Die Laughing (11 page)

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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: Die Laughing
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“I'm afraid not.”
“What am I going to do with these here, that's what I want to know. T‘mistress don't care for 'em much. They'll go off afore they get ate. I better parboil 'em.” Her queer turn apparently over, she set a pot of water on the stove to heat and started to snip apart the string of sausages.
“Mr. Talmadge was a good master, was he?” Daisy asked.
“I've known worse. Niffy-naffy about his food but if you did it to his liking, he'd say so. Careful of his figure, he were. No cakes and pies for him. He were getting to t'age when men start to get a bit of a belly on, if you know what I mean, madam, and he didn't want to go that way.”
“A ladies' man?”
“Nay, I niver said so! Don't you go putting words in my mouth. Him and Mrs. T. had their differences, I don't deny,
but there wasn't never any funny business in this house and to that I'll give my affydavy.” She stabbed viciously at the sausages with a fork. “I'm a respectable woman, I am. I wouldn't stay at a house where there was carryings-on.”
“I'm sure you wouldn't,” Daisy said soothingly.
“And I don't hold wi' murder in t'house, neither. If it wasn't that the mistress is poorly, I'd be thinking about giving my notice.”
“Oh, don't do that.”
“Well, I won't. But she needn't think I'll put up with carryings-on in the house now t'master's gone, lord or no lord, for I won't, and so I've told Hilda.”
The pricked sausages went into the boiling water with a hiss. Daisy poured herself another cup of the pale, scented tea. If she sat here making sympathetic noises for long enough, she might learn something useful.
“If you ask me—Drat that doorbell! Back door. Who can it be? I'm not expecting no more deliveries today.”
“I'll get it. You keep your eye on those sausages.” Standing up, Daisy saw them bobbing amid the roiling water like so many pallid sea bathers. Would she ever be able to eat sausages again?
She opened the door to Detective Sergeant Mackinnon. “Hello, Sergeant! I forgot, Alec said he'd send you over.”
“I got a message from the Chief Inspector, ma'am. They didn't say you'd be here. Just something about …” He turned fiery red. “About … I mean … They said Mrs. Talmadge … That is …”
Daisy rescued him. “She's not at all well. You won't be able to talk to her.”
“Oh no!” said Mackinnon, aghast. “I wouldna dream …
I'm just supposed to make sure she doesna get in touch with Lord Henry Creighton. And just sort of generally keep an eye on things. Though I'm not quite sure what he means by that. The message wasna very clear.”
“I expect it got garbled in transmission,” said Daisy. She suspected Alec wanted the sergeant to keep an eye on her in particular rather than “things” in general, but he couldn't very well have said so to whoever passed on the message.
“And I'm to talk to the doctor, if he's still here.”
“He's with her, upstairs. I expect you have to make sure she's really having a … that what I told Alec is what's actually going on?”
“Yes,” he said, grateful for her circumlocutions. “We have to consider the possibility that she's faking a … pretending to be ill to avoid being questioned.”
“She's not faking,” Daisy asserted, remembering all too clearly Daphne's agonized face. “Apart from anything else, she'd never have persuaded Nurse Hensted to go along. They hate each other.”
“The nurse was there when … it happened?”
“Yes. It was she who realized Mrs. Talmadge was having a … what was happening. You'd better come into the hall to catch Dr. Curtis when he comes down. Oh, blast, is that the 'phone ringing
again
?”
“I'll get it,” Mackinnon volunteered. “Maybe it's the Chief Inspector. I'll leave the door open so I see the doctor when he passes.” He headed for the front of the house.
About to turn back into the kitchen, Daisy paused as she heard him speaking to someone. A moment later, Gladys arrived.
“Oh, good, you're still here, m'm. The doctor wants to speak to you.”
“Upstairs?”
“No, m'm, he's just coming down. In the droring room, maybe?”
“Right-oh, tell him I'm expecting him there, Gladys.”
She went into that oddly impersonal room, a room to take pride in for entertaining, but not one to relax in. Crossing to the French windows onto the garden, she gazed out at the ranks of flowers. The tulips were closed against the rain, the hyacinths bowing before its onslaught, the pansies downright bedraggled.
At the sound of footsteps, she turned, as Dr. Curtis came in.
“How is Daphne, Doctor?”
“She'll do. We saved the baby, though she's not out of the woods yet.” Frowning at Daisy, he took off his gold-rimmed eyeglasses and stabbed towards her with the earpiece to punctuate his words. “If I'd known she was pregnant, I'd never have prescribed Paral. Not that I've ever heard of it producing an abortion, but severe stomach cramps are not unknown. Violent contractions of the abdomen—but any strong drug is to be avoided, especially in the early months, and when you add the horror of Talmadge's death … Did you know she was expecting a child?”
“I? Heavens, no! She knew, I take it?”
“She consulted a Harley Street man,” he said with a touch of resentment. “I'll have to write up my notes and send him a copy, I suppose. Common courtesy, though she says she doesn't intend to continue seeing him. It's all most unfortunate, her husband dying at such a time. She ought to
have a relative to stay with her. I know she was an only child, and her parents have both passed on, but there must be someone suitable?”
“I'm sorry, I know nothing about her family. Hilda Kidd would be the one to ask.”
“She says there's no one. But I wondered … umm …”
“Whether she just doesn't want anyone horning in between her and Daphne? She does seem to be frightfully jealous of their relationship. You didn't ask Daphne about relatives?”
“Not after the maid said there are none. She is not to be emotionally disturbed.” The doctor eyed Daisy with some severity.
“I'm afraid that's a bit of a nonstarter, considering her husband was murdered yesterday!”
“Yes, well, as I said, it's all most unfortunate.”
“The police are going to want to talk to her, if you don't absolutely forbid it.”
“She may see your husband. I would take him to be capable of delicacy in the situation. But you should be present to make sure she doesn't become agitated, and that she stays lying flat in bed.”
“And for propriety's sake,” Daisy said primly, tongue in cheek.
To her surprise, Dr. Curtis gave her a wry smile. “If anyone cares for propriety in this degenerate day and age.”
“But I can't imagine Daphne will want me there when she's being questioned.”
“Perhaps not. At any rate, she would like to see you now. I left her quite calm but very tired, so don't stay long. Good day, Mrs. Fletcher.” He bowed slightly and departed.
So Daphne wanted to see her? What luck! Daisy followed him out and made for the stairs.
Since the baby had been saved, she didn't have to feel quite so sympathetic. And according to the doctor, the mother-to-be was now calm, no longer in such a state she couldn't think straight. Daisy could concentrate on trying to decide whether Daphne was actually innocent of murder or just sure she'd be able to hoodwink Daisy.
O
n her way upstairs, Daisy thought of another possibility. Even if Daphne was herself innocent, she still could know, suspect, or simply fear that Lord Henry had killed her husband, in which case she must be desperate to protect him.
Daisy tapped on the bedroom door and was invited to enter. In spite of her resolve, she felt a pang of sympathy at the sight of Daphne's wan face, pale as her pillows, with its pitiful attempt at a smile.
“I'm so glad the baby is all right.”
“Yes, we managed to save the poor, fatherless little mite,” said Miss Hensted complacently.
Hilda Kidd glared at her. The maid's face was creased with fatigue after the emotions of the past hour following her watchful night. She opened her mouth to retort, but Daphne forestalled her, her tone authoritative despite the weakness of her voice.
“Hilda, you really must get some rest. Bring that chair over here for Mrs. Fletcher, then off to bed with you. And
Nurse, you can leave me with Mrs. Fletcher. I promise I won't try to sit up.”
“I'll stop her if she does.” Daisy reopened the door she had closed behind her and stood holding it to usher out the reluctant pair.
The door firmly shut again, Daisy went to sit on the chair Hilda had moved close to the bed.
“I suppose I must be grateful to Nurse Hensted,” said Daphne, “much as I dislike her. Dr. Curtis says she may have stopped me bleeding to death, as well as saving my baby. Oh, Daisy, what must you think of me?”
“I think you've got yourself into a fearful mess,” Daisy said candidly. “And I know that now you're no longer under sedation, you're going to have to talk to the police.”
“Even if I tell you everything?”
“Gosh, yes. I may have given Alec a hand with one or two cases, and he does
occasionally
listen to what I have to say, but I have no official standing. You'll have to see him. Or he'd send someone else if you prefer, I expect. I can see it might be a bit awkward baring your soul to a policeman you've been socially acquainted with for ages.”
“Very, but probably no worse than to a stranger. On the whole I'd rather have your husband, especially if you can stay with me. But I want to explain to you first anyway. You've been so kind.”
Daisy thought guiltily of her ulterior motives. “Not really,” she felt obliged to demur.
“Kinder than anyone else.”
“There are stacks of condolence cards downstairs.”
Daphne pulled a face. “All of which I'll have to answer politely though I can guess what some of those cats are saying
behind my back. I can't imagine you going off and repeating what I've told you to the neighbours.”
“No, I wouldn't do that.” Daisy recalled with distaste Miss Cobb's glee as she passed on her tidbit of gossip, while Mrs. Grantchester watched avidly. “I wouldn't even tell Alec in ordinary circumstances, but—”
“Poor Raymond! I still can't quite believe it's happened.” She sounded more bewildered than shattered. “Are the police absolutely sure it wasn't an accident?”
“Pretty sure. You said something before about it happening just when you thought you'd sorted everything out. Did you mean he'd agreed to let you divorce him?”
“No, on the contrary. Divorce would have ruined his practice, and having a divorced mother would be a rotten start in life for my baby. No, he'd agreed to accept the child as his own.”
“Did he really?”
“Noble of him, wasn't it?” Daphne's smile was twisted. “He wasn't a bad man. I was madly in love with him once. And, you know, not having children was one of the things that drove us apart in the first place. No, not drove. We weren't driven, we drifted. Don't let it happen to you, Daisy.”
Daisy couldn't imagine drifting apart from Alec, but she said, “I'll do my best.”
“We were going to try to put our marriage back together. He promised to drop his latest mistress, and I told Harry I couldn't see him again.” Her eyes filling with tears, Daphne turned her head away.
“Oh, please, you mustn't upset yourself. Dr. Curtis said … I'd better go.”
“No, please stay. I'll go mad if I can't talk about it. I'll try to be calm. Only it was perfectly awful, you can't imagine.”
“You told him everything? I mean, about why you and your husband were going to try to salvage the marriage? About the baby?”
“His baby, as I expect you must have guessed. Yes, I told him. We've known each other for nearly twenty years, you see. I would have married him, but Father wouldn't let me. He said he was an effete aristocrat barely capable of tying his own shoelaces.”
“Oh dear!”
“It's not true. And I can tell Harry anything, knowing he'll understand. He was so kind, and so sad.”
“It must have been very painful.” Daisy tried to imagine the dilettante-about-town finding himself in that awkward situation. She would expect him to be extremely relieved that his mistress intended to stay with her husband rather than attempting to saddle him with the responsibility for the child. Nothing seemed less likely than that he should rush off to murder said husband.
Admittedly Daisy didn't know Lord Henry at all well. His long liaison with Daphne Talmadge was surprising enough in itself. One would have expected him to dally with actresses.
Reaching out a pleading hand, Daphne said passionately, “I have to see him!”
“Oh dear, I don't see how—”
“I can't go out, so Harry must come here.”
Daisy tried to work out how to say politely that a man visiting his mistress in her bedroom at home on the day after her husband was murdered was simply not on. Especially
as he'd been murdered in that very house. “I really don't think—”
“I don't care what people say. It's too late to worry about that. Will you go down and telephone him for me?”
“As a matter of fact, there's a policeman down there for the express purpose of stopping you getting in touch with Lord Henry until Alec has talked to you. And please don't ask me to write a note or something. I may not always agree with Alec, but I couldn't deliberately thwart him like that.” At least, not unless she was absolutely certain he was wrong.
At present, the only certainties were that Daphne was tired, upset, and worried about Lord Henry. Daisy hoped she wasn't deluding herself that he cared equally for her. Or was she worried because she was afraid he might desert her?
She could even be making up the whole story to divert suspicion from herself to him. A reconciliation with her husband eliminated her motive for killing him, but intensified Lord Henry's—always supposing he really was devoted to her.
“I wish he'd hurry up and come then,” Daphne sighed. “Mr. Fletcher, I mean. But I want you to tell him first what I've told you. It won't be quite so difficult if he already knows the worst.”
“I could try to 'phone him at the Yard, and if he's not there, leave a message that you're ready to see him.”
“Would you? Please?”
“Right-oh. Then I'll wait and come up with him, if you're sure that's what you want. He can't very well object to your having a chaperon.”
“I'm afraid I'm taking up a great deal of your time. I
know you're awfully busy with your writing. I do envy you for having something really worthwhile to do, and I admire you for going on with it spite of what people say. I sometimes think if I had had more to do …” She sighed again. “You've been very kind, and I don't want to ask anything more of you, but … I don't think I can bear the Hensted woman brooding over me any longer. Her squabbles with Hilda alone are intolerable.”
“You really must brace yourself to dismiss her. Did Dr. Curtis say you ought to have a nurse on hand?”
“For a few days, at least.”
“Well, if you like I'll call an agency and get them to send someone, but I can't chuck Miss Hensted out for you. I don't see why she should mind, given pay in lieu of notice. After all, the job she was hired for no longer exists, and she told Alec she abhors waiting on an invalid.”
Daphne brightened. “She did? Then maybe I can make it seem as if I'm doing her a favour by letting her go.”
“Try it,” Daisy advised. “I'll send her in. I'm off to 'phone Alec.”
When Daisy left the bedroom, Nurse Hensted was on the landing waiting to return to her patient. Hilda Kidd, thank heaven, was nowhere in sight.
Lost in thought, the nurse didn't notice Daisy for a moment. Judging by her heavy frown and downturned mouth her thoughts were not pleasant. It must be hard to lose a position she had no doubt expected to keep for years, particularly one where the work was not exactly exacting. Even if Daphne kept her on, it could only be a few days before she'd have to start pounding the pavements again in
search of a new job. She would probably end up either in a hospital or looking after an invalid.
She looked up, saw Daisy, and started forward. “I hope you didn't upset her, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said belligerently. “We don't want another emergency.”
“Mrs. Talmadge is quite calm at present. You'll see that she stays calm, won't you?”
“That's my job. It's Hilda Kidd gets her all worked up.”
Daisy nodded, but she paused to listen before going downstairs.
Miss Hensted pushed the door to after her, but it didn't latch, bouncing back to leave a crack. Daisy heard professionally soothing sounds, but without putting her ear to the crack she couldn't make out the words. Not that it mattered; she just wanted to make sure there wasn't going to be a battle royal.
Daphne's voice came next, in firm tones. Then the nurse said clearly, “Oh yes, Mrs. Talmadge, I'd be ever so grateful. I didn't want to leave you in the lurch, but it'll suit me down to the ground. You'll write me a reference? I'm sure I've always given satisfaction.”
All was well. Daisy went on down the stairs. She found DS Mackinnon perched uneasily on the shield-back chair in the hall. He jumped up when he saw her.
“How is the lady, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Much better. I was just going to ring up my husband and tell him he can come and see her.”
He flushed. “I already did,” he said guiltily. “The doctor said it was all right.”
Daisy smiled at him kindly. The poor man must hate the
tendency to blush even more than she did. It would make life very difficult for a police officer, so the fact that he had reached the rank of detective sergeant meant he was pretty competent at his job. Alec's keeping a division man on the case when the Yard had taken over also spoke well of Mackinnon.
So he probably had a good grasp of what was going on, and with any luck she might wheedle some information out of him before Alec arrived.
“That's good,” she said. “When I last spoke to him, he said he was going to see Lord Henry again, so I thought I'd have to leave a message. Lord Henry wasn't exactly forthcoming last night.” That seemed a fairly safe deduction. “As for his alibi, it sounds pretty vague.”
“Yes,” agreed the obliging sergeant. “DC Piper canna find the restaurant his lordship said he and the lady lunched at. Not a single waiter in any restaurant in or near Oxford Street recognized his photograph.”
“And his looks are rather distinctive,” Daisy mused. So Creighton had admitted to being with Daphne at lunchtime yesterday, and had attempted to give them both an alibi. “Do you know if Tom—Sergeant Tring—managed to get hold of the errand boy I found for him?”
“Yes indeed, easily, with the information you provided, ma'am. He hadna seen anything useful, but he gave the names of others who use the alley regularly, and some of them provided more names. Last I heard, Sergeant Tring was working his way through a list as long as your arm, and most of them out and about on their bicycles.”
“Poor Tom!”
“Dinna fash yoursel', as we say in my part of the world. He's sitting still and letting them come to him.”
“While you've been slogging round all the neighbours, and I'd bet none of them have seen anything.”
“You'd win the bet hands down, Mrs. Fletcher. This is the worst sort of place from our point of view. The houses are hidden from each other and the servants aren't local people, as they would be in the country.”
“Each house is an island, entire of itself,” Daisy misquoted, doubtless making John Donne spin in his grave. Compounding the offence, she went on, “Never send to know for whom the bell tolls, they all know by now it tolls for poor Raymond Talmadge.”
“So they do.” Mackinnon, with a thorough Scots education behind him, was less successful than Tom Tring in concealing his amusement, not having a moustache to hide behind. “However, I did get the names of all the shops that delivered to this street yesterday, and those also are on Sergeant Tring's list.”

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