How perfectly ghastly for the poor prune to be in love with his stepmother!
When Daisy reached her room, Mabel was dusting. “I haven't touched your papers, miss,” the maid assured her. “I'm that sorry I'm
not done yet but things is all at sixes and sevens what with the p'leece in the house and all.”
“Have you been talking to the sergeant again?”
“Not today, miss.” She giggled. “He's a right caution, that Sergeant Tring. 'Smorning he just wanted to see Dilys, she's the girl did my lord's room that drownded. On about boots again, he is, but our Dilys don't know nothing about them. Mr. Payne's the one to ask, being as Albert the bootboy's thick as two planks. Is it true, miss, Mr. Payne's been nicked?”
“How on earth do you know that?” Daisy suspected Mr. Tring's questions must have given it away, but perhaps Alec had no reason to keep it quiet.
“Summun telled me,” said Mabel vaguely. “A nasty piece of work, Mr. Payne, that's what Cook says. He done it, for sure.”
“Done ⦠did what?”
“Why, done his lordship in, miss, or at least swiped them boots. That's what we all thinks, or why'd the p'leece pinch him?”
“Did Payne have a reason to want to get rid of Lord Stephen?” Daisy asked hopefully, though she was sure Tom Tring must have asked already. That was the trouble with being on the fringes of the investigation: she'd missed the sergeant's report to Alec.
“Didn't seem like it, miss. He wasn't one to talk but summun asked him what it was like working for Lord Stephen and he said his lordship was a good master and ever so generous. But he clammed up after that, and you never know, do you? A good pair of boots costs a pretty penny, after all. Well, you'll be wanting to do your writing, miss. I'll leave you be, and beg pardon for chattering on.”
Shaking her head at the notion of Payne stealing a pair of boots when he must have been aware of the despatch case full of priceless gems, Daisy settled at her typewriter. If only the manservant might turn out to have killed Astwick, for reasons that had nothing to do with the Beddowe family. But she couldn't work out how he'd have managed it, and he'd have to be barmy not to have pinched the jewels.
She shrugged her shoulders and turned to her notes on the history, architecture, and furnishings of Wentwater Court. Who killed Astwick was Alec's problem not hers, thank heaven.
Â
At that moment, Alec would have been quite happy to shrug his shoulders and turn over the problem to someone else. Lady Marjorie was proving as unhelpful as the rest of his suspects. At least, somewhat to his surprise, she hadn't brought guardians with her.
She sat opposite him, too demure to be true in a dark blue tweed skirt flecked with pink and a long, pale blue, knitted V-neck jumper over a pink silk blouse. With no more than a dusting of powder on her face, her lips their natural shape and colour, she looked much younger than in the photograph, and defenceless, as if cosmetics were her armour.
“Yes, I knew Lord Stephen in London. He didn't go to deb dances much, or afternoon teas and that sort of thing, but we were introduced at a dinner party. I used to see him at nightclubs and ⦔ She hesitated.
“And?”
“And gambling-rooms,” said Lady Marjorie defiantly.
Alec was careful not to react as new possibilities opened before his eyes. Had she, like her brother, owed Astwick money? Or had he introduced her to a life of vice? Could she even be a cast-off mistress, clinging to the hope of winning him back, rather than the foolish, infatuated girl everyone believed her?
“You enjoy gambling?” he asked in a casual tone.
She relaxed. “Not much. An occasional rubber of bridge and half a crown each way on the Derby and the Oaks is enough for me. But one's escorts ⦠you know how it is.” She regarded him with doubt. “Or perhaps you don't.”
“I can imagine. How long had you known Astwick?”
“About a year. Since Aunt Jo stopped insisting on chaperoning me everywhere.”
Alec waited. Silence sometimes brought more results than questions.
“You only saw him ⦠dead,” she said. “He was frightfully handsome and sophisticated. He made the fellows who took me out seem like silly boys playing at being grown up. And he was always escorting older women, the really smart set, married women usually. I never thought he'd take any notice of me.”
“But he did?”
“Yes, in a sort of teasing way, as if he considered me a little girl.”
“When? When did he start paying attention to you?”
“It was at Henley. Ronnieâthe chap I was withâwas cheering on his college crew, and I was bored, and Stephen took me to get strawberries and Champagne. It was ripping. All my friends were fearfully envious.” She frowned in thought, then looked up at Alec with stricken eyes. “Oh gosh, I've just realized, that was the first time I'd seen him since Daddy and Annabel were married. What an awful, unmitigated, hopeless chump I've been. He was after her all the time, wasn't he?”
“He may have been. You have every right to be angry for the way he made use of you.”
“Well, I was pretty fed up, I must say, when Will invited him down and he actually came, and then he ignored me. In fact, if you want to know the truth, I was jolly peevedânot enough to kill him!” she added hastily, aghast.
“Just enough to want to pay him out,” Alec suggested.
“Is that what you think? That someone arranged for him to fall through the ice, just to make him suffer a bit?”
Alec decided it was time to admit his suspicions. “It was no accident,” he said.
“Obviously, or you wouldn't still be here. But I reckoned that meant it must be murder, and you were trying to find out if anyone had seen a tramp, or a sinister stranger, or something. It was a practical joke that went wrong?” She considered the matter, then said candidly, “Well, I might have done it, if I'd thought of it. But I didn't.”
Rather than disarming Alec, her candour rang alarm bells. Misleading frankness was one of the oldest tricks in the book and immediately made him wonder whether he was facing a clever actress.
Though she claimed to have failed to see through Astwick, Lady Marjorie was clearly quite bright. Presumably she had played the innocent to her father and aunt with such success they didn't realize she was frequenting gambling dens in Astwick's company. Her hysterical reaction to Astwick's death savoured more of acting than of a natural response. And just why had she chosen not to wear her usual sophisticated make-up today, when she must have guessed she was bound to be interviewed by the police?
Alec made a mental note to consult Daisy. Not that he considered her an infallible judge of character, let alone unbiased, but her insights were definitely useful to a confused detective. With a dearth of clues and alibis, and a plethora of motives and opportunity, character might yet turn out to be the only key to this case.
In the meantime, the girl sat there in her modest skirt and jumper, her pale-faced innocence a startling contrast to the fashionable flapper in the photograph. Which was the real Lady Marjorie?
I
t wasn't me, honestly,” said Lady Marjorie, earnest and uneasy.
“If it was,” Alec said in his most fatherly manner, “and if you were to make a confession, I'm sure you'd get off lightly. There's nothing a jury likes better than a pretty young girl, especially with a tide, who's been led astray by a rascally older man. I shouldn't be surprised if ⦔
The door opened, interrupting him. The footman stuck his head into the room. “Beg pardon, sir, it's Mr. Geoffrey wants to know, if you has to see him, can you do it soon, please, being as he's all set to go riding.”
Alec suppressed a sigh. “Tell him I'll see him next, in a few minutes.” As the door closed, he turned back to Lady Marjorie. “You see, I don't believe for a moment that you meant to kill Astwick, so you'd very likely get a suspended sentence.”
“But you really believe I'm the one who played the trick on him?” She shook her head violently. “I'm not! Why me?”
“I didn't say that, Lady Marjorie. You are by no means the only person I have reason to suspect. I'm just pointing out that confession inclines the courts to take a lenient view, and in the circumstances you need not fear severe consequences.”
“I can't confess to something I didn't do!”
“Just bear my words in mind. Tell me ⦔
“I wish I had let someone come with me.”
“We can send for someone now.” He had no desire to figure as a bully. “Whom would you like? Your father? Your aunt?”
“Daddy? Oh no, nor Aunt Jo. I wouldn't want them to hear ⦠Could Daisy come? She won't get upset.”
“Certainly, assuming she's willing.” Surprised and a little amused by her choice, he rang the bell. His efforts to detach Daisy from his enquiries appeared to be doomed to failure.
While they waited, he ventured one question. “Did anyone other than Astwick ever skate so early in the morning?”
“Heavens, no. Skating is supposed to be fun. Stephen did it as part of a fitness regimen that included cold ⦠Wait a bit. SomeoneâPhillip Petrie, was it?âsaid something about trying it. It wasn't Wilfred, that's certain. I wasn't really listening, and I certainly don't know if Phillip actually went down to the lake. He would have seen Stephen fall in, wouldn't he? He could have pulled him out.”
“Or fallen in himself.”
“Golly, yes. How frightful if the wrong person had drowned! I mean, no one wanted Stephen to drown, but better him than Phillip. He's such a sweet old fathead.”
“An amiable gentleman,” Alec agreed gravely. Her answer to his query was no more helpful than he had expected.
Daisy came in, her face suitably solemn except for the sparkle in her blue eyes. Whatever her misgivings, she enjoyed being involved in the investigation, Alec realized.
She flashed him a mischievous smile as she sat down beside Lady Marjorie and said, “Is he being beastly to you?”
“Gosh no. Not really. He's just asking awkward questions, but that's his job, isn't it? I hope you don't mind my asking you to come and hold my hand.”
“Not a bit. One would so much prefer one's relatives not to hear the answers to awkward questions.” Daisy spoke with such heartfelt sympathy that Alec couldn't help wondering about her own relatives.
Lady Marjorie turned back to him. “Right-oh, fire away, Chief Inspector.”
“Thank you. I'd like you to explain why you were prostrated with grief on learning of Astwick's death. You have recovered remarkably fast if true love was the cause of your distress.”
She flushed. “You know quite well it wasn't true love. It was a stupid pash. I was flattered that he noticed me, and I liked having my friends envy me. I was already disillusioned when he ⦠died.”
“Then how do you account for your state prompting Dr. Fennis to prescribe a bromide?”
Her pink cheeks turned crimson and she looked wildly at Daisy.
“I can guess,” Daisy said gently. “Tell him.”
“I wanted everyone to believe I was frightfully upset,” she said in a low voice. “I'd been making such a fuss over him, I'd have looked a fearful idiot if I'd just said good riddance.”
“I see.” Alec nodded. “Instead, everyone is sorry for you.”
“That was the idea. Of course, in fact everyone thinks I'm an idiot anyway, for loving such an absolute cad.”
Again the suspicious candour. What was more, Lady Marjorie admitted to feigning hysteria well enough to deceive a medical practitioner. Yet her embarrassed flush was real.
Alec asked a few more questions, then dismissed her and said to Daisy, “I want to discuss that interview with you, Miss Dalrymple, but it had better wait. Young Geoffrey is champing at the bit.”
“Yes, he wants to go riding. I told him he must speak to you first.”
“So that was your doing? I might have guessed. Thank you.”
“Are you going to see Annabel again? I'll find out if she wants me with her today, before I go toddling back up all those stairs to my typewriter.”
“Yes, I'll see her, and everyone else, though I did manage to ask most of the necessary questions yesterday in spite of being half asleep. Now I'm wide awake, watching them tell their stories may suggest new lines of enquiry that I missed before and that aren't apparent in the written report. I don't have much hope of breaking new
ground, other than with Lady Marjorie and Geoffrey, of course, and perhaps Lord Wentwater.”
“Marjorie's just ⦔
“Later, if you please.” He smiled at her indignant look. “Sorry, but I'm sure to have more to discuss with you by the end of the day, and if we put it all together, we're more likely to see connections.”
“Oh, all right. Anyway, I absolutely
must
get some work accomplished today.”
She departed and Geoffrey came in. His impassive face gave no hint of the emotion which had driven him to attack his brother in his father's drawing room. Yet the evidence said that love and fury seethed beneath the calm exterior.
“Tell me about last night,” Alec invited.
The lad's jaw tightened and his hands clenched on his thighs, then loosened slightly as though he forced himself to relax. “Last night? You must have heard every detail by now,” he said dully.
“I'd like your side of the story.”
“James started spewing filthy lies about An ⦠my stepmother. I had to stop him.”
“Do you often lose your temper and resort to fisticuffs?”
“No! Good Lord, no. I box for my University, and one can't box scientifically if one's always losing one's temper. Last night, I ⦠I just saw red.”
“What exactly was it that infuriated you?”
Geoffrey's mouth set in a stubborn line. “I won't repeat the vile things James said.”
“No, no, that's not necessary. I meant something more on the lines of: Was it just because you believed he was lying?”
“I
know
he was lying. Annabel's an angel. She'd never do anything mean or underhanded. What got my goat was that James was deliberately trying to hurt her. To say such things in front of everyone, in front of my father!”
“You were afraid Lord Wentwater might believe his lies?”
“Yes. He doesn't. He told me so.”
“I've been informed by several people that Lady Wentwater was a good deal in Astwick's company. How do you account for their apparent intimacy?”
His face, which had grown animated, closed down again. “There was nothing in it. She knew him years ago and he took advantage of old acquaintance. She was too kind to give him the boot when he kept pestering her.”
“So you tried to help her.”
“I interrupted their tête-à -têtes whenever I could, but he was a guest here. It was up to my father to ask him to leave.”
“And when he didn't, you took matters into your own hands and decided to warn him off by giving him a ducking in the lake.”
Geoffrey's expression altered not an iota. “I might have, if he had been harassing her on the bank on a summer day. It never crossed my mind to crack the ice and wait for him to fall through. Anyway, he'd have presumed it an accident so it wouldn't have served as a warning. It wouldn't have helped my stepmother.”
“Unless you told him afterwards and threatened more to come,” said Alec halfheartedly. Geoffrey did indeed appear far more likely to biff Astwick in public as he had his brother than to plot a delayed vengeance or make threats. Time to move on to his other suspects. “Does Lady Wentwater know you love her?”
“No!” The denial exploded from his lips as his face first paled and then suffused with blood.
For the first time, Alec was certain he was lying. He didn't blame the boy. As long as his love was secret, his situation was merely miserable. Once his stepmother knew, it became impossible, for both of them. Whatever his faults, he was a chivalrous youth and no doubt hoped a pretence of her ignorance might make matters easier for her. Only time could ease his own heartache, but, being young, he wouldn't believe that.
No wonder his eyes were filled with apprehensive wretchedness. Geoffrey Beddowe's life was in a hell of a mess.
“Don't tell my father,” he begged.
“I shan't, unless it should become absolutely necessary, and I don't foresee any such circumstances. Let me give you a word of advice. As much as you possibly can, stay away from Wentwater Court, and when you must be here, avoid Lady Wentwater's company.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And watch that temper, or your fists will land you hock-deep in the soup one of these days.”
Geoffrey made a strange sound, halfway between a bitter laugh and a strangled sob, as if worse trouble than he was already in was beyond his imagining. Alec let him go.
“Whew!” breathed Piper from his window-seat. “There's that song says a policeman's lot is not a happy one, but I reckon most people makes their own unhappiness, don't you, Chief?”
“As often as not, Ernie,” Alec agreed. “As often as not.”
He had been going to request the earl's attendance next, but, remembering that Daisy was postponing her work in case the countess wanted her, he called Lady Wentwater in next. To his professional relief and personal disappointment, she came alone. In a plain, straight, turquoise woollen dress with ivory buttons down the front and an ivory sash about her hips, her figure was no less ripely inviting than in last night's silk. However, today the Madonna face was masked by cosmetics in the modern fashion.
The reverse of Lady Marjorie's transformationâwhy? Alec's searching gaze detected signs of pink puffiness around the dark, soulful eyes. Lady Wentwater had been weeping.
Weeping for a lost lover, a hopelessly devoted boy, or a publicly supportive husband's privately expressed doubts? Lord Wentwater must surely have suffered moments of mistrust, though Geoffrey's absolute belief in her innocence was understandable. In the way of the young, he had put her on a pedestal.
“Why did Geoffrey attack his brother last night?”
“To protect me against James's false accusations,” she said quietly. “He is a gallant, unselfish, and courageous young man.”
“He is in love with you.”
She flushed. “What makes you say that?”
“I've been talking to him.”
“He told you ⦠?” The brief colour fled from her face, leaving two patches of rouge on her high cheekbones. She clasped her slender hands to her breast. “You mustn't tell Henry! Oh, please, you won't tell Henry?”
“Not unless it becomes unavoidable, which I don't foresee.” He was interested to discover that Lady Wentwater, like Geoffrey, was afraid of the earl's reaction. Lord Wentwater must be a formidable man when roused. Alec hoped against hope that he himself was not going to be the one doing the rousing.
He might at least be able to knock her ladyship off his list of suspects. He continued, “Nor do I see any need to pass on to your husband any disclosure you may make to me regarding your relationship with Astwick.”
“You want to know what he was holding over me? I
cannot
see that it matters.”
“Probably not, if there actually was a secret. You do realize that if in fact you were enjoying an amicable affair with him, your motive for wishing him dead would vanish?”
“I suppose it would,” she said despairingly. “Since I'm caught between Scylla and Charybdis, I might as well stick with the truth. I was never his mistress. I hated him.”
With that, Alec had to be satisfied. Lady Wentwater preferred to be suspected of causing Astwick's death rather than to be revealed as an unfaithful wife. He admired her for it.