Death at Wentwater Court by Carola Dunn Page B

Alec silently agreed that the theft was possible, and if that was the case, the boots might very well remain unaccounted for. Miss Dalrymple hadn’t seen them, or she wouldn’t have raised the point. Miss Petrie might have, though he’d think twice about believing anything she
said with her overbearing guardians beside her. He’d have Tring question the under-gardeners, but it looked like another dead end.
    He asked for the names of the gardeners, put a few more questions to Lord Beddowe, then let him go.
    â€œWhat an absolute beast!” Daisy burst out as Mr. Fletcher rang the bell. “I know James egged Lord Stephen on, but I never would have guessed he had such a foul mind. And so frightfully vulgar! Annabel isn’t at all …” She broke off as the footman came in.
    â€œMr. Wilfred, please,” the detective requested.
    â€œMr. Geoffrey’s come home, sir.”
    â€œThank you. I’ll see him first. By the way, is Lady Marjorie still out of circulation?”
    â€œYes, sir.” Having abandoned disdain in favour of obedience, the footman now became communicative. “Cora, that’s Lady Marjorie’s maid, said as how Lady Josephine had her take another dose of that stuff the doctor left. Crying and carrying on something awful, she was.”
    â€œMr. Geoffrey, then.” He waited until the servant left before saying to Daisy, “You see what I mean about the servants discussing every sneeze! Dash it, I must see Lady Marjorie some time. What was it I wanted to ask Geoffrey?”
    â€œWhether he saw Lord Stephen on his way to or at the lake,” she told him, pleased that she remembered. She was glad she had taken on the job. It was fascinating, though she’d just as soon not have heard James’s diatribe. “I can understand James resenting his father’s second wife,” she said with a frown, hunting through a drawer of the writing table for a pencil sharpener. “Annabel has taken his mother’s place and diverted his father’s attention from him. But why should he loathe her so bitterly?”
    â€œIn a word, money.” He took the sharpener and her three pencils from her.
    â€œMoney? I don’t believe she’s at all an extravagant sort of person. She cares more for flowers than for fashion.”

    â€œNonetheless,” he explained, “she represents a drain on the estate that’s liable to continue as long as Lord Beddowe lives. Also, there’s always the possibility of children who would, I presume, be provided for out of his inheritance. He has motive enough to wish to break up the marriage.”
    â€œEnough to risk someone else’s life in order to blame Annabel for it?” Daisy demanded, sceptical yet hopeful. As a villain, James was greatly to be preferred to Annabel.
    â€œIt’s conceivable. On the other hand, a mere wetting would hardly have suited his purpose. I can’t imagine Lord Wentwater divorcing his wife for playing a trick on the man who was trying to seduce her.”
    â€œNo, but if James made Lord Stephen believe Annabel was responsible, he might well have been angry enough to tell Lord Wentwater whatever his nasty secret was. Thank you.” She took the three perfectly sharpened pencils he held out. “You won’t let James influence your view of Annabel, will you?”
    â€œI’ll try not to,” he promised, adding gently, “but you must be aware that it’s difficult to blackmail someone who has led a blameless life.”
    â€œI know.” Daisy’s despondency was quickly overcome by curiosity. “I wonder what Wilfred did to give Lord Stephen a hold over him?”
    â€œI hope to discover very shortly. Nothing, I trust, to shock a young lady.”
    â€œNothing could possibly shock me as much as James’s malevolence. I wonder if I ought to warn Phillip that he’s not at all a suitable husband for