Heirs of the Body(12)

“Burke’s Peerage, did you say?” He took out a pocket diary and a gold fountain pen. “I’ll make a note of that. I’d better look up my illustrious ancestry, eh?”

Daisy couldn’t tell whether he was being disingenuous or had genuinely never heard of Burke before. “Do go on,” she urged. “I’m dying to hear why Timothy Dalrymple left Jamaica and went to Paris.”

“He left to escape the cholera. There was an epidemic in the island around the middle of the last century. Several of the family fell ill. For safety, he was sent to his mother’s family in France.”

“Oh, that’s right, I keep forgetting she was French. Timothy was the only one sent to France?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure of that.”

“Eldest? Youngest? Favourite? Only one not ill?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t talk about it. Not to me, at least. I wasn’t particularly interested in my grandfather’s early life. Not till now.”

“Did any of the others survive?”

Vincent spread his hands and shrugged, a very French gesture. “By the time I was old enough to wonder, the old man had lost touch. His mother died of the cholera, that much I know.”

“So there must have been some correspondence, at least to inform her family.”

“Presumably. Even before the epidemic, times were hard in Jamaica, he told us. I suppose they had other priorities than writing letters. My grandfather settled in with the Vallier family, worked in the family business—”

“What was that? I beg your pardon, I’m insatiably curious. You don’t have to answer.”

“It’s no secret. They’re hoteliers, as I am.”

Tommy ostentatiously consulted his wristwatch. “Mrs. Fletcher, if you want time to look at the papers…”

“Not another word, I promise.”

Vincent gave her a look of sympathy. “To make a long story short, my grandfather married. My father, George, was born in 1861. In 1870 the Germans invaded and when their army approached Paris, my grandfather brought his wife and children to England. He still had a British passport, you see. The Valliers had friends in the business, in Scarborough, who helped him find work. In fact…” He hesitated. “This may not please you, Mrs. Fletcher. He changed his name to Vallier. Not legally, but in everyday use.”

Daisy pondered. “I can’t see why I should have any objection. Because of his mother being rejected by the Dalrymples? Wait a bit.” She glanced at her notes. “This is Timothy we’re talking about, not George?”

Tommy cleared his throat meaningly.

“He asked me!” said Daisy, indignant. By implication, at least.

“Indeed I did.” Vincent sounded like a maître d’hôtel discreetly smoothing over a minor dispute between guests. “Yes, Timothy, my grandfather, Mrs. Fletcher. Exactly what was in his mind I can’t say, but a French name can be an advantage in the trade. Besides, he’d been well taught by the Valliers. He obtained a position as undermanager of one of the finest hotels in Scarborough, rose quickly to manager, and then became a partner. My father married his partner’s daughter, his only child, and eventually they inherited both shares of the Castle Cliff Hotel. My parents left it to me, so I’m now the sole owner, with a hired manager responsible for day-to-day business.”

Daisy was touched by his obvious pride in being not merely manager but proprietor of a good hotel in a seaside resort. It was, indeed, a notable accomplishment on the part of his immediate forebears. Timothy had presumably arrived in Paris with little more than the clothes on his back. Then the refugee from cholera had become a refugee from war, yet he had built a prosperous life for his family.

There was something admirable about this branch of the Dalrymples. What was more, if Vincent was the heir, the ownership of the hotel could be useful when it came to death duties. He could sell it and pay with the proceeds, rather than depleting the estate. And whether he turned out to be the next viscount or not, his son might find himself in a position to call himself a gentleman.

“Have you any children?” she asked.

“A boy and two girls. My son is at a prep school. My daughters have a French governess. Speaking several languages is useful in the business. Not that my girls will need to work,” he added hurriedly.

As Tommy didn’t make any ominous noises, Daisy ventured to comment, “Of course! Your…” She paused to work it out. “Your great-grandmother must have taken the post with the Petries to learn English.”

Vincent hesitated, darting a quick glance at Tommy. “The Petries … Yes, of course.”