Frank rose with a rueful grimace. “I’d better point out that we’re playing Cheat!”
“I recognised the game. I’m sorry to be a wet blanket, but you know, it really won’t do. Uncle Raymond died just this afternoon.”
“Oh Mummy, I’m sorry,” Bel cried remorsefully. “He was nice to me at the fair.”
“Sorry, Aunt Daisy,” the boys muttered, with no signs of remorse. Frank looked equally unrepentent.
“I’m sorry,” said Sam. “I never met the old chap but I ought to have known better.”
“Time you kids went to bed, anyway. Put everything away neatly, please. You may read in bed till ten o’clock. I’m just going to look in on the twins.”
Oliver and Miranda were sound asleep, a pair of cherubs. They didn’t stir when Daisy kissed them. She realised she had hardly seen them all the long, eventful day. A light was showing under the door of the nurse’s room, off the night nursery, so Mrs. Gilpin was awake.
Daisy knocked. “It’s Mrs. Fletcher. If you’re still up, Nurse, may I have a word?”
After a short silence came the grudging words, “You’d better come in, madam. We don’t want to disturb the babies.”
She had taken off her cap and apron, but still wore her uniform skirt and blouse. Daisy sometimes wondered whether she owned any personal clothes. If so, she kept them strictly for her holidays, when she went to visit a sister for a fortnight, reluctantly. She was certain Daisy and Bertha, the nurserymaid, would spoil Miranda and Oliver while she was gone.
Daisy asked how the twins’ day had gone, as if Mrs. Gilpin would have acknowledged any misbehaviour. Naturally they both behaved perfectly when Mummy and Daddy and big sister didn’t mess about with their routine.
“I expect you’ve heard about Mr. Raymond?” Daisy asked eventually.
“The maid told me, madam. Very sad, I’m sure, for them that knew the gentleman. The young people didn’t ought to have been playing cards at such a time—not that I approve of card games at any time, seeing what they lead to. Gambling, and dicing, and horses!” she added darkly. “And so I told them, but them not being under my care, they wouldn’t listen.”
“No, I’m afraid they wouldn’t.”
“And then the young gentlemen, if gentlemen they may be, come along and encourage them to misbehave.… Well, it’s not my place to say anything but that doesn’t stop me thinking that there’s some aren’t any better than they should be!”
“Did you happen to notice what time Mr. Samuel and Mr. Crowley arrived?”
Mrs. Gilpin was affronted. “I’m not a clock-watcher, madam. I’m here and ready when the little ones need me, and I can’t say fairer than that.”
“No, indeed,” said Daisy, and she retired defeated, as usual.
The day nursery was tidy and empty. She hadn’t expected them to disappear so fast, Nana and all, and she wanted to talk to Belinda. She turned off the light and went down staircases and along corridors with mysterious jogs to right or left that were not mysterious to her because, whoever lived here, Fairacres was home. She could see how the house with its additions and sprouting of wings over the years might confuse a newcomer.
She wondered where Frank and Sam had gone, and whether they had gone together. They seemed quite friendly, not surprising really, as they were about the same age and both West Indians. In some ways they were very different, though. Frank seemed to have no regular job, yet he accepted responsibility for his stepkids—at least according to his own words. And in spite of Sam’s responsible profession, he had gone off with the rumrunners, leaving his pregnant wife to manage alone—she was used to his absence on voyages, of course, and had family nearby to fall back on.
Daisy liked them both. She found it hard to believe that one of them must be either, at best, a practical joker of the nastier kind or, at worst, a murderer.
She tapped on Belinda’s door. “Bel, it’s Mummy.”
“Come in.” Bel had obviously shed a few tears.
Daisy gave her a hug. “Cheer up, darling. I didn’t mean to bite your heads off.”
“It’s not that, Mummy. I know we shouldn’t have been laughing, but Uncle Frank was so funny!”
“It was nice of him and Uncle Sam to join your game. Were they there for long?”
“No, not very. I’m really sad about Uncle Raymond. Derek said he was pushed under a tram. He overheard someone saying…” Bel shivered. “He told us a horrid rhyme.”
“The same one my brother once told me, I bet. Try to forget it. Uncle Raymond wasn’t run over. There were lots of people waiting to cross the street. He stumbled, and someone pushed him out of the way of the trams. We’re not sure why he died. Daddy’s trying to find out.”