T
he knock on the bedroom door made Daisy jump. “Who's there?” she called.
“It's Jennifer.”
Jennifer had been pouring coffee when Gerald was attacked. But her husband had been wandering about the house. Did Jennifer pour tea at tea-time today, as she did yesterday? Had she perhaps prepared the pot that went to Lord Fotheringay? John Walsdorf was one of the few interviewed so farâbecause Lady Eva's notes had revealed some secret he might be ready to kill for?
Daisy looked at Lucy, who shrugged. There were two of them, after all. Walsdorf was still on his way to the post-box. Or was that pretence? After handing over Daisy's note, he could have watched as Alec went up to talk to her and came down again. He could be lurking just outside the door, waiting to rush in when she opened it to Jennifer.
“Daisy, are you all right?” Jennifer asked, her voice worried.
“Yes,” she said for the umpteenth time that evening. “Half a mo.”
Lucy stuck her pen in the inkstand, went over to the fireplace, and picked up the poker. Daisy turned both their half-done lists facedown and went to slide back the bolt.
“I'm sorry, are you in bed already?”
Daisy opened the door. “No, not yet. What's up?”
“Sally asked me ⦠No, let's be accurate, Sally
told
me to come and see if you'd like a drink, alcoholic or otherwise, or an aspirin or anything. Hello, Lucy! I'm so sorry about Lord Gerald. Are you feeling chilly? A shock takes some people that way, I know. I'll have a fire laid.”
“No, I just feel safer with a poker in my hand,” Lucy said with brutal frankness.
Jennifer's quick, nervous glance behind her did much to persuade Daisy of her innocence. “I keep forgetting. I suppose I can't really believe all this is going on. Here, at Haverhill! It's such a staid place. The wedding would have been the biggest excitement we'd had in ages.”
“Sorry to disappoint you. But you have plenty of excitement to make up for it.”
“It's not exciting, it's horrible. People getting hurt and killed, and not knowing whom you can trust, and not even being able to get away. We all have to stay up till we've seen your husband, Daisy, but I don't suppose anyone will be able to sleep, anyway. Oh, Lucy, your mother asked me to give you this. It's one of your aunt's powders.”
“I shan't take it. Keep it for yourself.”
“Thanks, but I never take anything, in case Emily wakes in the night. It wouldn't surprise me if all the children have nightmares tonight. The nurserymaid told Tim and Nancy's boys, silly girl, and of course they told Emily and Dickie. Luckily they haven't properly understood. I think I'll go up now and make sure they're asleep. Daisy, is there anything you'd like?”
“No, thanks. Mrs. Maple gave me cocoa earlier, which was just what I needed.”
“Oh, good. Good night, then.”
Bolting the door after Jennifer, Daisy noticed that she had dropped the paper of bromide powder on the little table by the door. She picked it up. “Better not take this, darling.”
“I wasn't going to. But I must say, she didn't appear to be frustrated at being deprived of the opportunity of slipping oleander into your bedtime drink.”
“No. I quite like Jennifer.”
“She's all right. She was a fool to marry a penniless foreigner.”
“Oh, Lucy, don't be so narrow-minded! You don't like Alec because he's a policeman and not out of the top drawer, andâ”
“I do like Alec, Daisy, now that I know him.”
“I dare say you'd like John Walsdorf if you got to know him. Does he still have family in Luxemburg?”
“I've no idea. Why?”
Daisy was thinking of the letter she'd seen in the library. “I just wondered,” she said. “There's something frightfully romantic about those little tiny countries like LuxemburgâAndorra and Liechtenstein and Monaco.”
“Ruritania,” agreed Lucy, who had adored Ramon Novarro in
The Prisoner of Zenda.
“Transcarpathia.” Daisy giggled, remembering the fiery young ex-Grand Duke she had met last year. “Only that's part of Russia now. Maybe I could persuade an editor to pay me to go and write about the others, the real ones. The Walsdorf family could be a useful connection.”
“I doubt it. If they were anybody, he'd have talked about them.”
“True.” But she didn't care if they were “anybody” or not, and it would give her an excuse to ask Walsdorf about them. “We'd better get on with our lists. Alec will be sending someone to pick them up.”
“With Mummy jawing away at me, I didn't really notice anyone else.”
“At least that lets Aunt Vickie out! Picture the scene, yourself sitting there, Aunt Vickieâ”
“And Daddy. Poor Mummy, she's having a rotten time of it. I wish someone would come and tell us how Binkie is!”
“Gerald.”
“Gerald. It's a nice name, isn't it? But he's always been Binkie, I'll never remember.”
“Do concentrate on your list, darling. This isn't a game. It may help Alec catch whoever hit Gerald.”
“That horrible brat Erica was sitting near us, smirking. I'm sure she was listening to every word of Mummy berating me for spoiling my chances.”
“Write her down.”
“I'd rather Alec gave her a hard time.”
“Write her down.” Daisy buckled down to her own list.
Entering the drawing room after dinner, Daisy had seen Jennifer already pouring coffee. Daisy had talked to Lady lone for some time, and she remembered watching Sally and Flora. On her way out to meet Gerald, when Aunt Vickie stopped her, she'd noticed Oliver in the background in confab with his brother Henry. Then Sally had caught her and drawn her attention to Jennifer, still busy at the coffee-pot.
Whom had she
not
seen?
Sir James Devenish had not been there; of that Daisy was sure because out in the hall had been Lady Devenish, lurking in a most suspicious manner. Would she go so far as to hit Gerald over the head to save her beloved Teddy? Because Teddy had the best of all possible alibis for that particular attempt at murder.
Angela had been out in the garden. True, she had apparently saved Gerald's life, but could that have been to divert suspicion from both herself and Teddy? Suppose she had killed her grandmother for the money, done in Lord Fotheringay because he knew something dangerous to her, then attacked Gerald although he knew nothing, just so she could then save him? Daisy didn't believe she had so misjudged Angela, but she'd better suggest the far-fetched possibility to Alec.
She hadn't noticed the Carletons or the Bancrofts in the drawing room, but she hadn't particularly looked for them. Not evidence, Alec would say.
She read over her short list and comments with dissatisfaction, then glanced at Lucy's, which was no longer. About to suggest comparing them, she was interrupted by another knock on the door.
“Who's there?”
“It's Montagu, Mrs. Fletcher.” He was wheezing slightly, as if he'd come up the stairs in a hurry. “Could I have a word with you?”
Daisy and Lucy exchanged looks and both shook their heads. Lady Eva's brother was on neither list. The last time Daisy had seen him, he was still eating dinner while Rupert, irritated by the defection of most of the men, poured a brandy for Gerald. Assuming Gerald had waited until they all quit the dining room before he came to signal to Daisy, Montagu Fotheringay could easily have watched him go and nipped back to the conservatory to lie in wait.
“Uncle Montie?” breathed Lucy.
Daisy shrugged. “It's possible. I wish I'd had a chance to ask Alec who's still on
his
list!”
Lucy reached for her faithful poker. Daisy went to the door.
Uncle Montie stood there, a massive figure in his crimson dressing-gown. Daisy recalled Lucy's telling her that the doors between the house and the servants' wing were kept locked because of his depredations among the housemaids. Was his wheezing caused by excitement, not exertion? Had he nonlethal designs upon her person?
At least, beneath the dressing-gown, he had on all his clothes except for dinner jacket, black tie, and shoes. His loose, bunion-bulged carpet slippers looked most inappropriate for a seduction scene.
“Er, beg you'll excuse the undress,” he said with obvious embarrassment. “Just came to me a moment ago, perhaps you can give me a hint.”
“A hint, Uncle Montie?” Lucy sauntered to join Daisy, the poker hidden behind her.
“Oh, you here, Lucy?”
“As you see. What sort of hint are you after?”
“Advice. Call it advice.” He gave a hunted look back into the passage and added in a hoarse, urgent whisper, “Not out here, don't you know!”
“Come in,” said Daisy, resigned.
Lucy slipped around behind him and stuck her head out into the hall. “All clear,” she reported. “Your reputation is safe, Daisy.”
Her great-uncle turned on her an affronted stare. “Nothing of that sort, dash it! Thing of it is, Mrs. Fletcher, the Chief Inspector seems to think I had a hand in doing in poor Eva. Assured him I wouldn't have harmed a hair of her head, but I can't say I'm sure he believed me.”
“I'm afraid the police can't go by what they believe or disbelieve. They have to have evidence.”
“What did Aunt Eva have to say about you in her notes, Uncle?”
“Dash it, Lucy, that's none of your business! Nothing,” he added without conviction.
“So what advice did you want from Daisy?”
“Thought she might be able to give me a hint about how to persuade Fletcher I was dashed fond of Eva. But if it's proof he's after, there's nothing to be done.” His shoulders slumped despondently, he turned to leave.
Daisy bolted the door after him. “The trouble is,” she said, “when they see you standing guard over me, they have to abandon whatever plans they may have for biffing me on the head, so we can't tell if they actually had plans.”
“Shall I go back to my room and pop through now and then to see if you're stretched lifeless?”
“You wouldn't know who did it. No, but next time someone knocks you could hide in the bathroom with your poker, keeping watch.”
“I might not be quick enough. It's all very well putting a name to the murderer, but I'd rather you survived the experience.”
“There must be a wayâ” Daisy started, only to be interrupted again by a knock on the door. “Who is it?”
“Tring, Mrs. Fletcher.”
Tom's rumble was infinitely comforting. Daisy opened the door, to find the sergeant staring after the Hon. Montagu. “What's up?” she asked.
“Wearing his dressing-gown over his clothes, wasn't he?”
“Yes, thank heaven.”
“So if a maid took a tea-tray to him in his room and saw him in his dressing-gown, he could be out and about in a few seconds.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“You're labouring under a misapprehension, Sergeant,” Lucy drawled. “It couldn't happen that way. All the maids have strict instructions not to enter Uncle Montie's room alone.”
“Ah!”
“She'd leave the tray outside, knock on the door, and tell him it was there, then buzz off.”
“And when he's done?”
“He'd put it out to be fetched.”
“So all the while he's thought to be taking tea in his room, he could quite well be nipping downstairs to mess about with Lord Fotheringay's tea!”
“I can't picture Uncle Montie ânipping,'” said Lucy, “but otherwise, you're absolutely right.”
“Ah,” said Tom profoundly. “What about after dinner? Was he in the drawing room?”
Lucy shook her head. “If so, I didn't notice him.”
“Nor did I,” said Daisy. “He was still eating when everyone else except Gerald and Rupert left the dining room. He'd been with you and Alec, remember. Gerald was going to wait until everyone was gone before he came to the drawing room to fetch me, so ⦠Oh, no, I'd forgotten, he had to wait till the servants had finished clearing up, too. But that would have given Montagu time to go round by the corridor to the conservatory to lie in wait for Gerald.”
“But anyone who left earlier and didn't come to the drawing room had plenty of time,” Lucy pointed out.
“True. Montagu knew he wouldn't have to hang about too long, though.”