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Authors: Carola Dunn

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BOOK: Dead in the Water
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Miss Hopgood jumped up. “Oh, thanks ever so. I'll iron them, though. I'm sure you're busy.”
“Well, there's my man's dinner to get … .” She looked doubtfully at Daisy.
“I must be on my way,” Daisy said at once. “My cousin will be wondering where on earth I've got to. Thanks most frightfully for the tea. I've enjoyed talking to you, Miss Hopgood. I expect we'll run into each other again down by the river.”
By the time Daisy reached the General Enclosure again, the crowd had thickened. It was still nothing like the crush it would be tomorrow, when the fashionable set arrived for Finals day, but there was a scattering of bright frocks and morning suits among the blazers.
Thirsty after walking from the town under the now hot sun, Daisy headed for the refreshment tent. With its sides furled, it was shady without being stuffy, and allowed a view of the river.
There she found Tish, Dottie, Rollo, and Cherry, the girls with lemonade, the men with beer tankards.
“Where
have
you been?” Tish greeted Daisy.
“We were contemplating calling in the police,” said Dottie,
“but we weren't sure whether to get the local chaps or go straight to Scotland Yard.”
“Oh, Scotland Yard, of course. Alec
would
have wrung my neck!”
The others laughed. Cherry went to get lemonade for Daisy while Rollo asked her anxiously how Bott was.
“I had to get the boat out of the way, with the next two on their way,” he explained, “and it looked as if you and his girl—or his sister, was it?—and Lord DeLancey had things under control between you.”
“His girl, and a very sensible girl she is. She calmed Bott down, and he seemed to have got over the headache and tummy trouble.”
“Shock treatment,” said Cherry, returning with Daisy's lemonade. “A ducking'll do it every time. We should have chucked him in before the race.”
Rollo shook his head. “I should have asked for a postponement, and scratched if we couldn't get it. At least we'd have avoided that appalling scene with DeLancey playing the …”
Tish elbowed him in the ribs. The DeLancey brothers were approaching. They would have made a handsome pair were it not for the elder's tight lips, the thundercloud of resentment on the younger's brow.
“Sorry about the shindy,” said the Hon. Basil stiffly. As a gracious apology it was a dud. “I shouldn't have gone off halfcocked in front of the ladies. But that wretched little pleb made me see red, ruining the race for us!”
“As to whose fault …” Cherry snorted. Tish used her other elbow on his ribs.
“Least said, soonest mended,” Lord DeLancey put in smoothly, unknowingly echoing Miss Hopgood, to Daisy's amusement. “A regrettable incident on both sides.”
His brother was not so easily hushed. “Did you hear Bott's threats? He swore revenge. If he's not too yellow to stand up and fight, I'll thrash the living daylights out of him.”
“That's easy to say,” Dottie exclaimed. “You're twice his size and a boxer to boot.”
“Don't be an ass, Basil,” said his lordship with asperity. “A hundred years ago you might have horse-whipped the fellow, but these days that's not on.”
“More's the pity. I suppose the snivelling wretch would haul me up before the beak.”
“He may yet,” Dottie observed, not without a touch of malice. “I imagine he has a very good case for assault if he chooses to pursue it.”
Both DeLanceys stared at her in high-nosed outrage.
“I'll have a word with him,” said Rollo pacifically. “DeLancey, our Visitors' Cup heat this afternoon isn't till after five. I'm still not happy with our starts. See if you can round up Fosdyke, will you, and we'll meet back at the boat-house in an hour for some practice.”
“The four!” Dismay chased outrage from the Hon. Basil's face. “I bet that's it. Bott's planning to sabotage the boat to get back at me. What does he care if the coxless four doesn't win?”
“What rot!” Cherry said in disgust.
“No, think about it. He has no sense of loyalty to Ambrose. I shouldn't think he's likely to try anything in daylight, but I tell you, I'm going to stand guard over that boat tonight, even if you fellows won't join me.”
“We shan't,” Rollo assured him.
“Nor will you!” Lord DeLancey snapped.
“Why the deuce not, Ceddie?” Basil said insolently.
“Don't call me that. Spend the night on sentry-go in the boat-house? All you'll accomplish is to make yourself and the family a laughing-stock. It's a dashed good job your race this morning was so early, before the crowds arrived, but even so you've caused more than enough talk!”
Oddly enough, Daisy received the impression Lord DeLancey was quite as much apprehensive as angry. In particular, the sidelong glances he cast at Rollo and Cherry as he berated his brother seemed almost fearful.
Now what could he possibly have to fear?
“
I
'm frightfully glad the four won their heat,” said Tish, cautiously climbing into her bed, which was liable to tip up if approached unwarily.”I think Rollo would be happier about another year at Ambrose if he had won a cup for the college.”
“I like him.” Yawning, Daisy scratched her mosquito bites. A new one had made the old one start to itch again. “I hope things work out for the two of you, win or lose.”
“Just one more elimination before the final. Keep your fingers crossed. Daisy, you don't suppose there's anything in what Basil DeLancey said, do you? About Bott sabotaging the boat?”
“I shouldn't think so. Lord DeLancey was rather queer about the whole affair, wasn't he? Practically in a blue funk. Admittedly, it must be pretty foul having a brother like dear Basil, but people can hardly blame him for it.”
“No.” Tish hesitated. “Actually, Dottie said much the same and Cherry explained to us. I shouldn't be surprised if it gets about anyway, but I wouldn't want to be the one to start the talk.”
Intrigued, Daisy protested, “Have a heart! You can't tell
me so much and no more. If Scotland Yard can trust me with its secrets, you jolly well can, too.”
“Does he? Does Mr. Fletcher tell you things?”
“Sometimes. As a matter of fact, I've helped him with one or two cases. But we're not talking about that now. Tell me about Cedric DeLancey, or I'll tip you out of bed.”
“Don't! I'd have to make it up again. All right, Cherry said Lord DeLancey is scared to death of arousing any gossip about the family in case his War record comes out. It seems he panicked and lost his head and led his company into a massacre, only he led it from behind, like the Duke of Plaza Toro …”
“‘He led his regiment from behind,'” sang Daisy, “‘He found it less exciting. That celebrated …'”
“Hush!” Tish hissed, glancing at the door. “There were only three survivors and he was the only one to come out with a whole skin. He was cashiered, but it was hushed up, his father being an earl and in the government. The family put it about that he was invalided out. But Cherry and Rollo were both in the same battalion so they knew what really happened. Cherry said if it got out—Society gossip, or even worse, the Press—he'd be ostracised.”
“Gosh, he'd probably be blackballed at his clubs and not received at Court. I dare say his father might even be eased out of his post as an embarrassment to the government. Not,” said Daisy austerely, “because anyone would care two hoots that he got his men massacred. After all, the generals did that by the thousands. But people won't forgive his panicking, which seems to me an altogether natural reaction to being caught in the middle of a battle.”
“I would,” Tish agreed with a shudder, “but men aren't supposed to show they're afraid, let alone act as if they were.
Maybe that's why they start wars, to prove to each other how brave they are.”
“Like little boys daring each other. Are you ready? I'll turn out the light.”
In the dark, Tish said, “I almost forgot to ask how your research is going.”
“Very well. I met an American who rowed in the Harvard crew which won the Grand in 1914. He brought his wife over to see the Regatta. Their views will interest American readers. And my friend Betty—her husband, Fitz, is a member of the Stewards' Enclosure—has offered to present me to the Duke of Gloucester tomorrow. Isn't it too spiffing? The Americans adore British royalty, don't ask me why.”
“You're going to meet Prince Henry?”
“Yes, tomorrow afternoon. Alec told me some of his plainclothes colleagues will be circulating in the crowds to keep an eye on things. Alec has to pretend not to recognise them, but of course they'll recognise him. I just hope nothing happens to make them need his help.”
“Let's hope not. It's a pity he reached Henley too late to go to the fair with us.”
“It was too sweet of Fosdyke to escort me, but he made me feel like an aged aunt! At least Alec has arrived. You never can tell with policemen. He's going to pick me up in the morning in time to watch the start of the Ambrose four's heat.”
“Dottie and I decided to watch the start, too. If they lose, the finish will be too depressing for words, and if they win, we'll watch the finish of the final.” Tish was silent for a moment, then said, “I do so hope they win. Do you think Basil DeLancey will go and guard the boat in spite of his brother telling him not to?”
“I don't know,” Daisy said sleepily, “but he hasn't much self-control at the best of times and that was a pretty stiff whisky-and-soda I saw him put away, not to mention starting on a second. If he does, I hope Bott doesn't take it into his head to go down there, or there'll be murder done.”
 
Startled into wakefulness, Daisy lay for a moment straining her ears. Heavy, blundering footsteps, harsh breathing—someone was in the room! She snapped on the bedside lamp.
Basil DeLancey stood there, swaying, one hand to his head, the other held out as if groping for support.
Tish lay wide-eyed, terrified, clutching the bedclothes to her chest. DeLancey took a staggering step forward. With a squeal, Tish sat up. Her camp-bed collapsed and DeLancey tripped over a protruding corner.
Jumping out of bed, Daisy ran to extricate Tish from the tangle of sheets and blankets.
“He came after me!” Tish whimpered.
But DeLancey lay sprawled on the floor, groaning, making no attempt to rise and ravish.
Daisy frowned. “Perhaps. I suppose he might have drunk enough to try to seduce you, forgetting I'm sharing your room. But I suspect he's just drunk enough to have turned the wrong way at the top of the stairs. His room is the first on the other side, isn't it?”
“Oh yes,” Tish said thankfully. She was white as a sheet, and she stared at the recumbent intruder like a rabbit fascinated by a stoat.
DeLancey was fully dressed in a pullover and flannels. Daisy glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Past two o'clock! He must have stayed downstairs drinking by himself.
Or perhaps he had fallen asleep downstairs, she thought, trying to be charitable, and was as much fuddled by sleep as drink. She hoped so, or tomorrow's race would be another disaster.
Either way, she and Tish could not manage him. She grabbed her cousin's dressing-gown. “Here, put this on and go and wake his room-mate. It's Fosdyke, I think. He'll get him to bed.”
“You can't stay alone with him.” Tish's voice trembled.
“Of course I can. He's in no state to attack, and anyway, it's you he's been making up to. Don't for pity's sake wake Rollo and Cherry. They'd have his blood without waiting to ask questions. Just Fosdyke. Go along now.”
Tish left. Daisy put on her own dressing-gown and turned back to DeLancey. He looked more like victim than villain now, trying ineffectually to push himself up.
Distastefully, Daisy helped him to roll over and sit up with his back to the wall.
“C-can't see straight,” he mumbled, thick-tongued. His eyes had an unfocussed look and his face was livid, his dark, pomaded hair sticking out in all directions as if he had run his hands through it. His breath smelled of spirits. “God, my head hurts. Wha' happened?”
“Whisky happened,” Daisy informed him severely, wishing the room had an old-fashioned wash-basin, “unless you went on to something else. Don't you dare be sick in here.”
“Not going … . Where … ?”
If he was unaware of being in Tish's bedroom, Daisy was not about to enlighten him. With luck, by morning he'd have forgotten his detour on the way to bed.
Tish returned with Fosdyke, sleepy-eyed and blushing in
a daffodil-yellow dressing-gown over daffodil striped pyjamas, his feet bare.
“Awfully sorry,” the youth muttered, turning a brighter red when he saw Daisy. “Miss Cheringham said not to dress.”
“She was quite right. Do you think you can get Mr. DeLancey to bed without waking anyone else to help you? The fewer people who know about his mistake the better.”
“Crikey, yes! Not a word to a soul. He looks as sozzled as a sucking pig.” Fosdyke stared down disapprovingly at DeLancey, who squinted back in apparent confusion. “Doesn't look too good for the Visitors' heat, does it? Yes, I'll manage him all right, Miss Dalrymple. Come along, old chap.”
He heaved DeLancey up onto his feet. Tish wouldn't go near them, but Daisy arranged DeLancey's arm across Fosdyke's shoulders. With Fosdyke's arm around his waist, DeLancey stumbled out.
“Gosh,” said Daisy with a sigh, shutting the door behind them, “to think I expected all the drama of my visit to come from the boat races! Come on, let's get your bed put back together. Fosdyke's a dear, isn't he? And luckily the strong, silent type.”
“It took forever to wake him. I had to go in and shake him.” Tish said, fumbling at the bed frame with still-trembling hands. “It was awful.”
“I assume you're referring to DeLancey's incursion, not to waking Fosdyke. Cheer up, no harm done, as long as you don't go and let it out to Rollo or Cherry.”
“Oh no!”
“As for the race, I can't believe he's such an ass as to drink enough to risk wrecking his performance, not after the way he blasted Bott. I expect he's one of those people who sleeps it off
and never suffers the morning after. There's your pillow, in you hop—I mean slither.” She tucked her cousin in. “Sleep well.”
Daisy hopped into bed herself and turned out the light. She had every intention of following her own advice, but sleep failed to come.
Had
DeLancey taken into account his capacity for absorbing alcohol? He hadn't shown much in the way of common sense so far, and he had seemed awfully rocky. At least he hadn't been sick. More confused than anything else, she thought.
Confusion—one of the chief symptoms of nicotine poisoning. Could Bott, rather than harbouring designs on the fours boat, have put nicotine in the whisky?
Bosh, Daisy told herself. Not without risking poisoning everyone in the house, all the men, anyway. Nor had Bott any reason to be aware of the tobacco-water insecticide in the garden shed. Besides, vomiting was another symptom and DeLancey—thank heaven—had not vomited.
No, Bott and poisoning was out. But what about Bott and the boat? Suppose DeLancey had in fact gone down to guard it, and Bott had come and …
She had said herself that would lead to murder. She been exaggerating, of course, but suppose DeLancey had been drinking to ward off the chill and attacked Bott with more force than he intended. He outweighed the cox by a good couple of stone. Might not the shock of having killed a man, added to the whisky, bring on just such a state of confusion as DeLancey had displayed?
Bosh! she told herself again, uneasily. It was two in the
morning—more like half past now—the time when all sorts of horrors tend to descend on the wakeful mind. On top of that, in the past few months she had found herself caught up in investigating several murders, so her brain was bound to run on those lines.
And run and run, round and round in circles.
If Bott was dead, there was nothing she could do to help him. What if he was badly hurt? Even Basil DeLancey surely wouldn't have abandoned an injured man; but perhaps he thought he had killed him.
Daisy wished she knew where Bott's linen-room/ bedroom was. She couldn't go peeking into everyone's rooms just to reassure herself that the cox was sleeping peacefully.
But she could go down to the boat-house.
An electric torch was kept on the table on the landing in case of a current failure, she remembered as she wrapped her dressing-gown around her and tied the sash. Feeling her way, she tiptoed from the room.
On the landing a faint light from the window, where the curtains had not been closed, enabled Daisy to find her way across to the table. Light gleamed on the torch's metal casing. She reached for it, then hastily drew her hand back. If there had been dirty work at the crossroads, it just might have significant fingerprints on it. Alec would kill her if she messed them up.
Kill her? She really must stop thinking in morbid clichés!
Fortunately, she found a hankie in the pocket of her dressing-gown. This she wrapped around the end of the torch, careful not to smudge potential dabs, as Alec's Sergeant Tring called them. Picking it up, she started down the stairs, step by
step, holding the banister and her breath, waiting for a creak loud enough to bring everyone running. What a frightful ass she'd look!
The house was still. Undiscovered, she reached the front hall. It was pitch-dark down here, but she shuffled across to the drawing-room door without using the torch. The door closed safely behind her, she switched on the electric light.
BOOK: Dead in the Water
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