Black Ship (10 page)

In the meantime, with Miranda crawling towards her crying “Ma-ma”—indubitably “Ma-ma”!—Daisy couldn’t put off much longer broaching the delicate subject of nursery tea.

Oliver raced after his sister, shouting “Ga-ga-gak.”

Daisy sat down and the babies climbed onto her lap. Inhaling the sweet milk and talcum smell of them, she gave each a kiss and said over their heads, “I’ve invited the children next door to tea, Mrs. Gilpin.”

“Indeed, madam!” said Nurse with a sniff. “I hardly think Master Oliver and Miss Miranda are old enough to entertain guests.”

“Their nanny will come, too, of course.”

“Indeed, madam.”

“Besides, I expect Miss Marilyn will entertain the twins. You know how she dotes on them when they meet in the gardens. And there will be another two-year-old to play with Percy Jessup—Mrs. Pearson’s Robin.”

“Lady … Mrs. Pearson’s little boy? How nice for our little ones to make his acquaintance.”

What a change of tune! Daisy assumed Mrs. Dobson must have told her that Madge was Lady Margaret. If Nurse knew, then the nursery maid surely knew, and what Bertha knew the parlour maid knew, and what Elsie knew, her sister next door was bound to know. So no doubt the Jessups would also find out within a short time. It would be interesting to see whether they were more impressed by someone with the genuine title of “Lady” than by someone with a mere “Honourable” before her name.

Alec came home early for once. He had obtained tickets for that night’s concert at Queen’s Hall, a rare occasion, given his erratic schedule. Daisy didn’t want to spoil the evening, so she postponed asking him whether the Irish Republicans were still in the habit of blowing up policemen. Perhaps she’d learn enough about the Jessups at the tea party not to have to ask him at all.

It was quite late when they got home. As it was drizzling, Alec stopped the Austin right in front of the house to let Daisy out, then went to put the car in the garage in the alley. As Daisy started up the steps, the Jessups’ front door opened, silhouetting a man against the lighted hall. Then the door slammed shut and the figure hurried down the next-door steps. Daisy couldn’t see his face, but something about the way he moved seemed familiar.

She was in the house and taking off her coat before she made the connection: Surely he was the American visitor who had so upset Mrs. Jessup. Judging by his hasty retreat, his reception hadn’t been any better today.

When Alec came in, rain dripping from his hat, Daisy almost told him. But he had other plans for what was left of the evening.

“Time for bed,” he said firmly, and with his arm snug about her waist, she wasn’t going to argue.

The next afternoon, Madge arrived in good time for a chat, as she had promised. They went straight up to the nursery, however, and by the time Robin, Oliver, and Miranda had been introduced and induced to play more or less nicely with one another, it was too late for Daisy to tell Madge any details of the mysteries surrounding the Jessups. She did warn her, though, that her title was no secret.

When they went downstairs, Elsie was just opening the door to Melanie. Madge had met Mel a couple of times but didn’t know her at all well. Besides, Melanie, the very proper wife of a bank manager, was rendered acutely uncomfortable by gossip that involved speaking ill of anyone. Though Daisy had no intention of maligning the Jessups, discussing the possible involvement of one or more members with the Irish Republicans was bound to distress Mel.

The Jessup ladies, children, and nanny arrived a few moments later. After greetings and introductions and the despatching
of the nursery party upstairs, Daisy poured tea. Elsie passed it around, along with watercress sandwiches (Mrs. Dobson was a genius at cutting bread practically paper-thin) and a variety of homemade biscuits (including Daisy’s favourite macaroons, which she allowed herself only on special occasions).

Once everyone was served, Daisy dismissed Elsie. Madge and Audrey Jessup, both cheerful, practical women with two-year-old boys, were already getting on like a house on fire. Mel and Mrs. Jessup, on the other hand, were making polite conversation, so Daisy joined in.

It wasn’t difficult to introduce the subject of foreign travel. The Germonds had taken the whole family to Brittany in the summer. Daisy asked Melanie about the difficulties of travelling with children, and went on to mention quite naturally that Mr. Jessup took his younger son with him on his business trips to the Continent.

“How old was he the first time he went abroad with your husband?” she asked Mrs. Jessup.

“Fifteen or sixteen.” Mrs. Jessup did not elaborate.

“And now he goes by himself,” said Daisy.

“You must worry about him,” said Mel.

Since Mrs. Jessup didn’t respond, Daisy pointed out, “Surely if he’s old enough to do business on his own, he’s old enough not to worry about.”

“Oh Daisy, I don’t think one ever stops worrying about one’s children. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Jessup?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed with an amused smile. “Even into one’s dotage, I dare say, when the ‘children’ themselves are growing elderly.”

Daisy thought that behind the calm façade, the smile was forced, stagy even, but perhaps she was influenced by knowing Mrs. Jessup had been an actress. She ventured another probe. “He isn’t in Germany, is he? As far as I can recall, most German wines come from the Rhine and Moselle, and that part of Germany has been pretty unsettled recently, even more so than the rest.”

“There are some vineyards farther east, but yes, most are in the Rhineland. Maurice doesn’t handle many German wines, though, because there’s still a lot of prejudice against them. But I don’t want to bore you with business talk, Mrs. Germond. Are you an aficionado of the theatre?”

“I should be happy to go more often than I do.”

“Perhaps Mrs. Fletcher has told you that I was on the stage. It’s an odd world.” She proceeded to entertain them with stories of theatre life. Madge, who was a great playgoer, joined in, while Audrey Jessup prompted her mother-in-law, suggesting particularly interesting incidents. Once again, Daisy envied their easy relationship.

Mrs. Jessup was very amusing, but when everyone departed, a frustrated Daisy was no wiser about the whereabouts of her younger son.

Madge was last to leave. “I wish I could stay and talk,” she said. “I must say, they seem like nice people. Not a single ‘your ladyship’ to be heard, thank heaven! Mrs. Aidan has invited me to go and see the Galerie des Glaces one of these days.”

“Madge! How did you manage it?”

“I just mentioned that you’d mentioned it,” Madge said airily, “and that it sounded interesting. She told me her father-in-law had it made as a compliment to her mother-in-law, because she was so beautiful, he wanted to see her everywhere he looked. Mr. Jessup must have been quite a romantic, though nowadays apparently he uses it mostly to entertain foreign businessmen and their wives.”

“And there I’ve been tiptoeing around the subject for weeks!”

“I even found out that the ladies entertained you in there that first time because the children had been playing in the drawing room earlier and little Percy threw a wooden train through a windowpane.”

“Well, that’s one little mystery cleared up. I trust they don’t let him play in the Galerie?”

“Catastrophe! But Mrs. Jessup sounds like a very affectionate, not to say indulgent, grandmother. I can’t believe she’s involved
in any dastardly plots. Here’s my taxi, so we’ll have to talk about that another time. Bye, darling.”

They kissed cheeks, and Daisy waved as Madge stepped into the cab. As it pulled away, her eye was caught by a movement in the garden opposite. Many of the bushes were leafless now, but there was a clump of laurels and rhododendrons. The evergreen leaves were waving in an unnatural manner, even considering the slight breeze that was chasing clouds across the sky.

Daisy watched. Someone was lurking there.

She was as certain as certain could be without actually confronting him that it was Lambert. She had glimpsed him once or twice in the streets of Hampstead but had obeyed his instructions to pretend she hadn’t. Could anyone else who made a practice of lurking possibly be so inefficient at it?

“Alec?”

“Mmm-hmm?” He looked up from the
Daily Chronicle.

“Do the Irish still go around blowing up policemen?”

“I can’t promise they’ve given up the practice, love, but at the moment they seem more intent on blowing up one another.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s a good thing, in its way. Sort of.”

Alec grinned. “Sort of. They’d probably give it up if they didn’t get endless support, guns and money, from their fellow countrymen who have emigrated to America. But it’s not my problem at the moment, thank heaven.”

“Leave me the paper, will you, darling? Do you realise I’m going to be old enough to vote soon? I ought to know what’s going on in the world.”

“You mean you’re not going to vote as your husband directs you?”

“Alec!”

“Ah well. As long as you don’t start writing political diatribes.” He folded the newspaper and passed it over. “Here you go. Have fun.”

Daisy wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t suppose it’ll actually be fun, but I’m sure it must be my duty to king and country, so I’ll give it a try.”

He drained his coffee and left for work. Daisy spread the
Chronicle
on the table in front of her, but instead of reading the headlines, she found herself considering what he had said.

The bellicose Irish Republicans obtained arms and money from their compatriots in America. So the younger Jessup son—she realised she still didn’t know his name—might be in America raising funds. Why were the Irish fighting among themselves? It was all very muddling. Perhaps something in the newspaper would help her sort it out.

The first headline that caught her eye informed her that the French were bombing Damascus. Fighting in Ireland was bad enough, she decided; she simply didn’t want to know why the French were bombing Damascus. Thankfully, she remembered that she had to get started on an article about Hampstead Heath, and of course she had to go and see the babies first.

It was a couple of days later that Daisy came out of the High Street stationer’s with a packet of carbon paper and a heavy sigh. She nearly bumped into Audrey Jessup.

“Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, good morning. Whatever is the matter?”

“Mrs. Jessup! I beg your pardon. I wasn’t looking where I was going. It’s nothing, just a minor irritation, but … irritating.”

“I know just what you mean. I expect Mr. Knowles can’t find what you need.”

“A typewriter ribbon, for the commonest make of machine available, an old one that everyone has. I suppose I’ll just have to go back to the stationer in St. John’s Wood. He always has the right one.”

“Knowles is the most disorganised person, and if he can’t lay hands on something immediately, he gets flustered and denies
the possibility of ever being able to get it. But one just has to be patient and firm.”

“Is that all? Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go back in and be firm.”

“He’s probably standing there now with the ribbon in his hands, wondering what to do with it.” Audrey smiled. “If you’re not in a great hurry to get back to work, would you like to meet for coffee after you sort him out? There’s a Kardomah just down the street, opposite the bank.”

Daisy was only too glad to agree. It was the first opportunity she’d had to talk to Audrey alone. Perhaps, on her own, Mrs. Aidan Jessup would be more forthcoming about her husband’s family.

Her mother-in-law always evaded talk about the younger son’s whereabouts. Why, if he were simply visiting vineyards in Europe, or even relatives in Ireland? Daisy was practically convinced he was in America. Whether he was rumrunning or gunrunning, she couldn’t be sure, but he must be up to something fishy, or his mother wouldn’t be so worried. Further questions also remained to be answered. Who, for instance, was the angry American? Might he be another agent, unknown to Lambert? After all, no one could expect poor Lambert to actually accomplish anything.

These reflections were no hindrance to dealing firmly with Mr. Knowles. Daisy reemerged into Hampstead High Street with a typewriter ribbon nestling alongside the carbon paper in her basket.

As arranged, Audrey had gone into the Kardomah to bag a table before the morning rush hit. When Daisy entered, she was standing next to a table for four, talking to a pair of seated women. Daisy hoped she wouldn’t want to join them.

Seeing her, Audrey waved. Daisy went over and was introduced as the mother of adorable twins. The two ladies invited her and Audrey to sit down, but Audrey said she had already taken possession of a table for two by the window. They stood for a couple of minutes, chatting about their various offspring.
Quite the most annoying thing about having children, Daisy decided, was being forced to listen politely while other people talked about theirs.

Mrs. Vane’s and Mrs. Darby’s coffees arrived, accompanied by toasted tea cakes. Daisy had resolved to be good, but the spicy, buttery aroma of one of her favourite treats undermined her resolve. She and Audrey repaired to their table, saved by a scarf flung over one chair and a basket on the other.

“My treat,” said Audrey as they sat down. “You will have something to eat, won’t you? Otherwise, I can’t, and I’m simply starving.” She lowered her voice. “I’m pretty sure we’ll be having an addition to the family in the spring.”

“Congratulations!” More baby talk, Daisy thought, but perhaps she’d be able to lead it round to Mrs. Jessup’s missing offspring.

A waitress, neat in black, with a frilly white apron and cap, came to take their order—two coffees, a tea cake, and a Bath bun.

As she left, Daisy added, “No wonder you’re blooming.”

Audrey beamed. “I’m so happy. We’re all happy. Not just about the baby. My father-in-law has heard from Patrick at last—my brother-in-law, you know. Mama Moira’s been dreadfully anxious about him. Being an actress, she doesn’t show it, but I always know. Now Patrick’s on his way home, we can all be comfortable again.”

Before Daisy could think of a polite way to enquire where Patrick was coming home from and what he’d been doing there, the waitress arrived with a tray. And then it was too late. Audrey revealed that she had read Daisy’s latest article in
Town and Country
, because “Mama Moira said I ought, with you living next door. I’m not much of a reader,” she confessed, laughing. “I just don’t seem to have time. But I really enjoyed your article.”