Not My Blood (10 page)

“Oh, just the usual hand-out.”

“A long-suffering husband and a gaggle of left-over-from-Christmas orphans?”

“No. We’re remarkably un-busy as a matter of fact. Close family, that’s all. It’s why I was able to get up to London for a couple of days. I left Marcus and the girls in capable hands.” She added carefully: “We’ve got Dorcas staying with us. Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier.”

“Dorcas? Heavens! I haven’t seen the child for ages.” Joe spoke heartily to cover his surprise. “Now,
she
won’t be pleased to see me turning up unexpectedly. You can’t have failed to notice, Lyd, that she’s been avoiding me like the plague for years. And she’s never taken the trouble to tell me why. But I do notice that when I spend any part of any holiday with you, she’s not there. And she descends on you the minute I’ve gone back to London.”

Joe left a space in the hope of an explanation. He realised he would even have settled for a polite denial. But Lydia wasn’t
hurrying to allay his fears. “It’s mystifying, insulting and—dashed annoying,” he finished in a spurt of disappointment.

“It’s tedious for the hostess. And saddening that two people I love dearly behave like the figures on an Alpine weather clock. You know—those wooden contraptions people will bring back from skiing trips. When the sun shines a lady comes out of her little chalet, smiling. When the rain starts, she goes inside again and a gentleman in lederhosen pops out yodeling. Rather unseemly behaviour, I’ve always thought.”

“One in, one out, never seen together. That’s me and Dorcas, all right.”

“And you used to be as thick as thieves. She trailed after you wherever you went, whenever she could, and you were always patient—no, you were more than that, you were—jolly
kind
to her. I know you can be as hard as nails. I’ve seen you beat a man half to death.” Lydia grinned and patted her brother’s knee. “I don’t forget that in your blood you’re a moss-trooper, a sheep-stealing, hot-tempered Borderer. And the war turned you into a killer. You still keep the visible evidence of it right there on your face as a warning, I do believe. That scar! ‘Keep your distance!’ it says.”

“There are those who admire a tough exterior.”

“But Dorcas saw what I’ve always seen. The lovely man underneath. We all thought—don’t laugh—that she had a crush on you. You know, like the passion I had for father’s steward when I was that age. I
grew
out of my obsession but Dorcas seemed to
snap
out of hers. Whatever did you do, Joe? Or was it something you said?” Lydia hesitated. “I’ve never liked to ask, always expecting it would blow over.… And then, somehow, it was too late to bring it up. Do you think you could tell me?”

Joe allowed his truculent silence to stretch on, testing the boundaries of sisterly patience and, a moment before she boxed his ears, said brusquely: “Watch it, Lydia! You risk adding insult
to Dorcas’s injury. Not quite sure what you’re implying. If I were, I’d probably chuck you out into the snow. I’ll just say: No fault of mine. Honestly. It’s worried me, too, and I’ve given it serious thought. I’ve absolved myself of any possible misdemeanour, intended or otherwise. Sorry! How pompous.” He added lightly: “She was never the same after she got that French haircut.”

Lydia smiled. “Well, I did notice she’d changed when her father brought them all back from France. I put it down to Nature. Growing up.”

Joe snorted. “Growing up? The child had found her long-lost mother and the French family she didn’t know she had. She’d fallen in love with an entirely worthy scion of a noble Champagne family. Affection reciprocated to all appearances. And been closely involved with two murder cases. All in the space of a summer. Bound to have an effect.”

“But no reason there for dropping
you
like a soiled glove.”

“She made use of me, Lydia. I’ve realised she always did. The ‘crush’ you mention would have been more acceptable. Flattering even! And I could have handled it.” His swift smile faded. “No, it was the hard man that she saw and was intrigued by. Dorcas had no time for gallantry. She had a heap of troubles on her plate seven years ago. The day I first clapped eyes on her, she watched me deliver a shot amidships to her appalling grandmother who was making her life hell and she decided there and then to recruit me to sort out her remaining problems. That’s her father’s theory, and it’s mine too. She’s quite unscrupulous, you know. She cracked her whip, and I performed my circus tricks. Did what she asked. Took her where she wanted to go. And then, when she was entirely satisfied: ‘Thank you so much, Joe, that’ll be all’ is what I heard. And, having found her wings, away she flew.”

“Well, she didn’t fly far. She still spends as much time with
us
as she does with her scoundrelly father. And we’re delighted to have her. The house comes alive when she’s here. And the food
improves no end! Did you know the girl can cook, Joe? I mean
really
cook?”

“It runs in the family. Her mother’s the best I’ve ever encountered. I expect she’s been learning at her apron strings.”

“It’s a talent but it can be inconvenient. It doesn’t go down well with the staff. Dorcas gets very bossy in the kitchen. I’ve had two cooks hang up their pinnies, put their hat on, and stomp off in high dudgeon when her suggestions got a bit—er—fanciful.”

“You’re about to give me some sisterly advice, Lyd?”

“No. An ultimatum. Brother, I insist that you come to some socially acceptable arrangement for as long as you stay under the same roof. I won’t put up with bickering. It might not be easy. Dorcas has never asked for your news and
you
have never tried to catch up on her. You might as well be strangers. Oh, and let me tell you … she’s certainly not a child any more. She’s twenty-one—that’s practically an old maid these days—and she graduates this year. In psychology, in case you’d forgotten. And that’s
psychology
, not
psychiatry
. She gets angry if you confuse them. So. I want you to treat her with some respect, Joe.”

“I always did, Lydia.”

I
T WAS ALREADY
growing dark as they passed through a quiet village and turned off the High Street between the two stone pillars that marked out Dunsford House. Sensing the change in speed and the crunch of gravel under the tires, Jackie began to stir and yawn.

“Well, here we are, old man!” Joe announced and, parking the car by the front door, spent a moment gently reminding the disoriented boy of who he could expect to see greeting him in the next few minutes. “Your Uncle Marcus. Your two girl cousins—remember their names? That’s right. Big girls now … they’ll take good care of you. Oh, and a friend of the family, Dorcas Joliffe. She’s a grown-up. A student at the university.”

He gave a toot on the horn, and the door was flung open to reveal the cast list. A manservant struggled through the flurry of welcoming laughter and kisses to take Joe’s hat and see to the luggage. Lydia put up a hand for calm and reached into the back seat to draw Jackie forwards.

“Girls! This is your cousin from India. Jack Drummond. I say ‘cousin’ because he’s the son of two of your Uncle Joe’s dearest friends: Andrew and Nancy Drummond. Andrew is something big in Bengal. He fought in the same regiment as Joe in the war and was wounded at Mons,” Lydia said airily. “Jackie, this is Vanessa and this is Juliet.” Her two fair-haired daughters came forwards to shake his hand and then give him a hug, murmuring a welcome.

“And here’s your Uncle Marcus.”

“Drummond! Delighted you could come!” said Marcus, responding to the child’s formal stance and outstretched hand. “Now, what about a spot of tea?”

Joe’s eyes were seeking out the dark girl standing a little behind the family group. “I can see you, Dorcas! Come and meet Jackie. Jackie, this is Dorcas, the daughter of Orlando Joliffe, a friend and neighbour.”

Joe watched anxiously as they shook hands and eyed each other warily. As a girl, Dorcas had always had a way with younger children, showing an interest and an instinctive understanding. Could this skill have survived maturity and still be there under the layers of sophistication she had no doubt built up over the years? Joe wondered.

In appearance, she’d hardly changed. The inches she’d put on since his first sighting seven years ago had brought her up to average height for a woman, but she still had the slender, whippet-like figure, the same glossy, dark bobbed hair. Long gone and unregretted were the hand-me-down clothes and worn sandals Joe remembered. The thick red sweater she was wearing suited
her but Joe wasn’t so certain about the black cord trousers of mannish cut. Jackie, of course, with his Indian background, would be completely at ease with the sight of women in trousers, from whipcord jodhpurs to silken harem pants.

“Tea? Oh, I think we can do better than that, Uncle Marcus. I saved you some lunch, Jackie,” she told the boy. “Just in case you didn’t find time to stop anywhere on the way down. Did you?” Her voice was lower than he remembered with no trace of the country accent she’d had seven years before.

“I don’t know if we stopped. I’ve been asleep. But I know I’m hungry.”

“Good. Then what do you say to some fish pie? And then cherry trifle—bottled cherries, but delicious—with cream from the home farm. It’s as yellow as a buttercup.”

“Oooh, ahh.…” Jackie turned to Joe for help.

“Well, I don’t know about Jackie, but I’m growing faint at the very thought. Shall I speak for both of us? Lead us to it!”

She smiled and, tucking the child’s arm under hers, led him into the hallway, leaning towards him and talking confidentially. Hurrying to follow behind, Joe thought he caught “… regiment … wounds … hero .…” and an amused look thrown back at him over her shoulder. He was touched by Jackie’s emphatic response to her comments: “No, Dorcas. Uncle Joe was a Northumberland Fusilier.… he told me so.… Daddy was an officer in the
Indian
Army. And he was wounded at Ypres. Auntie Lydia got that wrong.” Dorcas accepted the correction without demur and took down the tension with a joking remark. Jackie was emboldened to pour more military details into the ready ear.

For the second time, Joe noted that the boy was a stickler for detail. Well brought up, he apparently was uneasy with anything less than the truth. Wherever else, he didn’t get
that
from his mother! Joe crushed the unworthy thought. This was a quality
that could prove awkward over the next few days. But, again, it could be an asset—if carefully managed.

“
U
GLY LITTLE BRUTES!
”
Marcus’s voice was gruff. “What a collection!”

He poked at the photographs Lydia had spread at random on the table in the drawing room after supper, not comfortable until he had them in a straight line and equidistant from each other. Sensing his companions’ disapproval, he tried to explain himself. “I mean—look at them! Seven … eight … 
nine
of ’em and
all
dashed unattractive … Spotty … Skinny … Goofy … Tubby and Big Ears. I know who they are—saw them playing Snow White’s little helpers in the panto at the Lyceum the other day. And will someone tell me why boys of this age always have such big teeth? Looking at this line-up I’m happy I’ve been blessed with girls. Bonny from the day they were born!”

He looked to his wife for approval, but Lydia glared at him and he plunged deeper into the mire: “You have to take your hats off to these schoolmaster chappies—facing up to serried ranks of brats like this just to earn a crust. Imagine being greeted by this lot on the front row on a Monday morning!” Something in his arrangement caught his attention and he picked out one face and thoughtfully placed it on the extreme left of the line.

“Marcus! You’re being facetious! I thought you’d understood! We don’t know who they are or where they are. These poor little sausages could well be victims of some unspeakable crime. These photos were secreted away in the pocket of a notebook of a dubious character violently done to death almost under the eyes of our Jackie!”

“If you say so, my dear,” Marcus batted on. “Though I don’t see what his death has to do with his photo album. Perhaps he owes the racecourse bookies a bundle? The Brighton gangs are notoriously strict about payment of debts. Leg-breaking and
worse goes on! I get some of these cases up before me in the Magistrate’s Court after every big race. Or—more likely—he’s got Matron into trouble and she’s wreaked vengeance on him. Grabbed a tongue depressor and inserted it into a soft part? Something on those lines? I can’t see why you and Joe are making such a song and dance over these. Am I the only one to notice the obvious?”

Marcus collected their enquiring glances and shrugged his shoulders. “The tenth photograph!”

They looked again and counted silently.

“Conspicuous by its absence, you’d say. Hey? No sign here of Joe’s nephew, is there? I search for but I don’t find
his
handsome features in the gallery! If there’s anything going on, your Jackie has nothing to do with it. Not on the menu, I’d say.”

Lydia and Joe exchanged looks.

Married couples, Joe had observed, soon fell into a mutually agreed role-playing arrangement. In this marriage, Lydia was always presented as the clever one, the undervalued mainspring of the family and Marcus her largely ineffectual but indulgent and loving husband. Not all true, Joe considered. He turned to the comfortable figure of Marcus, fair hair glittering with silver in the lamp light, florid features beginning to show the effects of a second brandy. Joe resisted any invitation to patronise or underestimate his brother-in-law. The sharp eyes missed little, the good humour in his remarks often masked a fund of cool common sense.

“So how then, Marcus, would you account for this unusual collection in our victim’s private journal?” Joe appealed to him. “Any theories? Help us out!”

Marcus turned over one of the images. “Oh, right-o. If you like. For a start, they’ve been roughly cut with scissors from a larger print, see here.… And we’re all familiar with this size of head shot. Been taken from the annual class photograph. You
know—line them up on the first day of term … shoot ’em … and there they are preserved in the amber glow of happy schooldays forever more. The girls have both got their own class photos in their rooms. Compare them for size in the morning if you like.”