the party.”
“Blast!” She managed not to spray crumbs at the butler, but one went down the wrong way. Spluttering, she wondered why everything had to happen at once.
“May I suggest, madam, that I should draw her ladyship aside and apprise her privately of Mr. Samuel’s expected appearance?”
Daisy brought her cough under control. “Yes, please, Lowecroft. And ask her if I can see her in—” How long would it take to break the news to Martha? Would she weep and have to be soothed? Daisy could hardly tell her and immediately rush off. “In half an hour.”
What would irritate Alec more, further delay in getting the information or a servant with a note looking for him in the stables with the body in the car? He’d better wait.
She finished her late lunch and went up to Martha’s room.
Martha was reclining on the chaise longue in the negligée they had picked out together at Selfridge’s, sipping a cup of mint tea. She put down the cup on the small table at her side. “It tastes a bit funny. Not nasty, still sort of minty, but not very nice.”
“Perhaps it’s a different kind of mint. Laurette was saying the French make tisanes from other kinds of mint, and all sorts of herbs. Or it might just be that your taste buds have changed. I found I liked things I’d always disliked and vice versa.”
“Oh yes, I’ve noticed that. What did you want to see me about?”
“Good news, Martha.”
“Sammy?” Her face lit up and she clasped her hands. “He’s safe?”
“Not merely safe, darling, he’s on his way to Fairacres.”
“He’s in England already?”
“He saw Mr. Pearson yesterday in London and told him he was taking the train to Worcester. I don’t know why Worcester. Malvern’s closer to Fairacres.”
“I expect he wanted to see Worcester. He’s always been interested in travelling and seeing foreign places.
That’s why he enjoys being a sailor. His friends think he’s a bit odd because when they’re in port he doesn’t head for the nearest tavern, he goes strolling about the town.
Which is good, because he brings most of his pay home! ”
Daisy smiled. “Very good. So he probably wandered about Worcester this morning and will turn up any minute.”
“He may decide to walk, to see the countryside. It’s such a lovely day. Violet and I had lunch in the garden. Lady Dalrymple—your mother—was out for lunch.”
They exchanged a glance of understanding. The dowager’s icy politeness would be enough to put anyone off accepting an invitation to lunch—which would probably not have been extended in the first place.
“Well, I’ll leave you to take your nap. You’ll want to be rested when he comes. I’m very happy for you that he escaped from Florida intact and that he’s nearly here.”
“Oh Daisy, I’m so relieved! All I need now is my girls.”
“One way or another, I expect it won’t be long before you’re reunited. Sleep well.”
With a few minutes to spare, she went to change from her cathedral-visiting outfit into a summer frock, wash her face, tidy her hair, and powder her nose, armouring herself against Geraldine’s righteous wrath.
All this she accomplished automatically, while ruminating on Martha’s reaction.
She had been surprised and relieved to hear that Sam was on his way.
Daisy didn’t believe she could have convincingly acted the part.
She was a simple, straightforward person.
She returned to Edgar’s study to retrieve Tommy’s letter. Waiting for Geraldine to join her or to summon her was as nerve-wracking as waiting to confess some misdeed to her old headmistress.
When the phone rang, she was glad to be distracted—until she picked up the receiver and heard the operator announce, “I have a person-to-person trunk call from Mr. Crane in London. Is Mr. Fletcher available?”
The Super! Alec would undoubtedly be happier not knowing about the call, but his superior couldn’t be avoided forever. “I can go and look for him. It may take a little while.”
“Is that Mrs. Fletcher?” Superintendent Crane’s voice boomed along the line, unimpeded by the usual crackles and hisses.
“Speaking,” Daisy said reluctantly.
“Caller, do you wish to be connected?”
“Yes! She’ll do, for the moment.”
Thanks very much! Daisy said silently, leaning against the desk. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crane?”
“Tell me what’s going on,” he snapped. “The Worcestershire chief constable wired some cock and bull story about a series of accidents, which hardly seems enough to call for our services.”
“It probably isn’t. But now, one of the accidents has proved fatal, and Alec can hardly ignore it. He went to examine the body. Given how long he’s been gone, I shouldn’t be surprised if the local police surgeon is with him by now.”
“Who is the deceased?”
“A distant c-cousin of mine.” Daisy was annoyed to hear her voice wobble. She hadn’t even liked Raymond!
“My condolences, Mrs. Fletcher. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise your family were personally involved. Have all the accidents—”
“Yes. It’s a family gathering.” She started to explain the search for an heir.
“Your time is up, caller. Do you want another three minutes?”
“Yes, yes, as long as it takes. Go on, Mrs. Fletcher.”
Daisy tried to be brief. “So you see,” she finished, “they may be accidents or they may be … something else.”
“Hmmmm, yes. It does sound a bit much for the county force to handle. And since Fletcher is on the spot … Yes, if he’s willing to do a bit of investigating on his own time, I’ll talk to the AC about acceding to the CC’s request.”
“Could you send DS Tring and DS Piper?” Daisy knew Alec had wanted Ernie Piper, newly elevated to sergeant, and Tom Tring to lend a hand, even before Raymond’s death.
“Mrs. Fletcher, you’re not even sure whether a crime has been committed.
We’re shorthanded, as usual. I can’t authorise seconding busy officers to sort out your family’s machinations.
I’ll tell you what, though. If and when Fletcher has proof that a serious crime has been committed, I’ll see that he gets those two men. ”
“Thank you, Mr. Crane.”
“I know they’re both accustomed to coping with your interfere … ah … presence in an investigation.”
“They’re both friends of mine,” Daisy said with dignity.
“Hmm. And don’t go putting yourself in danger.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. It’s sweet of you to care.”
The superintendent made gargling noises.
She could practically hear him blush. He mumbled something, then continued in a more characteristic sarcastic tone, “Thank you for casting a little light on what seems to be a thoroughly obscure situation. Perhaps you’d have the goodness to ask your husband to get in touch if he can find a spare moment. ”
Daisy promised she would and they rang off.
What next? Oh yes, Geraldine and grovelling apologies.