desk diary afore you came tonight,' said Dalziel, waggling his great fingers. 'Computers may bother me but I were brought up on drawers.'
'But I can't just take a morning off . . .'
'I'll cover for you,' said the fat man impatiently. 'I'd ring Partridge and make an appointment. Lords like protocol, it makes 'em feel important. Nannies get lonely and prefer surprise visits.'
Not even sociology lecturers uttered their truisms with such authority as Dalziel, perhaps because his were more likely to be true.
Pascoe glanced at the Bamberg clock which looked genuine, as did many other of her elegant ornaments, if he could trust an eye sharpened by long acquaintance with stolen property lists. She was clearly a collector, or perhaps the rich and powerful showered such gifts upon those who sheltered them from the more nauseating aspects of child-rearing. The clock's gilded hands warned him that the rich and powerful were wont to shower something quite different on those who kept them waiting.
He said, 'And this noise that woke you, was any other explanation found for it, apart from the possibility of its being the fatal shot?'
'Not that I know of. I am sure it must have come either from the room below which was the gunroom, or the room adjacent which was my girls' room, or the room above which was the maid Lowrie's room.'
Perhaps after all it was Partridge banging away! Pascoe frowned to hide the thought from Miss Marsh's Presbyterian eye.
'I should not of course have been in that room. As the senior nanny I should have had the proper nursery room further down the corridor, but as Kohler had her infant twins to care for, I did not insist on precedence.'
'And the other children?'
'Opposite my room and next to the twins was my Tommy. And opposite Kohler and next to my girls were the Stamper children.'
'Who didn't have a nanny?'
'No.' She pursed her lips. 'The worst of combinations for proper child-rearing, I'm afraid. An American and "trade". Sir Arthur, as he is now, had his heart in the right place, but without the background, he was quite unable to distinguish between a kitchen skivvy and a valued family aide. Mrs Stamper in her democratic American way was equally unable to draw a line between mutual respect and over-familiar interference. Thus they had great difficulty in keeping nursery staff. I am no snob, Mr Pascoe, but there are some things it is necessary to be born to.'
Like murder? wondered Pascoe.
He said, 'Do you think Sir Ralph could have killed Pamela Westropp?'
'Certainly,' she said. 'He could have done anything.'
'You sound as if you approve?'
'My approval doesn't come into it. People like Sir Ralph are beyond the judgements of the commonalty, Mr Pascoe. We do not disapprove of an eagle for killing a lamb, or a panther for pulling down a goat.'
'You do if you're a farmer,' said Pascoe. 'So you think he was guilty?'
'I didn't say that. On the whole, I suspect he wasn't.'
'Because of the doubts about Miss Kohler's confession, you mean?'
'Of course not. What has that to do with anything? No, I just feel that if someone like Sir Ralph Mickledore set out to commit a crime, he would not be so incompetent as to let that blundering ox of a policeman come within a thousand miles of him.'
'You didn't find Mr Tallantire very sympathetic, then?'
'No, I did not,' she said sternly. 'He had the manners and the prejudices of a union agitator. It comes as little surprise to learn that he bullied a confession out of that American child and falsified evidence to destroy a man whose simple existence must have filled his soul with envy and resentment.'
She spoke with great passion and Pascoe thought glumly how delighted Hiller must have been to hear such a positive condemnation of his prey.
He said, 'Thank you for your time, Miss Marsh,' and rose.
'But I haven't shown you all my albums,' she said, gesturing to the escritoire drawer which looked crammed with enough material for a Holroyd biography. 'Of course I realize how tedious an old
'But I can't just take a morning off . . .'
'I'll cover for you,' said the fat man impatiently. 'I'd ring Partridge and make an appointment. Lords like protocol, it makes 'em feel important. Nannies get lonely and prefer surprise visits.'
Not even sociology lecturers uttered their truisms with such authority as Dalziel, perhaps because his were more likely to be true.
Pascoe glanced at the Bamberg clock which looked genuine, as did many other of her elegant ornaments, if he could trust an eye sharpened by long acquaintance with stolen property lists. She was clearly a collector, or perhaps the rich and powerful showered such gifts upon those who sheltered them from the more nauseating aspects of child-rearing. The clock's gilded hands warned him that the rich and powerful were wont to shower something quite different on those who kept them waiting.
He said, 'And this noise that woke you, was any other explanation found for it, apart from the possibility of its being the fatal shot?'
'Not that I know of. I am sure it must have come either from the room below which was the gunroom, or the room adjacent which was my girls' room, or the room above which was the maid Lowrie's room.'
Perhaps after all it was Partridge banging away! Pascoe frowned to hide the thought from Miss Marsh's Presbyterian eye.
'I should not of course have been in that room. As the senior nanny I should have had the proper nursery room further down the corridor, but as Kohler had her infant twins to care for, I did not insist on precedence.'
'And the other children?'
'Opposite my room and next to the twins was my Tommy. And opposite Kohler and next to my girls were the Stamper children.'
'Who didn't have a nanny?'
'No.' She pursed her lips. 'The worst of combinations for proper child-rearing, I'm afraid. An American and "trade". Sir Arthur, as he is now, had his heart in the right place, but without the background, he was quite unable to distinguish between a kitchen skivvy and a valued family aide. Mrs Stamper in her democratic American way was equally unable to draw a line between mutual respect and over-familiar interference. Thus they had great difficulty in keeping nursery staff. I am no snob, Mr Pascoe, but there are some things it is necessary to be born to.'
Like murder? wondered Pascoe.
He said, 'Do you think Sir Ralph could have killed Pamela Westropp?'
'Certainly,' she said. 'He could have done anything.'
'You sound as if you approve?'
'My approval doesn't come into it. People like Sir Ralph are beyond the judgements of the commonalty, Mr Pascoe. We do not disapprove of an eagle for killing a lamb, or a panther for pulling down a goat.'
'You do if you're a farmer,' said Pascoe. 'So you think he was guilty?'
'I didn't say that. On the whole, I suspect he wasn't.'
'Because of the doubts about Miss Kohler's confession, you mean?'
'Of course not. What has that to do with anything? No, I just feel that if someone like Sir Ralph Mickledore set out to commit a crime, he would not be so incompetent as to let that blundering ox of a policeman come within a thousand miles of him.'
'You didn't find Mr Tallantire very sympathetic, then?'
'No, I did not,' she said sternly. 'He had the manners and the prejudices of a union agitator. It comes as little surprise to learn that he bullied a confession out of that American child and falsified evidence to destroy a man whose simple existence must have filled his soul with envy and resentment.'
She spoke with great passion and Pascoe thought glumly how delighted Hiller must have been to hear such a positive condemnation of his prey.
He said, 'Thank you for your time, Miss Marsh,' and rose.
'But I haven't shown you all my albums,' she said, gesturing to the escritoire drawer which looked crammed with enough material for a Holroyd biography. 'Of course I realize how tedious an old
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