Chapter 8
EIGHT
Vera made sure the door was latched behind Alec and the inspector, then turned and said, “He heard you, Izzie. I’m sure he heard you say he’s not much cop.”
“That’s not what I said,” Isabel pointed out.
“Besides, I’m sure he has more important things to worry about, and so do we.
For a start, I’d better write a note to Mrs. Hedger telling her not to come tomorrow.
If she turns up and finds a constable stationed at the door, there’s no telling who’d come out the winner.
Where do they keep the writing paper in this place? ”
“Over there.” Daisy pointed to a dimly lit corner of the lounge. “There’s a desk lamp. Edward will deliver your note. He’s very reliable.”
“Edward?”
“The Boots.”
Willie laughed. “Typical Daisy! Only you would know the name of the Boots. And you’ve taken Sally Hedger under your wing.”
“She took me under her wing when I was ill. She’s a sweetie.”
“I defy anyone to say the same of her aunt,” said Isabel gloomily, switching on the lamp on the writing table. “She’ll probably demand to be paid for tomorrow. Well, it’s not her fault she won’t be working. But it won’t surprise me if she quits because of the murder.”
Vera shuddered. “I wouldn’t blame her.”
“I doubt she’ll give up the job,” said Willie. “After all, before we moved in, she went on cleaning Cherry Trees without knowing whether we’d pay or continue to employ her.”
“Very set in her ways, our Mrs. Hedger,” Isabel agreed, sounding a bit more cheerful. “Let’s just hope she’ll stay. And agree to clean the cellar.”
“I bet she’ll be the first person the inspector wants to talk to,” Daisy pondered aloud. “After you three, that is. You obviously know very little about Mrs. Gray. Mrs. Hedger must know plenty, having worked for her for years. Did she have other servants?”
“A woman answered the door when Vaughn brought us to see round the house,” said Isabel.
“She was a cook-housekeeper, I think. She didn’t apply for a job with us, not that I need a cook or housekeeper.
I’m pretty sure there was a lady’s maid, though I never met her face-to-face.
The Grays’ gardener did ask me to keep him on.
He worked for the Grays full-time and wanted to stay, but I had to tell him I’d do all but the heaviest stuff.
He didn’t want part-time work. He recommended a jobbing gardener, Lassiter, who’s available pretty much whenever I need him.
I’ve no idea where the other fellow went, nor the women.
He didn’t live in so presumably he was local. ”
“Do you remember their names?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. I’m sure I never heard the maid’s. The gardener was Smith or Brown or Jones or something equally unmemorable.”
“Lassiter would know,” Willie suggested.
“Yes, tell the inspector about Lassiter, Isabel.”
Willie grinned. “You’ve gone into sleuth mode, Daisy?”
“Sorry! I can’t help it.”
“It’s all right,” said Vera. “After practising with you and Alec, it will be easier to face the police. Not that I have anything to tell them.”
“You don’t hear any gossip at school?”
“Not really.” Vera flushed vividly. “There’s just Mr. Cartwright. He doesn’t gossip.”
“Most men don’t, not with women, at least.” As she spoke, Daisy wondered, why the blush? Did Vera have a crush on Cartwright? “They share rumours only with other men, usually in a pub. It’s very inconvenient! You don’t have mothers coming to pick up the little ones after school?”
“A few. Most either live nearby or have older siblings. The ones who do come mostly want to talk about little John or Jane.”
“We just haven’t been living here long enough,” Willie reminded Daisy. “I hear a bit of gossip in High Wycombe, but it’s local, not about Beaconsfield people. I’m afraid we’re really not going to be much help to the police.”
“They won’t think we’re being deliberately uncooperative, will they, Daisy?” Vera was by far the most anxious of the three.
“I can’t see why they should, but so much depends on what they’ve found out so far and the character of the detective in charge.”
“What—” Willie broke off as a couple of men entered the lounge.
For a moment Daisy assumed they were plainclothes police, but they looked taken aback to find four women in possession of the room. Detectives would have expected to find them there.
“Excuse us, ladies,” one said breezily. “Just want a quiet drink. We won’t disturb you.” But he looked meaningfully at the LADIES’ PARLOUR sign.
“We’re waiting for my husband.” Daisy hated to find herself on the defensive. She hoped the others didn’t often feel they had to excuse their lack of a male escort. “Don’t mind us.”
The second man rang the bell, then they sat down as far away as they could. The bell ringer had a quiet voice, but from what the other said, they were commercial travellers from London planning calls on local shopkeepers in the morning, before moving on to High Wycombe and beyond.
“We can’t talk here,” Willie whispered. “Should we go through? Or up to your room, Daisy?”
“No. We’d better wait till Alec or the police come back. In the meantime, we’ll just have to talk about our knitting.”
For some reason, that struck all of them as excruciatingly funny. They exploded in laughter, eliciting curious stares from the two men.
Daisy had to admit she was no knitter. She attempted it so rarely that she always forgot how to purl. She extolled her stepdaughter’s skill, however. The others were all enthusiasts and managed to keep a conversation going. It filled in time and lessened the tension they had all been feeling.
The arrival of a hefty young man in a brown serge suit and police boots set them on edge again. After a swift glance round the room, he came over to them.
“Mrs. Fletcher?”
“I’m Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Would you mind coming with me, please, madam?”
As Daisy stood up, Willie asked, “Where’s Mr. Fletcher?”
“I believe he’s stayed with the inspector, miss, to have a word with Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Will he be rejoining us?”
“Not right away, miss, far as I know. If you was to feel more comfortable in the other room, that’ll be all right.”
“You can be writing out lists of what you need from the house,” Daisy suggested. She accompanied the officer through the lobby and several twists and turns of passages. “May I ask your name?”
“Um,” he said, as if he wasn’t sure whether it would be proper to give such information to a witness. Or a suspect.
“Never mind. I’ll call you ‘Officer’. But I assume there are several officers about, so it would be easier—”
“Pennicuik, madam,” he informed her hastily. “Double N-I-C-U-I-K.”
“I bet lots of people spell it wrong. Hard luck! Detective Sergeant?”
His ears turned pink. “Not yet, madam. Detective Constable. Maybe next year. DI Underwood thinks I show promise.”
“Good for you.”
“Some of the time,” he added with painful honesty.
Daisy laughed. “Never mind. Practice makes perfect. Good luck! What’s Mr. Underwood like?”
“Tricksy. I mean, he’s all right. As a gov’nor. Madam, is it true Mr. Fletcher is a DCI at Scotland Yard?”
“It’s true.”
“Gosh!” In the ill-lit passage DS Pennicuik’s expression was not readable, but his voice changed from awed to businesslike as he opened a door. “This way, if you please, madam. Mrs. Fletcher, sir.”
Alec came to meet Daisy, took her hand, and introduced her to DI Underwood.
As they didn’t appear to be at daggers drawn, she said with a warm smile, “How do you do, Inspector? I hope I can help you, but I can’t imagine how.”
“My job is to find out, Mrs. Fletcher.” Underwood shook the hand she offered, his clasp cool and firm. “Do take a seat. Would you prefer to have the chief inspector stay?”
“Oh no, there’s no need. Darling, I’m sure the others would be grateful for your reassurance that the inspector is not an ogre.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Fletcher, I can’t allow that. Sir, I’d prefer you to stay away from the rest of the ladies until I’ve spoken to them.”
“As you wish, Mr. Underwood. You’re in charge.” They exchanged a faintly amused look that puzzled Daisy. “I’ll be in the bar, Daisy. I’ve earned a whisky.”
He left. Underwood sat down opposite Daisy, and she was aware of Pennicuik settling in a corner slightly behind her, with his notebook at the ready. It was a position she had adopted more than once, when Alec was desperate for someone to take notes.
“Tell me all about it,” the inspector invited. “Let’s start with how long and why you’ve been staying in Beaconsfield.”
“I arrived on Monday evening.” Daisy explained about bronchitis and getting above the Thames fogs.
“And being close to town, in case Alec should be able to come down for the weekend, as he did. Beaconsfield rather than Surrey because I’d recently heard from Willie—Miss Wilhelmina Chandler—that she’d moved here.
She lived in the North, and I hadn’t seen her for ages. We were at school together.”
“You had the best part of a week, then, to renew your acquaintance. Did you—”
“I was too ill the first few days. Everything set me off coughing. I went to tea on Friday.”
“So you didn’t spend much time in the house,” Underwood said regretfully. “Pity. You’d never been there before?”
“No. I wouldn’t know the previous owners from Adam. Or Eve. I’ve never been to Beaconsfield before, only through it, on the A40.”
“Did they show you round Cherry Trees on Friday?”
“I was feeling so much better, I walked over and—I hate to sound feeble, but by the time I got there I was pretty much done in. Isabel—Miss Sutcliffe—plunked me in a chair by the fire and went to make tea. The others weren’t back from work yet.
All I saw of the house was the entrance hall and the sitting room. ”
“That’s a pity. From my point of view. What did you all talk about?”
“Our work. My children. Umm … to tell the truth, I dozed off for a while.”
“Quite natural, after your illness.”
“Oh, we talked about servants, I remember. The usual thing. And why the three of them came south.”