Death at Wentwater Court (19 page)

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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: Death at Wentwater Court
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Daisy suppressed a gasp of shock. In all her wildest imaginings about Annabel's secret, it had never crossed her mind that she and Rupert might have lived together for years without being husband and wife. Few misdeeds could have been calculated to offend more deeply against Lord Wentwater's Victorian view of morality.
But he was saying tenderly, “I know. I've known from the first, or very soon at least. As soon as I began to court you, some expatriate busybody made it her business to reveal the worst.”
“You never said!”
“And how I wish I had. I didn't want to cause you any discomfort, but if I'd spoken, Astwick would have had no hold over you. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Oh, Henry,” Annabel sighed.
Unnoticed, Daisy crept from the room.
On her way down the stairs, she considered what Annabel had told her about Rupert. He had sounded likeable but far from practical. Add his poor health and the difficulty of finding a Protestant minister in southern Italy—Daisy could picture time drifting by without a wedding until it was too late.
Reprehensible, of course, but after all, artists were expected to lead a Bohemian life, as she and Lucy had discovered when they moved to Chelsea. Lord Wentwater had known, and had married Annabel anyway. He wasn't as frightfully old-fashioned as Daisy had feared.
Her thoughts elsewhere, she was stunned when, just as she reached the foot of the stairs, the front door opened and Alec walked in. And she'd forgotten to powder her nose in all the excitement!
Her eyes flew to the grandfather clock. Ten to three.
Alec's grim face was decorated with a square of sticking plaster on the forehead. Behind him, Tring limped slightly and Piper's arm was in a sling. Crossing the hall to meet them, Daisy saw that all three had damp overcoats and filthy turn-ups to their trousers.
“I've been so worried about you,” she exclaimed. “What happened? Did the burglars attack you?”
“Nothing so dramatic,” Alec grunted sourly. “The lanes are knee-deep
in mud. I skidded into a ditch and Ernie, who was following me, tried to dodge and went through a hedge.”
“Thank heaven none of you was badly hurt.”
“And both cars still running,” Tom Tring informed her genially. “A couple of cart-horses put us back on the road.”
“That's good, but you look as if you got pretty wet in the meantime. Take off those coats and come and sit by the fire. Have you lunched? Yes? I'll order something hot to drink, at least.”
Alec shook his head, winced, and raised his hand to feel the plaster on his brow. “Not now.” He watched the footman bear away their coats before he continued, “This has turned out to be a case of murder, as you know. I've a fair idea of what happened but it's just guesswork so far. We'll have to do a bit of investigating before I can make an arrest. Stay out of it, Daisy. I don't expect things to get dangerous but I can't be sure.” He started towards the stairs.
She caught his sleeve. “Wait, Chief. I simply
must
talk to you first. I can tell you exactly what happened.”
He gave her a hard stare, then sighed wearily. “All right. Five minutes.”
“Come to the Blue Salon, where we shan't be disturbed.” Leading the way, she asked, “Did you find the jewellery?”
“Yes, we nabbed the lot,” he said, cheering up, “and the two chummies who did the job. What's more, Payne gave us leads on the previous burglaries. Astwick had him find local housebreakers in each case, as a way to vary the
modus operandi
and so that no one had a chance to learn too much about him. It was a clever racket. I suspect he'd be safely on his way to Rio if he hadn't ended up dead.”
“No, you'd have caught him once Sergeant Tring picked up the clue of the grey Lanchester.” She glanced back to smile at Tom Tring and he winked at her.
Daisy's nerves caught up with her as she reached the Blue Salon. How on earth was she going to persuade Alec that Geoffrey had deserved the chance to make good in a distant country instead of going to prison? He was not going to be pleased.
Her knees felt wobbly. She sat down on one of the blue-and-white brocade chairs, leaving places nearer the fireplace for the men. But Tring and Piper took straight chairs at a distance and Alec stood with his back to the fire, looking alarmingly formidable. He frowned down at her.
“It was Geoffrey, wasn't it? He left the drawing-room early; Tom says he shared a bathroom with Astwick; and he may well be the only one strong enough to have carried the body down to the lake.”
“Yes,” she admitted, “only …” She paused as somewhere in the distance a clock chimed three. Within her a tense spring began to uncoil.
“I was afraid of it,” Alec said. “I liked the boy. I can't picture him murdering even that blackguard in cold blood. There was immediate provocation?”
“Plenty. Only it didn't happen in his bathroom. Astwick assaulted Annabel in
her
bathroom and Geoffrey heard her cries for help.”
“Good Lord, provocation indeed. I'll be sorry to take him in.” He groaned. “And no doubt Lady Wentwater helped him dispose of the evidence.”
“You can't arrest him,” said Daisy with more trepidation than triumph. “It's too late. You see, I remembered that the S.S.
Orinoco
was leaving for Rio today, and Sir Hugh has plantations in Brazil where Geoffrey can work. He sailed from Southampton at three.”
Alec stared at her with an expression of utter disbelief. “He
what?
And you …” His quiet voice was somehow more terrifying than any shout. “You little idiot, don't you understand? That makes you an accessory to murder.”
H
ow the blazes was he going to save her from the consequences of her folly?
As Alec glared down into Daisy's face, frightened yet defiant, he realized that he was not about to play the part of a stern police officer with a misbehaving citizen. He was going to have a blazing row.
Young Piper was gaping at him with fascinated dismay, while Tom's eyes twinkled with sly amusement in an otherwise stolid mask.
“You two,” Alec snapped, “go and find yourselves a hot drink.” He waited in grim silence until the door closed behind them, then turned on Daisy. “I must have been raving mad to trust you!”
Guiltily she protested, “But I …”
“Or have
you
gone raving mad, to try to help a murderer go scot-free?”
“He's not going scot-free. Besides he's …”
“You're damn right he's not. I'll wireless the ship before it reaches the three-mile limit and have him put ashore.” His wits, scattered by outrage, returned to him. “In fact, the sooner the better.” He started forward.
“Wait!” Aghast, she jumped up and put out her hand. “Let me …”
“I'll be back in a minute.”
“For pity's sake, will you stop interrupting and listen to me?” she demanded angrily. “Geoffrey's not a murderer. Just let me explain what happened!”
“All right.” With a weary sigh he subsided into the nearest chair. His head ached where he had bashed it as the Austin slid into the ditch. “The
Orinoco's
a British ship. I can always have her ordered to turn back.”
Daisy sat down rather suddenly. “Can you really? I thought he'd be safe once the ship had sailed.”
“We don't let killers go unpunished so easily.”
“He won't be unpunished. He's going into exile, leaving his family and friends and the woman he loves. And he's not going to the French Riviera for a rest cure. He's going to Brazil, which is full of beastly snakes and natives with poisoned blowpipes and those frightful fish that reduce you to a skeleton in less than a minute.”
“I'm surprised he didn't opt for Dartmoor,” said Alec sardonically, “if, as you claim, he's not a murderer in danger of hanging.”
“He almost did, but a trial would have exposed Annabel to the worst excesses of the scandal-sheets.”
“His absence wouldn't prevent a trial, you know. Lady Wentwater's guilt as an accessory after the fact, if not before, is even clearer than yours.”
“Oh, it all seemed so simple!” she wailed.
“Far from it. I'm surprised a canny old bird like Sir Hugh went along with your wild scheme.”
“Is he an accessory too? He still believes Geoffrey only mucked about with the ice. We never told him the rest.”
“It's time you told me. How did you find out, by the way?”
“When Constable Piper left … You won't blame him for telling me what the pathologist said?”
“How can I, when he was only following my example?”
“Good. It seemed as obvious to me as it did to you that Astwick had been drowned in his own bath. Though it seemed all too likely
that Geoffrey had done it, I couldn't be sure. I went up to the bathroom to try to work out if someone else could have got in.”
Alec's heart skipped a beat. “My dear girl, have you no common sense at all? Didn't it occur to you that you were putting yourself in deadly danger?”
“I was just a bit scared when Geoffrey came in,” she confessed, “but there wasn't really the least chance of his hurting me. He was really quite keen to get it off his chest.”
“And you believed every word,” he said sceptically.
“I might not have, I suppose, if it had been only Geoffrey's word, but he and Annabel told the story together without the least disagreement. I refuse to believe they conspired to invent such a perfectly dreadful business.”
“They conspired to dispose of the body.”
“Just listen, will you? Astwick pinched the key from the corridor door to Annabel's bathroom. It's right opposite his bedroom door, you know. He went in and assaulted her as she stepped out of her bath. Geoffrey heard her cry out. He rushed in and biffed Astwick one on the chin, just as he did to James. Then he followed Annabel into her boudoir to promise her his protection. When he went back into the bathroom he found Astwick doubled over the edge of the bath with his head under water, drowned. They decided he'd tripped when Geoffrey hit him, bashed his head on the taps, and been too dazed to help himself. So, you see,” she said earnestly, “his death was completely unintentional.”
“That's the whole story?”
“Apart from how they tried to make it look like a skating accident. I gave you the bare bones, not all the beastly details I'd rather forget.”
He couldn't resist: “‘Corroborative detail intended to add verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative'?”
She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I can't force you to believe it wasn't murder.”
“I was teasing you. At an inappropriate moment, I admit. On the
whole, I'm inclined to credit their account. However, manslaughter is still a felony, with serious penalties. The law is the law.”
“Do you believe the law always serves justice?” Her blue eyes demanded honesty.
“Perhaps not always,” Alec said cautiously, “but without law there would be no justice, only the strong preying on the weak. And I serve the law.”
“Do you never make exceptions? When you were on the beat—were you on the beat?”
“Yes, all detectives have to spend some time on the beat. No exceptions.”
“Did you never let anyone off with a warning? Under extenuating circumstances, or if you were pretty certain they'd never do it again?”
“Now and then,” he conceded with a wry grimace. She was doing her best to back him into a corner. “But a kid lifting a bar of chocolate is hardly on a par with a killing.”
“Unintentional. To save Annabel from a fate worse than death. Hasn't she suffered enough?”
“Have you discovered what misdeed Astwick was using to blackmail her?”
“Yes, though I see absolutely no reason to tell you. It wasn't so dreadful. In fact, Lord Wentwater knew all along and married her anyway, so she suffered for nothing.”
Alec recalled the sorrowing Madonna, the moon pale from weariness. Yes, Lady Wentwater had suffered. And Geoffrey had gone into exile, a chivalrous knight protecting his fair lady.
And his victim had been an out-and-out rotter.
“I can't just ignore the whole thing,” he said pettishly. His head hurt.
“Can't you simply say you were mistaken in thinking he didn't just fall through the ice by accident? Geoffrey, Annabel, and Lord Wentwater are the only ones who know about the axe-marks and that Astwick didn't drown in the lake. Besides Sergeant Tring and Constable Piper and the pathologist, of course, unless you told anyone else?”
“No, no one. Tring and Piper will do as I say. Dr. Renfrew never expresses any interest in a case once he's finished cutting up the body.”
Daisy wrinkled her nose in disgust but said cheerfully, “Then you can easily claim it was a skating accident after all.”
“Easily!” he exploded. He sprang to his feet, wincing as the bump on his brow sent an arrow of pain shooting through his skull. “I'm a police officer. I have a duty to uphold the law. I'm going to send a wireless ordering the
Orinoco'
s captain to turn back to port.”
“Alec, wait!” She looked at him with concern. “Is your head aching? Do sit down for just one more minute. There's one thing you haven't considered. If the
Orinoco
has to turn back so that you can arrest Geoffrey, you're going to have the shipping line and all the passengers after your blood, not to mention Lord Wentwater, Sir Hugh, and very likely your own Commissioner, who, you may recall, is a friend …”
He groaned as her voice trailed off. “True, but my duty must come first.”
“That's it! Telephone your Commissioner, tell him everything, and ask him what to do. He's your superior. If he orders you to drop the case, you will have done your duty, won't you?”
“And if not?”
“Well, I suppose I'll have to stop trying to persuade you,” she said, disconsolate. “At least you can make him wireless the ship, so that no one blames you.”
Gazing down at her upturned face with its scattering of freckles and the tiny, bewitching mole, he did not doubt that she was genuinely concerned for him. All her efforts to talk him out of chasing down Geoffrey were due to concern for her friends, not herself. She had already forgotten that she was an accessory to the crime. He'd keep her out of this, he vowed, whatever the Commissioner decided.
“Not a bad idea,” he admitted.
“I expect you can use the telephone in Lord Wentwater's study.
The last I saw of him, he looked as if he'd be busy upstairs for some time.”
She saw him settled in the study and tactfully disappeared. Alec had less difficulty being put through to the Commissioner than he had expected, because of Sir Hugh Menton's involvement, no doubt. In guarded terms, avoiding names where possible, he explained the situation.
He had nearly finished when Daisy reappeared, bearing a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. He smiled at her and continued, avoiding all mention of the fact that Geoffrey's departure was her idea.
“So you see, sir, we can have the
Orinoco
turn back, or wait till he reaches Tenerife or even Rio and have him extradited.”
“No need for that, Chief Inspector,” the Commissioner's voice boomed down the wire. “Send the Coast Guard out and have him taken off.”
“Yes, sir. I hadn't considered that possibility.”
“All sounds to me like a vast waste of public monies. The boy was protecting a certain lady from rape, wasn't he?”
“Yes, sir. I'm willing to accept their story, based on what I've learned of Geoffrey's and Astwick's characters.”
“Hmm. Whole thing was an unfortunate accident. Astwick's family likely to give us any grief?”
“I doubt it, sir. Lord Brinbury seems to have been anxious only to hear that his brother was underground.”
The Commissioner's bellow of laughter rocked his head. “What about the coroner. Reasonable man?”
“I'd say he knows his duty, sir—and which side his bread is buttered. He is Lord Wentwater's solicitor. If you and his lordship were both to advise his directing the jury to find accidental death …”
“Done, Chief Inspector. Accidental death it is. I'll have a word with Lord Wentwater later but my secretary is pulling faces at me now. Good job. Goodbye.”
Alec also pulled a face. At least Daisy was safe but … Good job?
Well, he had been chosen for his discretion. He hung up the receiver and gulped the tea Daisy had poured for him. “It's all settled,” he said as she refilled his cup. “Wealth and rank win again. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth.”
She regarded him uncertainly. “When I came up with the plan I was thinking mostly of Annabel, but I hoped I was solving a problem for you, too. I must say I expected you to be delighted not to have to arrest the son of an earl.”
“Delighted!”
“Well, relieved, at least.”
She was right, to his chagrin. He was relieved to have avoided running foul of Lord Wentwater and Sir Hugh. Despising himself as a craven toady, he was irritated with her for guessing.
“Are you sure you weren't simply trying to shield your own kind, people of your own class, Miss Dalrymple?”
“No,” she said, hurt. “Why should I champion a class that includes James and Lord Stephen? I wanted to protect Annabel because she's become a dear friend and hadn't done anything really wrong. All the same, I wouldn't have intervened to prevent a trial if I hadn't considered Geoffrey's actions justified.”
“It's quite possible he would have got off with a warning anyway,” Alec admitted reluctantly. Her eyes brightened and she beamed at him. She was too pleased with herself, too satisfied with the success of her scheme to outwit the law. He couldn't let her get away with it so easily, or the Lord alone knew what she'd be up to next. “Nonetheless,” he continued in his most severe official voice, “that decision was for police, coroner, judge, and jury to make, not you. You could have been in extremely serious trouble.”
Her face fell. “I know. Thank you for not telling the Commissioner it was my idea.”
“The fewer people who know, the better. And now, if you will excuse me, I must speak to Lord Wentwater, prepare a statement for the press, and write my reports.” Three reports, he thought with a mental groan, one on the Flatford affair and two for this Astwick
mess: one for the records, and the eyes of the Chief Constable of Hampshire; and one for his own superior, the Assistant Commissioner for Crime, who had to know the whole thing, even Daisy's part in it.

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