‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
Becket suddenly thought of being able to put his arm around Daisy’s waist as he helped her learn how to ride, and smiled in the sunshine.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Charles Knight
Farthings was a pleasant Elizabethan manor-house. A beautiful old wisteria covered most of the front, its delicate purple blossoms moving gently in the lightest of breezes.
As they went through the usual arrival ritual of being shown to their quarters, Daisy fretted about that car which had been behind them all the way. Whoever was driving it wasn’t a guest because it had driven on past the gates. The driver was wearing goggles and a muffler up round his face and he had a cap pulled low down over his forehead.
In her new status as companion, she would no longer eat with the servants and so would have no chance to tell Becket of her fears.
They had been given two bedrooms and a little sitting-room. Rose stood by the window, watching the other arrivals.
‘Good heavens, Daisy. There’s Tristram Baker-Willis, Freddy’s friend. And here comes Mrs Jerry and her husband. You know, I’ve just thought of something. With Freddy’s flat being searched when he was shot, one assumed that the murderer had taken away any incriminating papers. But what if Freddy did not keep any evidence he was using to blackmail in his flat, but had it somewhere else? I must ask the captain. Or, wait a bit, what if the murderer found the evidence, took away his own stuff along with the others and then decided to do a bit of blackmailing himself?’
‘There’s the dressing gong,’ said Daisy.
‘The arrivals are going to have to look sharp. Ring the bell for Turner.’
Daisy could never get used to the fact that she was expected to avail herself of Turner’s services as well. Not that Turner presented any difficulties. Being lady’s maid to an aristocrat was a step up for her. Her last job had been as lady’s maid to an elderly widow in Bournemouth. She was in her thirties, polite and correct and self- effacing.
But Daisy loved the luxury of having someone to do her hair and mend and clean her clothes.
When they were ready, Rose in a low-cut white silk gown and Daisy in dark grey silk which Lady Polly considered suitable to her station, they rang the bell for a footman to guide them downstairs, because it was one of those old rambling mansions with many odd staircases.
Lady Glensheil moved forward to meet them, or rather she glided, as if on castors. She was a high-nosed aristocrat with a noble bosom. She was dressed in lilac taffeta and a great rope of black pearls hung round her neck.
‘Glad you could come, Lady Rose, and this is . . . ?’
‘My companion, Miss Levine.’
‘We are a small party. May I present Lord Alfred. Lord Alfred, Lady Rose Summer and Miss Levine.’
‘Charmed,’ he said in a voice heavy with boredom.
‘And Mr Baker-Willis.’
‘We’ve met,’ said Rose curtly.
And so the introductions went on. Apart from the suspects, there were two ladies Rose already knew from the house party at Telby Castle, Frederica Sutherland and Maisie Chatterton. She had also met two of the gentlemen before, Sir Gerald Burke and Neddie Freemantle. Harry was the last to arrive.
‘That awful bruise has nearly gone, I see,’ he remarked.
‘I’ve been wondering what happened to papers or letters or whatever Freddy was using to blackmail people.’
‘Maybe the murderer took the stuff away with him.’
Daisy whispered, ‘A motor car followed us all the way here.’
Rose laughed. ‘Daisy is worried that the horrible doctor is coming after me.’
But Harry did not laugh. ‘I’ll keep a look-out.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Rose, looking towards the new arrivals. ‘I’d forgotten about them.’
Mrs Angela Stockton and her son came into the room. ‘My dear, what
Angela’s high-waisted gown looked as if it had been made out of William Morris wallpaper. A huge silver crucifix hung round her neck. Her hennaed hair was topped with what looked like a small green witch’s cap.
‘I am an aesthete,’ said Angela.
‘Oh, pooh, greenery-yallery,’ said Lady Glensheil. ‘At least young Peregrine is properly attired.’
‘Tell her we’re no longer vegetarians,’ hissed Daisy, ‘or we’ll need to eat nothing but vegetables while we’re here.’
‘I outrank her,’ said Rose, ‘so I won’t be sitting near her when we dine.’
‘But I will,’ said Daisy. ‘Oh, well, I’ll think of something.’
Lord Alfred took Rose in to dinner. Tristram Baker-Willis was seated on her other side.
Rose turned to Tristram first. ‘What a terrible business about poor Mr Pomfret.’
‘Eh, what? Oh, yes, frightfully sad.’
‘Who would do such a thing?’
‘Blessed if I know.’
‘Probably a burglar,’ said Lord Alfred languidly.
‘But nothing was taken. I mean, nothing of value.’
‘You seem remarkably well informed, Lady Rose.’
‘It was in the newspapers. The only thing they did not mention was a servant or servants,’ said Rose eagerly. ‘Mr Baker Willis, did not Mr Pomfret have a manservant?’
‘Yes, he did. Chap called Murphy. But he’d got the night off.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘How should I know?’ demanded Tristram rudely.
‘If Lady Rose goes on interrogating us during the meal,’ drawled Lord Alfred, ‘we won’t be able to eat a darned thing.’
Rose noticed Angela Stockton was drinking a great deal of wine. Still, she supposed, wine was vegetarian.
Daisy was tucking into roast beef with pleasure when Angela, defying custom, said right across the table, ‘My dear Miss Levine, I thought you were one of us.’
‘Lord Hadshire insisted we eat meat. Lady Rose could hardly defy her father.’
‘How very sad. Don’t you think Lady Rose and my son have a great deal in common?’
‘No,’ said Daisy bluntly.
Rose watched the three suspects closely after dinner, but there was nothing to show that they had a common problem or, indeed, knew one another very well.
She had pinned her hopes on those three. But what if there had been others? Others who might have paid cash?
