Chapter Twenty #2
The story was punctuated with sobs, sniffs, and gasps.
“You went to see Fay Fanshawe backstage, Daisy, I know you did. And Elliot was watching her and talking about her with that horrid Albert Bagley. I heard them say her name. And then the police came to talk to him—Elliot, not Bagley. Well, perhaps they talked to Bagley too, I wouldn’t know.
And Sophie, my maid, said Hibbert—he’s our butler—said he heard that woman’s name mentioned.
Between Elliot and the policeman, I mean.
And Elliot won’t tell me what the policeman wanted, though he usually tells me everything. So!”
“So you jumped to the conclusion that he’s having an affair with her.
I’m sure he’s not. She’s a very respectable young woman who lives at home with her mum and dad.
I have it on the best authority. Elliot was watching her because she’s a performer.
She’s paid to be watched. Weren’t you watching her, too?
As for the horrid Bagley and the policeman, those conversations were about something else altogether. Miss Fanshawe was merely peripheral.”
Fenella’s brow furrowed. “Per-iff…?”
“Unimportant. Irrelevant. Beside the point.”
“Oh.” She giggled. “I was never any good at English. Phil! It’s all right. It was all a mistake.”
“I told you Daisy would sort it all out.”
“So now we can go.”
“Go? Of course we can’t go! Lady Gerald—”
“Yes, Mr. Petrie?” Lucy, at her most languid and sarcastic, stood in the doorway. “You wanted to see me?”
“Oh! No, not at all,” Phillip stuttered. “Dash it, I mean, that is, we just called. My sister and I. In a friendly way, don’t you know.”
“Indeed.” Her raised eyebrows gave the same effect as a dowager’s lorgnette.
“Come off it, darling. You’ve known Phillip for donkey’s years. Why shouldn’t he bring his sister to call?”
“His sister? Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs.… Kerston. I didn’t notice you in that corner there. Good afternoon. May I offer you a cup of tea, since it seems to be the proper hour?”
“Yes … no … that is…” Fenella shot an appealing glance at Daisy. “Thank you, that would be very nice, Lady Gerald.”
As Lucy stepped into the room, Mr. Fisher peered round her sheer silk ankles and Angela appeared on the threshold behind her.
“I say, Daisy, what luck. Just who I wanted to see. D’you have a moment?”
“Not at present, Angela. Do you know Mrs. Kerston? And this is her brother, Phillip Petrie. The Petries are our neighbours in Worcestershire. Miss Devenish is a cousin of Lucy’s, Fenella.”
“How do you do, Miss Devenish, is that your darling doggie? May I stroke him?”
“He won’t bite you,” Angela said gruffly, “but be very gentle. He’s been mistreated and he’s nervous.”
“Oh, the poor little thing,” Fenella crooned.
Daisy left Angela explaining the facts of canine life to Fenella and turned back to Lucy and Phillip. She was just in time to stop Phillip pouring the stiff drink Lucy requested.
“Darling, should you?”
Lucy glared at her. “The doctor said after eight weeks—”
“I bet he didn’t say you could start drinking cocktails at teatime.”
The gin bottle hovered over the glass.
After a moment, Lucy said, “Oh, all right. Make it a drop of brandy and plenty of soda, Phillip.”
With obvious relief, Phillip complied, saying, “I’m really most frightfully sorry to have barged in like this, Lady Gerald.”
“So you said.”
“Fenella was absolutely determined to talk to Daisy, you see. I couldn’t stop her. Now Daisy’s set her mind at rest, I can take her away.”
Lucy glanced at Angela and Fenella, still fussing over Mr. Fisher. For a moment Daisy thought she was going to invite Phillip to carry out his suggestion. Good manners prevailed by a hairsbreadth—unless it was the realisation that he couldn’t carry off her cousin as well as his sister.
“Do stay to tea,” she invited in far from cordial tones.
Phillip looked uneasy, but providentially Galloway and a maid came in with tea things.
Lucy set down her drink and became a gracious hostess.
The rest responded like properly brought up guests.
For a while, peace reigned. Angela, with an absent frown, munched steadily through an entire plateful of bread and butter, feeding an occasional scrap to Mr. Fisher, who sat in front of her, his eyes never deviating from her face.
The rest made polite conversation. As often happened in Phillip’s presence, they ended up discussing motorcars, though Daisy acquitted him of deliberately steering the others in that direction. At least he avoided the more technical aspects of the subject.
Daisy refused a second cup of tea, feeling she had devoted quite enough time to Lucy’s and Fenella’s problems. She had reckoned without Angela, who roused from her bread-and-butter fuelled reverie as Daisy was about to make her escape.
“Don’t go, Daisy. I want to ask you something.” She looked from Fenella to Phillip, her expression making it absolutely clear that their absence was desired.
Even Phillip, never the swiftest to catch on, realised that it was time to go. Once again he profusely apologised to Lucy. Lucy responded with a languid, dismissive wave.
While Fenella bade her involuntary hostess good-bye, Phillip came over to Daisy. “I spent the evening at my club last night,” he said in a low voice. “Some of the fellows were talking about you-know-who. All right if I drop in this evening? Fletcher may be interested, too, if he’s there.”
“Good for you, Phil. Come about half past nine.”
“Without Fenella. Thanks for setting her mind at rest, by the way.”
“I’m glad I was able to.”
He took Fenella away and Daisy turned to Angela.
“Lucy says Teddy was involved with a Russian girl and you know all about her.” No beating about the bush with Angela.
“I said,” Lucy protested, “I’d heard Teddy was involved with a Russian girl and you might know something about it, Daisy.”
“I do know a bit,” Daisy said cautiously.
“All I want to know is: Did he make her pregnant?”
“Oh! No.”
“Good. I hoped I wasn’t going to have to cope with a squalling brat.” She stood up. “Thanks, Daisy. Thanks for the tea, Lucy. I’m going home tomorrow. Can’t leave the dogs any longer. Come along, Mr. Fisher, old chap.”
Lucy stared after them, shaking her head. “I always thought my aunt and uncle were relatively sane—”
“Pun intended?”
“What? Oh. No. How did they manage to produce two such children as Angela and Teddy?”
“And your parents are dears. How did they manage to produce you? Darling, you were abominable!”
Lucy shrugged. “Self-defence against the invasion. I gave them tea, didn’t I? What on earth possessed you to bring them with you?”
“Fenella hopped into my car before I could stop her, and I didn’t feel like wrestling her out. I could have not come, but you sounded desperate.”
“I was. I was feeling particularly foul when I rang you.”
“Not morning sickness again?”
“Not nausea, no. Just utter exhaustion striking in the middle of the morning. I had to lie down and relax for the facial treatment and that set me right.”
Daisy scrutinised her face. “You have beautiful skin. I can’t see that you need mud masks, apart from an excuse for a lie-down.”
“But if I didn’t have them, I’d need them. You ought to try it. London air is so filthy.” Lucy studied her critically. “Though I must admit you don’t seem to need it. I hadn’t noticed before that your freckles have completely faded away.”
“Yes, thank goodness!”
“Congratulations. Now tell me about the Russian girl. Did she kill dear cousin Teddy?”
“I don’t believe so. She might have if she’d cared about him. She has the temperament, I should think—dark flashing eyes and I heard her rowing passionately with her father. But she told us—Sakari and me—that she didn’t give a hoot for Teddy.”
“Or so she says, darling, so she says!”