Heirs of the Body(36)
“Or there’s the Jessups. They have connections among the bootleggers.”
“You may remember Mr. Jessup said the firm was no longer going to ship to America. You’d only embarrass them. Don’t ask the Jessups, please, and, Daisy, don’t mention their past connection with the illegal trade to Martha.”
“You read my mind. Oh, all right! I’ve already advised her not to talk to anyone about her husband’s situation. But I shall certainly introduce her to the Jessups. They’d think it very odd if I didn’t, living next door. They’ve already heard she’s come to stay, what with our Elsie being their Enid’s sister. Besides, Audrey’s children must be about the same age as the two Martha left in Jamaica.”
* * *
Daisy had run out of ideas for helping Martha. They would just have to wait and see what happened.
Only a few weeks remained before Edgar’s birthday and as yet the succession was very much in doubt. Nor was there any indication that any of the claimants would be able to come up with proof of his descent from Julian Dalrymple by way of eldest son to eldest son.
With no heir declared, the birthday celebration was going to be an uneasy event at best—unless, in the meantime, someone else turned up bearing an impeccable lineage.
Time passed and Tommy Pearson didn’t get in touch with Daisy, though both Miss Watt and Madge rang up every couple of days to make sure Martha was all right and not becoming a burden.
Daisy assured them she was not, which was mostly true. Martha had became quite friendly with Audrey Jessup. She missed her little girls badly and spent much of her time with the twins, in the nursery and on their daily walks, come rain or shine. But if she had any more weepy fits, she didn’t impose them on Daisy, and she continued to retire after dinner, leaving Alec and Daisy in connubial peace.
* * *
A brief note came from Tommy just a week before everyone was due to arrive at Fairacres. He had received an even shorter note from Trinidad, from someone signing himself Frank Crowley. All Crowley said was that he was bringing Benjamin Dalrymple to London. The letter had taken quite a while to travel from Port-of-Spain to Lincoln’s Inn. How far behind it Crowley and the latest Dalrymple claimant were following was anyone’s guess.
Would Mrs. Prasad care to analyse the handwriting?
Before telephoning Sakari, Daisy got out the atlas and looked up Trinidad. It turned out to be a tiny island in the Caribbean—not very far from Jamaica, she noted. The map suggested that Benjamin Dalrymple, who could apparently neither write for himself nor travel alone, might just possibly be a legitimate descendant of Julian Dalrymple.
Sakari was delighted to be consulted. She pronounced Frank Crowley to be careless, cheerful, and of an optimistic nature.
“Overoptimistic,” said Tommy gloomily, “if he thinks to pass off some illiterate goodness-knows-whom as the rightful heir to a viscountcy.”
TWELVE
“I’m afraid you have just missed the Hebrew Character.” Lord Dalrymple came down the steps and shook Alec’s hand warmly as he got out of the big green Vauxhall that had met the Fletchers, Martha Dalrymple, and Nurse Gilpin at Malvern station. “Never mind, quite common and not particularly attractive.”
“One of the claimants is Jewish?” Alec asked, startled. Unlikely—but possible, he supposed, as Jews were matrilineal.
The viscount looked equally startled. He pushed his pince-nez lower on his nose and peered at Alec over the top.
Daisy stepped down from the car with a hand from the chauffeur. “Thank you, Truscott. A butterfly, darling,” she advised Alec, not that he hadn’t already realised, given his host’s obsession. “Or a moth. Or even a dragonfly.”
“Moth. Setaceous Hebrew Character, Xestia c-nigrum. Ah,” said Lord Dalrymple triumphantly, “you’re the Large Copper, Daisy’s young man. Butterfly,” he added in parentheses. It was the first time Alec had known him to crack a deliberate joke about his passion.
Laughing, he clarified: “Her husband, sir. Alec Fletcher.”
“Yes, indeed. I believe I attended your wedding? Some time ago, was it not? I had forgotten.”
Alec forbore to remind him that he had given Daisy away and provided a grand reception.
Daisy kissed his cheek, as Belinda appeared from the car with Oliver in her arms, followed by Mrs. Gilpin carrying a wiggling Miranda.
“You remember Belinda, Cousin Edgar.”
“Of course, my dear.” He patted Bel’s cheek. “Small Red Damsel.”
“I’m not small anymore, Uncle Edgar, and my hair isn’t as red as it used to be. It’s getting fairer. Or is that a butterfly?”