Heirs of the Body(109)

“Mummy, is Uncle Sam dead?” Belinda’s quavering call came from the depths of the woods.

“No, just injured.” Just? “Are the boys with you?” They had better be! “Derek, Ben, come here. I need your shirts.”

“We can’t, Aunt Daisy.”

“Why not?” Daisy peered into the gloom of the woods. The attacker—Frank or Vincent?—in fleeing had beaten down a trail straight through the undergrowth. Fifty feet in—

“We’re sitting on him.”

So they were. Daisy couldn’t make out much of the figure on the ground but Derek’s face was a pale blob at one end, Belinda’s at the other, and Ben’s a dark blob between them.

“The nettles are stinging our legs.”

“But he’s got his face in them.” That was Derek, deeply satisfied.

“How—?”

“Nana tripped him.”

“On purpose!” Belinda claimed proudly.

“If we get up he’ll get away.”

“Who?”

“Uncle Vincent,” they chorused.

“That bastard!” Sam sounded quite vigorous but didn’t make another attempt to get up. “He tried to kill me!”

“Mrs. Fletcher!” Ernie Piper came pounding down the path.

“Thank goodness! Sam’s bleeding, and the children have bagged Vincent.” Afraid to lift a hand from Sam’s back, she nodded towards the woods.

Already half out of his jacket, he stared, a grin spreading across his face. “Well done, young ’uns! All under control? Here, Mrs. Fletcher, use this.” He handed her his shirt. “I’d better go—Ah, here comes the bobby that was supposed to be keeping an eye on ’em.” Snorting, he knelt down to help Daisy staunch the flow of blood.

In the wood, a bulky figure lumbered towards the children, trailing brambles.

“He’s too big to burrow through the undergrowth after them. I bet they were playing Indians. I’m not surprised he lost them.”

“Unggggh,” groaned Sam as Ernie’s hands took over the pressure from Daisy’s. “Let up a bit, mate!”

“Sorry. Better than bleeding to death. Don’t think that’s likely, though. The bleeding’s slowing down already. You were lucky!”

“Luck, nothing! Belinda called my name so I started to turn that way and I caught a glimpse of the bastard. I started dropping to the ground before he struck. I’m a ship’s officer. Something moves that shouldn’t, you duck. It gets to be instinctive. Could be a broken spar or a loose hatch cover or a disgruntled seaman. Ouch, enough, dammit!”

Daisy stood up, leaving Sam to Ernie’s capable hands. In the wood, the children were all talking at once. The large constable, his voice a basso continuo, bent over Vincent.

Then, through a sudden silence, came the click of handcuffs.





THIRTY-THREE





Thursday midday. Outside, a soft, steady drizzle fell.

Alec returned to Fairacres from Worcester, having taken his prisoners there the previous evening and stayed overnight. He had spent the morning tying up his investigation before seeing off Tom and Ernie at the station. Tommy Pearson came with him, having travelled from London by the ten-to-one train. Bill Truscott had fetched both of them from Worcester.

At lunch, held back half an hour as a result of Tommy’s wire announcing his coming, the lawyer had excused himself for having failed to respond to Geraldine’s urgent summons.

“I was called to prepare a client’s deathbed will at the other end of nowhere,” he said. “A country house in northern Lincolnshire—four trains, each slower than the one before, then ten miles in a pony trap. When at last I reached the place, the old gentleman had just breathed his last. By the time I returned to town and discovered your message, Lady Dalrymple, it was far too late to set out. A thoroughly unsatisfactory business. I can only present my apologies for my tardiness.”

“You are clearly not to blame, Mr. Pearson,” Geraldine assured him.

“Thank you. And now, perhaps, someone will explain to me just what was going on here that required my presence several days early.” He looked—rather accusingly, Daisy thought—at Alec. “Fletcher has given me the barest hint.”

“No no, my dear fellow,” said Edgar. “Bad for the digestion. After lunch, if you please, we’ll have a general disclosure. I’m sure I don’t know the half of it. Would you believe I saw a Peach Blossom this morning, before the rain started?”

There was a murmur of incredulity at this news.

“August is surely an odd time for peach blossom,” Tommy observed.

“Yes, indeed. They usually fly from May to July, and sometimes again in the autumn. They like blackberry brambles,” Edgar said pointedly.