“As if Cousin Edgar would care!”
Sakari sank majestically into her chair. “Daisy, will you be so kind as to cut me another slice of this delicious-looking cake? I adore strawberries and cream.”
“Of course. Will you have some, Tommy?”
“I beg your pardon?” Apparently lost in thought, the lawyer had absentmindedly demolished the rest of the sandwiches.
“Cake?”
“Oh, yes, please. Our present cook isn’t much of a baker. Thank you.”
Daisy gave him a big piece, and cut a smaller one for herself. For a few minutes the only sounds were contented murmurs and the song of a blackbird in the garden.
Mellowed by the cake, Tommy showed Sakari a couple of lines of the letter, comprising Dear Sir, A friend has shown me your…, the rest carefully covered with a sheet of paper.
She took one glance and said, “Young, unsophisticated, lacking self-confidence.”
“Exactly what I said.”
Tommy snorted—luckily not with a mouthful of tea. Daisy thought she heard a mutter of “Piffle!”
“She is a simple person.”
“Simple-minded?” Tommy exclaimed, aghast.
“No, no, that is not what I said, Mr. Pearson. Uncomplicated. Without guile. And this is cheap paper—She is not well off.”
“That much I had worked out for myself.”
“Well taught, but not well educated.” Sakari handed the letter back to him.
“What do you mean?”
“I am sure you understand me. Her writing is clear and her English is good—as far as I, a mere foreigner, am able to judge. Nonetheless, she has no notion of the formal language a lawyer surely expects.”
“Believe me, we get letters in all sorts of language.”
“But you judge the writer thereby.”
“Touché. You are a shrewd woman, Mrs. Prasad. I grant you all you have said of her education and her means, if not necessarily of her character. Have you thought that perhaps she might be illiterate and have had someone else write it for her?”
“It is, of course, possible. However, is not the usual practice to mark an X for the signature in such cases? Is the letter signed with an X?”
“No, with her name in full. Possibly her signature is the only thing she’s able to write.”
“Is it in the same handwriting as the rest of the letter?”
“Yes,” Daisy intervened. Listening to Tommy and Sakari matching wits was entertaining, but enough was enough. “Tommy, argument may be your métier but you’re not going to best Sakari, not in a million years.”
Sakari laughed.
Tommy protested, “I’m a solicitor, not an advocate. I deal in facts, not in arguments.”
“There you go again, darling. We’re agreed—aren’t we?—that Martha is not strikingly knowledgeable or accomplished, and that she’s short of money. And we know her husband, who may be the missing heir, is away from home and apparently out of touch for the foreseeable future.”
“Mrs. Prasad didn’t know that until you just told her.”
“She does now. The question is, should you ask her to come here right away—”
“Heaven forbid!”
“Or should you request any information she has about Samuel’s family, to be sent to you or given to your representative there. Or should you just advise her to do nothing till Samuel turns up, which for all we know could be after Geraldine’s house party. Being late wouldn’t invalidate his claim, would it?”
“No—unless, in the meantime, the College of Arms had declared someone else to be the rightful heir. But they’re never in a hurry. No, more likely, to my mind, is that he won’t turn up at all.”
“What would happen in such a case?” Sakari asked.
“Nothing, if one of the others proved his claim. But if it turns out that Samuel is descended through eldest sons from Julian, we might have to wait until he’s presumed dead.”
“Why shouldn’t he turn up?” Daisy demanded.
“I just think it’s odd that he’s been completely out of touch for so long. His grandfather’s death certificate gives the cause of death as cirrhosis of the liver. Perhaps Samuel is subject to the same weakness. He may be down-and-out in some Caribbean port, with no means or no intention of going home.”
“Facts,” Sakari reminded him tartly. “Lawyers are not supposed to have premonitions.”
“You’re quite right, Mrs. Prasad. Nor should I have mentioned Alfred Dalrymple’s unfortunate disorder in your presence. I trust you will disregard it.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“He seems to have been employed by a rum distillery in Kingston.” Tommy shrugged, as if to say cirrhosis was a natural, if not inevitable, result of the job. “Unfortunately, my informant is unable to trace the family before 1882. I expect no better of Mr. Raymond Dalrymple, due to arrive shortly from South Africa. Julian’s branch of your family, Daisy, had an unfortunate penchant for settling in turbulent regions of the world.”