Heirs of the Body(57)

The nurse went back to more esoteric activities.

“Derek, is it quarter of an hour yet? I want to get up.”

“The alarm hasn’t rung yet. Three minutes.” He and Ben amused themselves with counting down the seconds until the watch chimed.

Alec helped Belinda up. Ben picked up her hat, dusted it off, and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” She put it on and pulled the brim down at the front. “I ache.”

“I bet you’ll have whacking great bruises.” Derek’s tone suggested admiration.

“Daddy, have you got an extra hankie, just in case?”

“I always have an extra hankie.” Alec was usually well supplied, as his work often involved a lot of weepy people: witnesses, suspects, the friends and relatives of murder victims.…

Relatives and murder. Daisy tried to find something else to occupy her mind.

She and Ben followed Alec, Belinda, and Derek towards the gate. Frank caught up with them.

“I just heard the news.” His breath smelled slightly of beer. The fête was supposed to be nonalcoholic but someone always managed to smuggle in a crate or two of bottles, all in a good cause. “No serious injuries, I take it.” He gestured at Belinda who was walking unaided.

“Just a bloody nose, Uncle Frank,” Ben assured him. “And bruises. I might have won the race but I stopped when she fell off.”

“Good for you, young ’un. Rotten luck for both of you!”

The mention of Ben’s near win reminded Daisy of the crowd cheering him on. “Ben, do you mind them calling you Blackie? I can put a stop to it in the village.”

“Not much point in minding, is there? At home there’s plenty more like me.” He glanced at his stepfather. “Uncle Frank says there’s some in London. But round about here—Well, I looked and looked and never another black face did I see.”

Frank nodded.

Daisy regarded Ben thoughtfully. “It’s not actually black, is it. A rather nice brown. Would Brownie be better?”

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Don’t let it worry you, Aunt Daisy. I’ll be all right.”

“Are you too old to be hugged and kissed? Because I’m going to hug and kiss you.” She suited action to the words. “I’m happy to have you as a nephew, or cousin, or whatever exactly you are.”

Shyly he kissed her cheek. “Me too. And Belinda and Derek are bricks!”

“I see you’re picking up Derek’s school slang,” said Daisy, laughing.

“They sounded friendly to me,” Frank said thoughtfully. “Encouraging, not heckling. Wouldn’t you agree, Daisy?”

“Absolutely.” Daisy refrained from elaborating. At present Ben had a certain novelty value. Many of the villagers had probably never seen a black—or brown—face before. Should Ben turn out to be heir to the viscountcy, the local people might be less receptive, and he’d have the wider world to face.

Bill Truscott was waiting with the Vauxhall just outside the gate, in case anyone wanted to be driven back to the house. He had already been told about Belinda’s mishap. He swooped upon her and lifted her into the car. Alec handed Daisy in after her.

“May we stay here a bit longer, Aunt Daisy?” Derek asked. “Ben and I have a couple of shillings left.” He put his hand in the pocket of his shorts and jingled his change.

Daisy looked to Alec, who nodded.

“All right. But please stay away from donkeys and bows and arrows!”

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” said Frank.

“Would you like me to go back with you?” Alec asked Daisy and Belinda.

“No thank you, Daddy.”

“We just have to get her cleaned up and changed, darling. Frankly, you’d be in the way. Truscott, does Mrs. Warden still make that wonderful salve for bruises?”

“Yes indeed, Miss Daisy. Madam, I should say.”

“It smells funny,” Bel complained. She had had cause to be annointed with the salve on previous visits.

Daisy assumed she couldn’t be feeling too sore if she was concerned about the smell.

* * *

By the time Daisy, the housekeeper, and Geraldine’s maid had between them dealt with Belinda’s woes, the boys had come back from the fête. They were ravenous because, Derek explained, instead of spending their last sixpence on a couple of buns, they had bought Belinda a necklace.

Inside the silver-gilt locket was a tiny, black-bordered photograph of a young man with a great deal of whisker about his face. Opposite, protected by a watch glass, was a braided coil of hair, the creation of which, Daisy thought, must have cost someone her eyesight. Privately she considered it rather morbid. At least it was oval, not heart shaped. Belinda was thrilled.