Chapter 3
THREE
Alec had been sent to Oakham, to help the minuscule Rutland county force.
Two simultaneous investigations had overwhelmed their meagre resources.
By late afternoon on Saturday, three people had been arrested on a variety of charges.
Alec left Detective Sergeant Ernie Piper to deal with the paperwork, his forte.
After sending Daisy a wire to say he’d be with her by dinnertime, he set out cross-country for Beaconsfield in his new royal blue Austin Twelve.
Before leaving London for Oakham, he had received two cheerful letters from Daisy recounting the immediate improvement in her health and continuing progress.
All the same, he was worried about her. She was so seldom ill she was inclined to belittle her own symptoms, besides not wanting to worry him … Yet here he was worrying anyway.
He concentrated on driving, through a light but relentless drizzle, the complicated route from Rutland to Beaconsfield that Ernie had mapped out for him.
It was dark when he reached the Saracen’s Head, to find himself expected.
The ping of the bell on the reception desk brought a young woman from the room behind it.
On hearing his name, she exclaimed, “Oh, Mrs. Fletcher will be ever so happy to see you, sir. She’s ever so much better than when she came.
Hardly ever coughs and none of them terrible coughing fits yesterday. ”
“Thank you, Miss…?”
“Hedger. Sally Hedger, sir. Mrs. Fletcher’s in her room—your room. Number eleven, turn right at the top of the stairs. She has a key, and here’s another one for you, in case you need it.”
“Thanks.”
“Any bags to be brought in, sir?”
“This is it.” He hefted his valise. “I can manage, thanks.” Luckily he’d taken an extra clean shirt to Rutland. He went upstairs and found the room. Knocking, he called, “Daisy, it’s me,” while trying the handle.
The door wasn’t locked. As it opened, Daisy cried, “Darling!” and jumped up from a chair by the fire, dropping a book on the floor.
He dropped his valise as she flung herself into his arms. Kicking the door closed behind him, he kissed her. Her enthusiastic response lasted long enough to prove she no longer suffered from severe breathlessness.
“Darling, I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you managed to get away.”
“Ernie Piper knows where I am. The Yard doesn’t.”
“Good.”
He held her away from him and scrutinised her face. “You don’t look quite as like a death’s head as you did.” Still a bit wan, but the curl was returning to golden-brown shingled hair that had lain limp and drab when she left London.
“How kind of you! I’m perfectly well, I promise, and trying not to regain too many pounds.”
“I like you with the pounds,” Alec said firmly, remembering that, at their first meeting, “cuddlesome” had been the word that came to mind.
“That’s a great relief, but I’m trying anyway. Did you get my last letter? When did you leave town?”
“I had two letters.”
“Then you didn’t get the one about the invitation to lunch tomorrow.”
He groaned. “I hoped—”
“I know. I rather wish I hadn’t accepted, but I did. I told them I wasn’t sure whether you’d make it, though, so you could go away again.”
“Not till I can take you with me, love. Not till tomorrow evening, that is, or early next day at latest. I have to turn up at the Yard on Monday morning.”
“We’ll stay over till Monday, then, so we’ll have the evening together. I’m sure you’ll get a good Sunday lunch, at least. I gather Isabel is an excellent cook.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And speaking of food, I’m hungry. I missed lunch today, as usual.”
“I’m ready, let’s go down.”
They went to the saloon bar first for a predinner drink. The barman was surly, and Alec got the impression that Daisy was a particular target of his scowl. When they sat down, she explained.
Alec laughed, but said, “Your friends have just recently moved here, didn’t they? I’d have thought they’d do better not to start out by antagonising people.”
“Willie said they’ll stick to the White Horse in future. They’ve been in a couple of times without anyone objecting.” Daisy bristled. “I don’t see why women shouldn’t have a quiet drink in a respectable bar just because they don’t happen to have a male escort.”
“Nor do I, love, so there’s no need to look daggers at me! It sounds as if your friend handled it just right.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said, mollified.
“If I’m meeting them tomorrow, you’d better tell me a bit about them,” Alec proposed.
Daisy was glad to oblige. The harmonious ménage she described seemed to Alec to be a bit too good to be true. He’d come across quite a few households made up of “superfluous women,” and in his experience they were liable to suffer from most of the same sources of discord as the average marriage.
Not that he would say so to Daisy.
When they went to the dining room, he noted with amusement that she was on the friendliest terms with the staff, especially Sally Hedger. Obviously the barman’s attitude had not affected the others.
As usual, Daisy made friends wherever she went. He regarded her fondly across the table, happy to see the natural colour returned to her cheeks, the bounce and shine to her hair. She hadn’t coughed once since he arrived.
* * *
The clouds dissipated overnight and the sun shone bright in the pale blue sky. Though it gave little warmth as yet, it promised a perfect autumn day. After breakfast, Alec drove Daisy to Burnham Beeches, where they rambled through the ancient forest, glowing golden in its autumn glory.
Alec found it exhilarating. He was amused at Daisy’s awe. She wasn’t easily awed. He had to agree that the straight grey trunks of the beech trees gave the impression of a vast cathedral spreading as far as the eye could see in every direction.
It was chilly in the shade of the woodland paths, but when they returned to the open area of heather and birch where Alec had parked the car, the sun was surprisingly warm. Daisy shed scarves and gloves and coat and even, defying propriety, her woolly hat.
“You’ll get cold.”
“I can easily put them on again. It’s hardly any distance back to the hotel, though, and if you drive fast, we’ll be there in no time.”
“Twenty miles an hour.”
“The most disregarded law in the country,” Daisy teased.
“But I’m a copper.”
She laughed. “And if coppers all drove no faster than twenty, they’d never ever catch anyone.”
Alec proceeded at his usual steady thirty miles an hour, keeping an eye out for coppers.
Mindful that life is precious and fragile—the doctor had spoken of pneumonia—he held Daisy’s hand as he drove except when he needed his to change gears.
They didn’t often manage to spend more than a few hours alone together.
Damn those well-meaning friends of hers and their invitation!
After washing and changing at the hotel, they drove to Cherry Trees.
The ladies welcomed them warmly. As soon as Daisy had introduced Alec, Isabel Sutcliffe, a strapping creature, excused herself to go and see to the gravy.
Vera Leighton appeared to be average in every way, the sort of person one met and immediately forgot.
Daisy’s schoolfriend, Miss Wilhelmina Chandler, was small and fluffy.
Alec recalled with a start that she was a chartered accountant.
“Do come into the sitting room,” she invited. “We have some just about passable sherry.”
“We were hoping the previous owner of the house might have accidentally left a bottle or two of the good stuff in a dark corner of the cellar,” said Vera, “but the key is missing and we haven’t been able to open the door to find out.”
“What kind of lock is it?” Alec asked.
“Just an ordinary old-fashioned one. Not a Yale or Chubb or anything. Isabel fiddled with a wire coat hanger without success.”
“Would you like me to have a go?”
“Will you? You’re not a burglar by profession, are you? Willie went all cagey when we wondered what you do.”
“I did not go cagey, if you must use that revolting term! You’d better take care or you’ll find yourself teaching American slang to your kids.”
“They already know it from the cinema, all but the littlest.”
“Anyway, I was being discreet.”
“I hope Daisy is sufficiently discreet not to have revealed that I was a burglar—if I were one! My thanks for your discretion, Miss Chandler. I’m a detective officer, Miss Leighton. We tend to learn a few burglarious tricks. Is the coat hanger handy?”
“In the cupboard under the stairs. I’ll get it,” Willie said promptly.
“Even if there are no bottles in the cellar,” said Vera, “Isabel wants to use it to store apples. We have five trees, and the fruit’s sitting in crates in a damp garden shed full of spiders and earwigs.
The house agent told Iz the cellar’s practically airtight, to control the temperature for old Mr. Gray’s collection of wines.
The old man was fanatical about it, apparently.
Mrs. Gray was going to sell the lot, but you never know, we might find something that wasn’t carted away. ”
Willie reappeared with an unravelled coat hanger and a torch. “I’m not sure if there’s electric light down there. This way.”
Alec followed her across the hall, Daisy and Vera trailing behind.
At the rear, an open door revealed a dining room, the table set for lunch.
Willie turned into a narrow passage, with a staircase on the right leading up to the first floor.
A door in the left-hand wall also stood open.
Daisy peeked in and saw the kitchen, with Isabel stirring something on the stove.
An appetising smell of roast beef wafted out.
At the end of the corridor was a half-glazed door to the outside. Beside it on the left, a row of pegs held coats, with a shelf above for hats and a row of rubber boots beneath. Willie gestured at a door on the right, under the stairs.
“This is it, Mr. Fletcher. May I watch?”
“Really, Willie!” Vera exclaimed.
“I promise I won’t take up burglary!”
“You’re welcome to watch, but you won’t learn much. It’s mostly a matter of feel.”
Alec bent the wire to the angle most likely to be helpful.
The keyhole had a hinged draught excluder.
He swung it to one side and inserted the lock pick.
It didn’t go right through—there must be another flap on the other side—but it went far enough for his purpose.
He was out of practice so it took a couple of minutes, but the wards eventually clicked back.
He stepped back, turned the doorknob, and gave the door a slight push.
“Whew!” Willie retreated, holding her nose.
“Aargh!” Daisy fled, gagging.
“A dead rat,” said Isabel, who had come out of the kitchen to see what was going on. At Daisy’s heels, she rapidly returned to her stronghold.
“A Hamlin-Town of dead rats!” Vera followed them. “Coming, Mr. Fletcher?”
He shook his head without a backward glance. “Duty calls.”
The kitchen door thumped shut.
A handkerchief held to nose and mouth, Alec switched on the torch and cautiously set foot on a small landing.
To his right, flimsily railed wooden stairs ran steeply down against the wall.
The middle section of the railing was broken.
He went down a few steps and directed the beam at the floor below the break.
On the pale grey floor lay a corpse, just one, not a horde of rats. It wore a tweed costume, a silk blouse, pearls, and one shoe.
The cellar was airtight enough to keep out blowflies, apparently. But nothing could prevent the ravages of decomposition. Having seen what he needed to see, Alec hastily stepped back into the passage and slammed the door.