CHAPTER 15

Where on earth was she? Daisy lay trying to think why she was uncomfortably stretched out on a sagging mattress, a faint light shining through her eyelids though surely it couldn’t be daybreak yet! She’d only just fallen asleep.

Her eyes resisted her unenthusiastic effort to open them. What had roused her in the depths of the night?

Where . . . ?

Oh, the Raven’s Nest Hotel, in Berwick. Yesterday flooded back, making her even more reluctant to wake fully. She turned over and buried her face in the lumpy pillow

‘No!’

The childish wail brought Daisy instantly upright. Belinda, caught in a nightmare by the sound of it; that was what had woken her. She slid out from under the covers, shivering as she reached for her dressing gown, and crossed to the other bed.

Belinda was curled on her side, her eyelids flickering though she seemed fast asleep. ‘Don’t,’ she whimpered, ‘please don’t. I didn’t mean to.’

‘Wake up, darling.’ Daisy gently shook her shoulder. ‘You’re all right, it’s just a dream. Wake up now and it’ll go away. Come on, Belinda, you’re quite safe now.’

‘No-o-o!’ Her eyes opened, bright with fear as she looked up at Daisy.

‘It was a dream. Don’t be afraid, it was just a nightmare.’

Belinda burst into tears. ‘It wasn’t,’ she sobbed, ‘or I’d be at home. It’s all real. I don’t want to go to prison!’

‘Darling, they don’t put little girls in prison.’ Daisy pulled the unheeding child into her arms.

‘I didn’t mean to be wicked. I wasn’t really listening, honestly. I wasn’t eavesdropping. I couldn’t help hearing, ’cause they were shouting.’

‘Of course you couldn’t Who . . .’

‘And I haven’t told anyone. I mostly didn’t understand anyway.’

‘Belinda, who was shouting, and what didn’t you understand?’

‘I can’t tell you or I’ll have to go to prison.’

‘What makes you think that? Listen. Listen to me. They don’t put little girls in prison!’

Belinda stopped soaking Daisy’s bosom with her tears and twisted to peek up at her face. ‘Really? Are you sure?’ She hiccuped a last sob. ‘Quite, quite absolutely sure? Cross your heart?’

‘Quite, quite absolutely sure, cross my heart and hope to die,’ Daisy said solemnly. ‘Now, when you happened to pass, who did you overhear?’

‘I heard lots of people talking,’ Belinda evaded. ‘Most of the doors were open ’cause it was so hot’.

‘Let’s stick to Mr. McGowan’s compartment for the moment. I remember you told me you heard him shout Who was with him?’

‘The first time it was Mr. Smythe-Pike – he was shouting, not Mr. McGowan. All he said was something about no loyalty to the family. I understood that.’ Belinda’s bowed head and twisting fingers revealed her continued fearfulness despite Daisy’s reassurances.

Daisy tried to speak patiently. ‘And the second time, what was it you didn’t understand? What Mr. McGowan shouted? Or whoever was with him? Who was that?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t hear him say anything.’

‘Bel, darling, you must tell me what you did hear. Your daddy needs to know everything you can remember. You know he won’t let any harm come to you. Let’s see, didn’t you tell me about some name he mentioned?’

‘Miss Probation. But you said it was probably “disapprobation,” meaning disapproval. I didn’t tell you, I asked you who it was.’

‘So you did.’ If the difference mattered to her, Daisy was quite prepared to go along. ‘Why don’t you ask me about the other words you didn’t understand?’

Belinda heaved a shuddering sigh. ‘All right, if I can remember. I already asked about “orbit” and you said it means the earth going round the sun.’

‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten. An odd sort of word to shout!’

‘What about “arsony”?’

‘“Arson” is setting buildings on fire on purpose. I don’t know where the “y” comes from. How extraordinary!’ Far from enlightenment, Daisy found herself more bewildered than ever. ‘What else?’

‘A word that sounded like “puzzlement,” only it wasn’t quite. I know what “puzzlement” means.’

‘“Puzzlement” means what I feel! What on earth was he on about?’

‘There was something that reminded me of sheep, too. I can’t ’member exactly, just that it made me think of sheep.’

‘Sheep. “Puzzlement.” “Orbit.” “Arson.” And Miss Probation.’

‘You’re really absolutely sure? About prison?’

‘Absolutely. Your father will say exactly the same, I promise. You know, darling, I think we’d better go and tell him right away. I dare say he’ll be mad as fire at being woken up, but then he might be equally shirty if we don’t.’

Daisy helped Belinda pull the woolly jumper on over her combies. In the corridor a light was burning, gas turned low. As kindly arranged by Mr. Halliday, Alec’s room was opposite theirs, no twists and turns and steps to negotiate. They crossed and Daisy tapped on the door.

No response. She knocked louder.

‘Who’s there?’ came Alec’s drowsy voice.

Without waiting, Belinda opened the door and rushed in. By the light from the passage, Daisy saw her vault onto her father’s bed as he sat up, looking adorably rumpled. His arms wrapped around his daughter, he blinked owlishly over her head at Daisy, hesitating on the threshold.

Suddenly self-conscious, she felt herself blushing in the frightfully Victorian way she so despised. After all, she was in her nightclothes in a man’s bedroom, with him in bed in his blue-and-white striped flannel pyjamas, too. At least they had both been fully dressed when he came to her room. He couldn’t see her blush, thank heaven – she must be just a silhouette to him.

She couldn’t stay hovering in the doorway, though. Which was worse, to light the gas and let him see her red cheeks, or to talk to him in the dark, their little chaperon invisible?

‘I’d better turn on a light,’ she said.

‘Here’s matches.’ He reached out to take a box from the bedside table and toss it to her. ‘What’s going on?’

She missed the catch, of course. She’d always been rotten at sports. Luckily the matches didn’t spill so she didn’t have to grovel after them.

‘I had a bad dream, Daddy.’ Cradled safe in Alec’s arms, Belinda already sounded sleepy again.

‘I thought you ought to hear right away.’ Daisy lit the sconce over the fireplace, turning the gas just high enough not to go out. Shutting the door, she turned, noting his clothes neatly folded on a chair. Her gaze firmly fixed on Belinda’s bare feet, she went on, ‘Belinda overheard Albert McGowan in the train. She’s told me what she heard, but I can’t make head or tail of it.’

‘I didn’t tell, I asked.’

‘I take it you think this is significant,’ Alec said dryly, ‘or you wouldn’t have woken me.’

Daisy looked at him and was relieved to see his smile. ‘I’m not sure, but I didn’t want to be accused in the morning of keeping something from you!’

‘Fair enough. Sit down, Daisy; I can’t do the polite.’ He waved at the foot of his bed. ‘What did you hear, Bel?’

‘Daddy, do they put little girls in prison?’

‘Great Scott, no!’

‘Miss Dalrymple said not.’ Belinda yawned. ‘Mr. McGowan was shouting about houses on fire, and sheep, and puzzlement, and the sun and the world.’ Another yawn overtook her. ‘Oh, and someone called Miss Probation. Miss Anne Probation, but Miss Dalrymple says it was “disapprobation.”’

‘I’m not too sure about that.’ Perched on the very end of his bed, the alternative being to move his clothes from the chair, Daisy elaborated. ‘“Disapprobation” was my original guess, but now I’ve heard the rest . . . It wasn’t “puzzlement” and “sheep” she heard, Alec, but something like “puzzlement” and something she connected with sheep.’

‘What about the burning houses, and the sun? Are you sure this isn’t just part of her nightmare?’

‘I’m sure about Miss Probation and the sun business – the word she remembered was “orbit” – because she asked me about them right after hearing them. The rest I can’t be certain. It was nothing to do with houses, either, that was just my attempted explanation of “arson.”’

‘“Arson”! Well, it may all make sense in the morning.’

‘I’m sorry to have woken you for nothing.’

He reached out one hand, and without thinking she put hers in it. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Better safe than sorry, unless you can think of a more appropriate cliché.’

With a tingling glow running up her arm from their clasped hands, Daisy couldn’t have come up with an appropriate cliché to save her life. It was a jolly good job Belinda was there, or she might have jumped in between the sheets with Alec like a flash. He was looking at her oddly, making her feel quite breathless. She didn’t quite like to pull her hand away in case he guessed how she was feeling.

‘D-did you learn anything useful this evening?’ she managed to stammer.

‘We’ve got the pillow, and there’s what appears to be blood on the pillow-case. It looks as if McGowan scratched his murderer. You haven’t noticed scrapes or scratches on anyone’s face or hands, have you? Apart from the briar scratches on Jagai’s and Raymond’s hands?’

‘No, nothing.’ But there was something she ought to tell him, if she could only think straight! She sighed. ‘The miser of Dunston Castle certainly is responsible for a lot of trouble.’

‘The what?’

‘Old Alistair McGowan.’

‘What did you call him?’

‘The miser of Dunston Castle. Why?’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to remember,’ Alec said triumphantly. ‘That’s what Bretton called him, and someone else – Kitty, was it? Alistair McGowan is a renowned miser?’

‘I’m surprised no one else mentioned it. They never seemed to tire of the subject, except when they started raving about Albert leaving his all to an Indian. Does it matter?’

‘It may.’ Alec being cautious. It gave her the excuse she needed to withdraw her hand from his warm, disturbing clasp.

‘Well, if you’re not going to tell me,’ she said indignantly, ‘we’d better get back to bed. Come on, Belinda . . . Oh, blast, she’s fast asleep again!’

‘I’ll carry her. Will you go ahead and open the doors?’

Daisy complied, and turned back Belinda’s bedclothes. Alec carried her in, set her down gently, and tucked her in. He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

‘I hope she’ll sleep soundly now,’ he said, turning to Daisy. ‘I’m sorry she disturbed your sleep.’

‘I’m sorry to have disturbed yours.’

‘It’s part of the job – both being a policeman and being a father.’ He stood for a moment looking down at her, then suddenly, unexpectedly, he put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on the lips.

Then he bolted.

Daisy stared blankly at the door as it clicked shut behind him. Her lips burned.

Gosh, she thought, it was frightfully lucky Belinda had been between them if that was how he felt, too. Dreamily she slipped off her dressing gown and wriggled back under the bedclothes. They still held a trace of her body-heat. What would it be like to climb into bed beside a man, beside Alec, to let herself sink into the warmth of . . .

Sternly she reined in her imagination. Emancipated she might be, immoral she was not, she reminded herself. But she had a new appreciation of how easy it would be to kiss one’s proper upbringing good-bye.

Kiss. She touched her lips.

Stop it!

Concentrate on something else, on the puzzle of puzzlement, Miss Anne Probation, ‘orbit,’ sheep, and ‘arson.’ Arson – the flame Alec’s touch had lit within her. Alec the Arsonist.

No, Miss Anne Probation. Who was Miss Anne Probation? Why had Albert McGowan flung her name in a fury at the person with, him, and who was that person? Was it a name Belinda had heard, or was it in fact something else, something closer to ‘disapprobation’?

‘Orbit,’ ‘arson,’ ‘sheep.’ Flaming sheep in orbit. Aries the Ram? Michael had loved star-gazing and had taught her some of the constellations. Michael, dearest Michael, dear, dead Michael who would wish her happy, wish her every happiness, a long and fruitful life with the man she was beginning to love as much as she had loved him.

No! ‘Orbit,’ ‘arson,’ ‘sheep.’ Orson, arbit, sleep.

It was hopeless. At this rate she’d never get to sleep.

Better count sheep. She pictured them, popping one by one over a low wooden fence, beautiful sheep, each with a black face and a thick, white fleece shining in the sun – ‘fleece’?

All at once Daisy was wide awake.

‘Fleece’? Was that what Belinda had heard to remind her of sheep? Daisy looked longingly over at the other bed, but the little girl was sleeping peacefully. It would have to wait for morning.

All right, suppose it was ‘fleece.’ Suppose Albert McGowan had accused someone of fleecing or trying to fleece him. What could the other words be? Miss Anne Probation was obvious: ‘misappropriation’ – of funds. ‘Puzzlement’ must be ‘embezzlement,’ of course. ‘Orbit?’ ‘Orbit, orbit, orbit,’ Daisy muttered to herself. An ‘orbit,’ or a ‘norbit.’ No, when she suggested ‘orbit’ Belinda had agreed, had thought she recognized the word. Try substituting consonants. Orbit, orcit, ordit, orfit, orgit . . . Ordit! Or rather, ‘audit.’

Which left ‘arson.’ Had someone burned something down and cheated the insurance company? It sounded like the sort of thing Peter Gillespie might try, given his previous record. Yet if Albert McGowan knew about it, surely Harold Bretton must, too, and he’d never have kept his mouth shut.

Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps Alec knew all about it and had only pretended to be stumped. He had told her about the scratches, though.

Well, she wasn’t going back to his bedroom to have it out with him!

Apart from ‘arson,’ the rest applied to Peter Gillespie’s boot factory misdeeds, more or less. He had fleeced the public, but that was no secret to be covered up, no new cause for murder. In fact, there was no proof the row Belinda overheard had any direct bearing on the murder.

So why was Daisy racking her brains about it in the wee small hours of the morning? Anyway, she might have been misled by the coincidence of sheep and the apparently meaningful fleece. Try counting sheep again.

Sheep, lamb, ram, ewe, wool, mutton, lamb, spring; Spring, the sweet Spring is the year’s pleasant king; Sweet lovers love the spring . . . Daisy slept.