Heirs of the Body(16)

“He probably will. The thing is, he’d like to get his hands on whatever information she can provide, as soon as possible.”

“Didn’t you say he’s had someone in Jamaica looking into the family history? Can’t he talk to her?”

“That’s a good point, darling. I’ll suggest it, though I’d be surprised if Tommy missed it. Perhaps the man is good at searching records but isn’t the type who’d be any good at interviewing.”

“Could be. We have plenty of those at the Yard.”

“So what should he do?”

“He could try to employ someone more appropriate—not easy at such a distance, I imagine. Or he could wait for his information until Samuel arrives. Or he could write to her asking for details, which might or might not produce useful results. Does her letter give any reason other than his name to believe her husband is a legitimate descendant of whatsisname—the black sheep?”

“Julian. No, the letter’s very short.”

“Well, that’s about all I have to contribute.” Alec finished off a tart, gulped the last of a second cup of coffee, and stood up. “I must be gone. Reports to be written and read before we go off in search of the creatures of the night. I’ll see you when I see you, love.”

Daisy went out to the hall with him to see him off, then returned to the office to reread Martha Dalrymple’s letter—or rather the copy typed by Miss Watt—in the light of Alec’s comments.

It was written in perfectly correct English, but not the formal language people usually use when addressing a solicitor. Either she had worded it herself, or with the help of someone equally unsophisticated. It was very short, conveying no more information than Daisy had passed on to Alec.

She found the appropriate family tree in her notebook and added Martha:

Julian Dalrymple m. Marie-Claire Vallier

?

Alfred d. 1900

James d. 1917

Samuel m. Martha

It was still more of a branch than a tree.

Turning to Tommy’s letter, Daisy considered its content from the point of view of Martha, rather than the lawyer’s convenience. He was very likely right that she wouldn’t be comfortable staying alone at a London hotel, even if she could afford it. Come to that, could she afford the passage? Would the estate pay the fare without a better reason than his residence in Jamaica for believing Samuel might be directly and legitimately descended from Julian?

Had Martha failed to provide information about her husband’s ancestry because she hadn’t thought of it, because she didn’t know of any, or because there was none? If there was none, if Samuel was not a legitimate descendant of Julian and Martha was aware of the fact, why would she have responded to Tommy’s agony column notice?

The only answer Daisy could think of was that she—or they—contemplated an attempt at fraud.

What nonsense! The possibility would never have dawned on her if she hadn’t spent so much time associating with policemen. All the same, she had a lot of questions, and she really wanted to see the original letter from Martha. Though she thought the more esoteric claims of graphology were akin to spiritualism, she did believe handwriting could sometimes provide a clue to character.

She dashed off a quick note to Tommy, saying she would like to talk to him. Having wrested the twins from Mrs. Gilpin’s custody, she took them and Nana to post it, along with a couple of other letters. With Bertha, the nurserymaid, pushing the double pushchair, they went down through the garden in the centre of Constable Crescent and by the footpath to Well Walk. When they reached the pillar-box, Oliver had to be lifted up to push the envelopes through the slot.

Then Miranda had to be lifted to touch the beasts in the crest above the slot. “Look, Mama. Lion, ’corn, King George.”

“Unicorn, darling.”

“I not ’corn. I Manda!”

“So you are, Miss Miranda,” said Bertha, “and don’t you let anyone—not even your mum—tell you other. You’re not a nasty old unicorn, which from what I hear ain’t even a real animal! Begging your pardon, madam. Now then, Master Oliver, you naughty boy, you climb right back in this instant!”

Words failing to do the trick, Bertha picked up the child, put him in his seat, and strapped him in.

Daisy knew she was lucky to have such admirably competent servants, and all good-natured except Nurse Gilpin. Even Nurse, while always ready to thwart her employers, was firm but fair with the children. Other people seemed constantly to complain about their inability to find good servants. Years ago, Daisy had started writing an article on the “servant problem” from the servants’ point of view, but what with one thing and another it hadn’t progressed very far.