Heirs of the Body(32)
“I thought I saw it coming.” Daisy sighed. “You’re hoping we’ll put her up. Of all the cheek!”
Tommy looked abashed. “Sorry. It seemed like a solution. Grasping at straws.”
“I’ll have to ask Alec.…”
“You mean you’ll do it? It’s an awful lot to ask, particularly as we know so little about her. But if there’s anything fishy about her, you’ve got a copper in the house.”
“One night. We’ll see how it goes. I’m not promising anything, even if Alec consents.”
“Of course. Perhaps I’ll come up with a better idea by tomorrow.” He pushed his phone across the desk. “Here, ring up Alec.”
“At the Yard? Not likely! This doesn’t exactly qualify as a life or death emergency.”
“Oh, is that the criterion? You won’t be able to take her home with you right away, then. What on earth am I to do with her in the meantime?”
Daisy pictured the dejected face of the blond girl, her brave, pathetic attempt to smile. “Let me talk to her. In private.”
With a harassed air, Tommy glanced round his sanctum. “I don’t—”
“You must have somewhere. Miss Watt’s room? Can’t you call her in here to take dictation or something? Or a partner who’s presently in court? A garret? A cellar?”
“Really, Daisy! The basement is full of archived files, all still confidential, and the garrets are full of clerks.…”
“I’ll take her out for a cup of coffee.”
The cautious lawyer examined this proposition from all sides. “I suppose that would be all right.”
“For pity’s sake, I promise I won’t lose her!”
That made him laugh. “Come on, then.” They went through to Miss Watt’s office.
As they turned towards Martha Dalrymple, she stood up. She was small and her figure would normally have been slight; five months pregnant, Daisy guessed. Hadn’t Tommy noticed? Apparently not, or he’d have been in even more of a flap. And Miss Watt—a spinster dedicated to her job, she might not have realised either, or might not think it proper to notice.
“Mrs. Fletcher—Mrs. Samuel Dalrymple. Mrs. Fletcher is the daughter of the late Viscount Dalrymple.”
“How do you do?” Daisy said in her friendliest manner, holding out her hand.
Martha took it tentatively, but she did not—thank goodness—have a hand like a dead fish. Equally tentatively, she said, “How do you do?” as if she wasn’t at all sure it was the correct thing to say. Unsurprisingly, she looked tired and worried.
“If it’s all right with you, Mrs. Dalrymple, I’m taking you out for morning coffee.”
“Th-that’s very kind of you.” She gave Tommy an anxious glance.
“Mrs. Fletcher will bring you back here,” he assured her, before retreating back into his office.
Recalling the discomforts of pregnancy and taking into account the girl’s shyness, Daisy said to Miss Watt, “I’d like to powder my nose before we go out.”
“There’s a cloakroom at the rear, Mrs. Fletcher. Just turn right outside this door.”
“Thank you. Shall we go, Mrs. Dalrymple?” Leading the way along the narrow, dimly lit passage, she said, “When I was expecting the twins, I was always hunting for the nearest lav. Would you like to go first?”
Martha gratefully accepted. Her voice was soft, her accent—presumably Jamaican—a lilting cadence with a touch of almost jazzy syncopation. Daisy found it pleasant.
A few minutes later, as they walked slowly towards the Strand, Daisy asked, “Is it your first baby?”
“Oh no.” She blinked back tears. “I left my two little girls at home, with my sister. You’ve got twins?”
“A girl and a boy. It was very brave of you to cross the ocean alone.”
“I didn’t dare wait any longer,” she explained, patting her burgeoning abdomen. “Another month and I couldn’t have done it.”
The gesture drew Daisy’s attention to her frock. Not Fuller’s, she decided. Martha would feel more at home in an ABC or Express Dairy tearoom. Also, if she wanted something more nourishing than the fancy cakes that were Fuller’s speciality, neither ABC nor Express Dairy would refuse because they were serving only morning coffee at this hour.
“Besides,” Martha continued, “I had to travel when a passage was available. The people who helped me … You know my husband is a sailor?”
“Yes. Mr. Pearson told me. Let’s go in here.”
Martha was awed by the hurrying waitresses in black uniforms with white aprons, and the chattering crowd. It was late for elevenses, though, and early for lunch, so they easily found an empty table in a comparatively quiet corner. Discovering that the girl had had nothing that morning but a cup of tea—station tea at that—Daisy persuaded her to eat a couple of boiled eggs with lots of buttered toast, and to drink a glass of milk, or at least milky coffee. She was reluctant to accept, but Daisy pointed out that it was for the baby’s sake—true—and claimed that Tommy would reimburse her—a white lie.