Audrey looked from one to the other uncertainly. ‘Look, it’s a bit delicate. Her love life was chaotic as I’m sure you’ve guessed and there are . . . um . . . certain . . . things . . . you really ought to know about her if you’re to get a clear picture of her. But, I say, I don’t really think I could . . .’ She faltered, blushed and then came to a decision. ‘Would you mind very much if I talked to the lady policeman? Miss Westhorpe, did you say? I feel I could talk more easily to a woman. Would you mind, miss?’
‘I think that would be a good idea,’ said Westhorpe helpfully. ‘Sir – there’s a door to the garden and I notice a particularly fine example of a Dutch garden out there. If you and the sergeant would like to take a stroll while I talk to Miss Blount, I think everyone’s sensibilities would be served.’
Amused and intrigued, Joe nodded his acceptance of the scheme. He got to his feet and handed Audrey a card. ‘This is where you may contact me, Miss Blount. At any time. Should you recall something of relevance to the enquiry.’ He nodded to Armitage and they walked together through the french window into the garden.
‘Perhaps Sir Nevil knows what he’s doing,’ said Armitage. ‘I begin to see some real advantages in employing these women. Save our blushes, like you said, sir. Wonder what on earth she’s telling her? Er . . . is there any guarantee that the constable will understand what she’s hearing?’
‘I hardly know the constable but I think I can guarantee that if anything she is told is unclear she will insist on a clarification,’ said Joe. ‘Let’s go and admire those tulips in the sunken garden. Then if we follow the flower walk and take a turn around the monticule over there I’d guess by then they should have finished.’
‘Unless the Dame’s catalogue of excesses is longer than we have any suspicions of,’ said Armitage, raising a salacious eyebrow.
‘Perhaps Audrey thinks she’s auditioning for the part of Leporello? Reciting a list of Donna Bea’s indiscretions?’
‘Perhaps, sir. Not really fond of the opera, myself,’ sniffed Armitage. ‘All that murder and mayhem . . . get enough of that on the job, I’d say. Give me a good musical any day. Now what you ought to go and see is that Lady Be Good. Opened last week at the Empire. Usual silly story but the dancing’s good. Fred and Adèle Astaire.’ He started to hum ‘Fascinating Rhythm’ under his breath, turning back repeatedly to look over his shoulder. Strung up, Joe thought. Bill had never been happy with inactivity.
Joe noticed that his sergeant’s attention was continually drifting back from the soldierly ranks of bright tulips to the two pretty heads, one fair, one dark, leaning close together, side by side on the sofa. They strolled on and had discovered the Japanese water garden, the thatched summer house on stilts over a pond and the sunken rose garden before the watchful Armitage announced, ‘There she is, sir. That’s the constable waving to us at the window.’
The fifteen minutes’ tête-à-tête had quenched Westhorpe. Pale and thoughtful, she made no attempt to relay her conversation. ‘I’ve rung for Reid to take us on to our next interview. Orlando lives over there in the oldest part of the house, the west wing. Here comes Reid now . . . Later, sir! Later!’
Reid emerged into the sunshine, head on one side, smiling slightly. ‘If you would come this way, gentlemen. Miss. We can cross the lawn and enter Mr Orlando’s quarters at the rear.’
Before they could start off, a small figure detached itself from the woodwork of the open verandah which linked the new wing with the central part of the house and stood firmly blocking their way.
‘Thank you, Reid. You may dismiss. I shall conduct our guests to the west wing.’
‘Certainly, Miss Dorcas,’ said Reid gravely. ‘That is very considerate. Will there be anything further?’
The girl gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Well, if you could sneak some of that fruit cake along for later, that would be good. We’ve got nothing to offer these people otherwise.’ She looked up at Joe and added, confidingly, ‘Mel can’t cook. Well, apart from stews. She’s quite good at stews.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, Miss Dorcas.’ Reid bowed his head and left them with their new guide.
Joe looked with surprise and concern at the child. In appearance she was little different from any of the waifs you saw by the roadside playing hopscotch in the dust. Her feet were bare and dirty, her ragged dress trailed about somewhere between her knees and ankles and her thin shoulders were concealed under a much-darned brown woolly cardigan. But her face, Joe thought, was quite exceptional. It was thin and brown but lit by the intelligence of two large dark eyes. Joe knew he had seen something very similar and quite recently. She turned her head to look at Armitage and Westhorpe with the intensity of a child examining exotic creatures at the zoo and he had it. Her profile, neat nose and almond eye framed by an abundance of glossy black hair, could have inspired a painter of ancient Crete. Armitage and Westhorpe shuffled their feet uncomfortably and looked back for assistance from the retreating Reid but Joe held the child’s gaze. ‘It’s very thoughtful of you to undertake escort duties,’ he said lightly but formally, ‘and we look forward to meeting your brothers and sisters.’