Heirs of the Body(73)

Still, she could cope with a local sergeant on the phone, especially if he was stuck in flooded Upton and not likely to turn up on the doorstep.

The telephone rang. She jumped up and hurried to the desk to grab the receiver before anyone else could answer the call and be alarmed at hearing a policeman on the other end.

“Telegram for G. Smethwick,” said the operator. “Are you ready?”

“No! Half a mo.” Daisy found a pencil in the middle desk drawer and the blotter was handy to write on. “All right, operator, go ahead.”

“Sender: Cox’s Motorcar Hire Co.” The brief message told Smethwick to bring the car back to London at once. No hurry to pass it on, Daisy thought. The Daimler would not be leaving Fairacres until the police had had their way with it. Daisy was about to hang up when the operator said, “Hold on, please. There’s another call coming through for your number.”

This time it was the Upton police sergeant. He had just heard about Raymond’s death from his superintendent in Worcester, and he was very much offended that he hadn’t been the first notified. She soothed him as best she could, and got him to admit that he was hemmed in by floodwaters and unable to act anyway.

“I can send one of my constables, when the dolts get round to reporting in by telephone.”

Alec was unlikely to appreciate the arrival of a dolt, but it wasn’t Daisy’s place to dissuade him. She murmured assenting noises and said goodbye.

Should she go and warn Alec? No, the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near poor Raymond’s remains. She needed cheering up. A visit to the nursery would be the perfect antidote to the unpleasant events of the morning.

She glanced at the brass clock on the mantelpiece. Nearly three o’clock! Morning was long gone and she hadn’t had any lunch, unless one counted half a glass of B and S. No wonder she had a hollow, sinking sensation in her middle. Food before fun, she decided. She would just pop down to the kitchen and beg Cook for some bread and cheese.

She was making for the door when Ernest reappeared. “Beg pardon, madam, I didn’t know you was still in here.” He held out an envelope. “Letter came for his lordship this morning marked personal, that got into Mr. Wharton’s pile by mistake. My fault, and I’ve copped it proper from Mr. Wharton and Mr. Lowecroft. It says URGENT in big letters, see, in red ink and all, and personal’s writ small, so I didn’t notice. I was going to leave it on the desk and mention it to his lordship when he comes in.”

“He’s not home yet?”

“No, madam.”

“Oh dear, I wonder how urgent it is?” Daisy put out her hand and the footman passed over the letter. URGENT was indeed large and red and eye-catching. The postmark showed it had caught the last post. “I see what you mean. Thank you.”

Ernest bowed and departed.

The handwriting was vaguely familiar. As she turned to put it on the desk, she glanced at the back of the envelope. The embossed address was the Pearsons’. “From Tommy!”

“Did you say something, madam?”

“Oh! No, thank you.”

Daisy put the letter in the centre of the blotter, where it couldn’t possibly be missed. She stared at it, and it stared back, pleadingly shouting, “Urgent!”

She picked it up again and studied the postmark. It had caught the last London post, long after Tommy’s office was closed; addressed in Tommy’s own writing, not his secretary’s. Urgent.

Tommy was not accustomed to sealing his own letters. The flap was barely stuck down.

Daisy fought temptation, but not for long. After all, Edgar would undoubtedly hand over the letter to Geraldine, and Geraldine had involved Daisy in the business of finding the heir, right from the start. Tommy hadn’t objected very strenuously, either. A letter from the lawyer was undoubtedly business, not personal. Edgar wasn’t at home. Geraldine hadn’t yet returned from Worcester. It was really Daisy’s duty to find out just what was so urgent, in case there was something she could do about it.

She checked to make sure one of the desk drawers contained a bottle of LePage glue, in case circumstances made it advisable to reseal the flap rather than confess her misdeed.

The letter was handwritten, like the envelope, on Tommy’s personal stationery with the engraved address.

My dear Lord Dalrymple,

I write in haste to inform you and her ladyship that a gentleman purporting to be Mr. Samuel Dalrymple of Kingston, Jamaica, called at my house this evening. The documents he carried appeared to support his claim to descent from Julius, Lord Dalrymple, by way of Julian Dalrymple of Jamaica, with further details about the family. However, due to an unavoidable engagement, I was unable to examine them thoroughly and Mr. Samuel declined to entrust them to me.