Heirs of the Body(70)

“If he didn’t pay in advance, I daresay Lord Dalrymple will cover the expense.” She only half listened to Smethwick’s response. She was wondering whether Raymond’s death fitted into the pattern of accidents—assuming there was in fact a pattern—and if so, how.

From what the copper had said, it sounded as if someone had pushed him aside at the last minute, possibly saving his life. It was slightly odd that the Good Samaritan hadn’t stayed to make sure he was all right and to enjoy the kudos. Perhaps he’d been in a tearing hurry, or perhaps just shy.

He might yet be found. Daisy had learnt from experience the sequence of events that Raymond’s death would lead to. As he had not, to her knowledge, been under the care of a doctor, and no medical practitioner had been present, an inquest would be necessary. In the circumstances, after Alec’s hobnob with the CC, the coroner would surely require an autopsy. If there was anything fishy about Raymond’s death, a police investigation would follow.

The police—

“Hell!” Smethwick jammed his feet on the brake and clutch. The car slithered to a halt in a few inches of brown water. Ahead, the lane was under water as far as they could see, ripples spreading round the next curve. “Begging your pardon, madam. I was took by surprise.”

“Never mind that. Upton must be flooded again.”

“It’s not just a big puddle, or a water-splash?”

“No, it’ll be deeper farther on. We can’t drive into the village. Blast! I wonder what we should do? I don’t want to dash about trying to find another doctor.”

“Go back to Fairacres and use the telephone.”

“I dare say we ought to take him back to Worcester, to the hospital or the police station. But I must say, I don’t feel like spending any more time in the car with the poor man than I must.” She shuddered.

“Back to Fairacres and telephone.”

“I expect you’re right.” She brightened. “I’ll ring up the Talbot and speak to Alec. My husband,” she elucidated.

Smethwick grinned. “Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher of Scotland Yard.”

So even the visiting hire car driver knew! Daisy wondered why Alec bothered to try to keep quiet about his profession. Not that she was really in any doubt: A policeman’s wife was almost equally subject to the phenomenon of people falling silent when she entered a room. Except when he was working, life was simpler if he vaguely introduced himself as a civil servant.

His being a copper didn’t seem to bother Smethwick, and the chauffeur’s awareness didn’t necessarily mean all the heirs knew, Daisy assured herself.

He put the car into reverse gear and they motored backwards up the lane. Hedged and without verges, it was too narrow for the big Daimler to do a three-point turn. They soon came to a cart track, where Smethwick, muttering about mud, backed in and drove out forwards. Ten minutes later they reached Fairacres.

Daisy was so anxious to talk to Alec, she didn’t wait for the chauffeur to open the car door for her. Getting out, she said, “I may want you to fetch—Oh no, I suppose not.”

“No, madam. In fact, I was thinking I better get the car out of the sun.”

“Oh dear, isn’t it awful.…” Suddenly Daisy was on the edge of tears. Poor Raymond had been a relative, after all, even if she hadn’t liked him much. She swallowed. “You wanted to send your employers a telegram. I’ll have Ernest let you know when I’m finished on the phone.”

“I could walk over to the post office in Morton Green, madam.”

“No, I’m sure Lord Dalrymple would want you to use his telephone. I’d … I’d rather you stayed nearby, please. But please don’t tell anyone.…”

“Of course, madam,” Smethwick said soothingly.

He really was a very nice man, Daisy thought, going up the steps.

Ernest appeared as she entered the house. “The chief in—I mean, Mr. Fletcher telephoned, madam, from the Talbot Hotel in Worcester.”

“Thanks. I’m just about to ring him, anyway.”

“He said he’s coming back right away.”

“Good. Is his lordship in?”

“No, madam. He took the young ’uns bicycling. Off to Cooper’s Wood, they was, dogs and all, hunting a Wood Tiger. Sounds dangerous, don’t it?”

“Butterfly or moth?”

“Moth, I believe, madam. Cook packed lunches for them, so they won’t be back for a while.”

“And Mrs. Samuel?”

“Lady John didn’t feel well enough to come here, madam, so she sent the car to fetch Mrs. Samuel over to the Dower House. Mrs. Samuel telephoned later to say she would stay there for lunch.”