‘Well, it wouldn’t,’ I agreed. ‘I shall certainly speak to Daisy about all of this.’
‘And Silas too,’ she said. I was beginning to put her down as one of those ladies who, even when past the age to flirt, cannot rid themselves of the idea that the husband is the head of the household and the valve – do I mean valve? – through which all must flow. I am the other kind; I know very well that husbands have all the money and all the say, really, but somehow I never remember to behave as if it were so. (The very strange thing is that if one lives one’s life with this point of view, as though husbands barely exist, they do seem to fade.)
‘And Silas too,’ I assured her.
‘He needs to be brought to an understanding that although what is lost can never be got back again, and although it may have taken some time to come to light, life does go on and reparation must be made.’ She spoke in a noble tone as though delivering hot tips from an oracle, so I gave the kind of slow nod I thought oracles’ tips demanded.
There was no chance to talk to Daisy at luncheon (the usual half-hearted luncheon dished up to ladies when their husbands are enjoying lavish picnics somewhere else) but afterwards she and I loitered long enough to let the Duffys settle themselves in the hall again and the bankers’ wives begin an inept game of summer ice in the pavilion while they waited for the croquet lawn to be set, then we lit our cigarettes and strolled down the drive. McSween was up a ladder about a quarter of a mile away towards the gate, lopping industriously at the fresh growth in one of the trees in the avenue, a boy down below catching the clippings, and although they made a plausible object for our walk should anyone wonder why Daisy was neglecting her guests, I certainly wanted to have the conversation done with before we reached them, so in I plunged.
‘Silas must be brought to an understanding – this is a direct quote, darling – that although what is lost is gone for ever, life goes on and no matter how much water has passed under the bridge – how did it go? – no matter how many tides have ebbed and waned, he must still, um, cough up in the end.’
‘Hmm. Ebbing and waning are the same thing, aren’t they?’ Daisy said. ‘So does she have any proof?’ I drew a large happy sigh; I was looking forward to this bit.
‘She thinks she does, but you’ve never heard such a taradiddle in your life, Daisy, I can assure you. Ahem! She was proceeding to take her rest on the night in question,’ I spoke in my best PC Plod, ‘when she was awakened by the sound of an intruder,’ but at this I lost control of my cockney vowels and had to give up.
‘This is serious, Dan, please!’ said Daisy.
‘Yes, very well,’ I said. ‘Only wait until you hear it. It’s hard to remember it’s supposed to be serious. She heard an intruder, thought it was the maid, glanced at her watch and saw that it was five o’clock.’ I waited, but Daisy said nothing. ‘Glanced at her watch at five o’clock in the morning in November with no lights on, darling? I think not. Anyway she got up and put on the light. She heard a thief running along the corridor, saw that her jewel cases had been tampered with, didn’t tell anyone, didn’t raise the alarm, didn’t mention it to her husband and didn’t get the jewels looked at until months had passed. Twaddle!’
‘What did she mean, “tampered with”? Did she mean they were open?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Just scraped and bent out of shape. As though someone had been at them with a knife. It was this scraping that woke her up, she said. As to why the cases were in her room instead of back in the safe? Her maid was ill, if you please, and she didn’t trust anyone else. This must be some maid, if she’s so much more to be trusted than any number of burly footmen. How do you always manage to get such burly footmen, Daisy, anyway?’ Daisy did not answer and we walked on for a while, heads bent, until she stopped and ground the end of her cigarette under her heel.
‘That’s rather awkward,’ she said. ‘The bit about the knife, I mean. Silas and I have been over and over that night as you can imagine, trying to think of anything out of the ordinary, and there is the thing about the knife.’ She lit another cigarette and talked with her head down. ‘A day or so after the ball, one of the tweenies produced an oyster knife and tried to give it to a footman to give back to the butler. Of course, all of the upper servants immediately decided this poor thing had stolen it and then lost her nerve, but she maintained and continued to maintain under all the glowering of butler and cook combined – and they should have had us begging for mercy, Dan, I can tell you – she would not budge from the story that she found the knife down the back of the dressing table in a bedroom while she was dusting. Lena’s bedroom, before you ask.’
‘Oh Daisy, really!’ I said, almost cross. ‘What is wrong with everyone? We had oysters that night, didn’t we? Very delicious they were too, even though treacherous Hugh dared to blame them for the state of his head the next morning – such ingratitude – so Lena could easily have put one in her bag and dropped it herself. She probably did over her locks with it too. All to add a little verisimilitude to her story.’
‘Do you think?’
‘Of course! What do you think? A thief comes to steal jewels that no one has any reason to believe won’t be in the safe, comes without a knife, breaks into the butler’s pantry to get one, scrapes away at the locks right by the bed of the slumbering owner instead of just stealing the cases… I can hardly be bothered to finish it, it’s so feeble. I say, I don’t suppose anyone will remember whether she really did keep her jewels in her room that night? Or whether her maid really was ill?’
‘I can check,’ said Daisy, ‘but surely she wouldn’t just make all that up?’
‘That is just my point,’ I said. ‘The whole tale is so silly and so half-hearted one can scarcely believe she thinks it will work. And actually – Hah!’
‘What?’ said Daisy, stamping out another cigarette and looking at me excitedly.
‘Oh, the cheek of the woman. There’s something else. She as much as told me last night that, even if the proof of the so-called theft wasn’t all it should be, she knew something else that Silas would much rather she didn’t. So you see, it’s nothing to do with the silly jewels being stolen here, and she knows it and doesn’t care if we guess as much. It’s not reparation or compensation or anything decent at all. It’s blackmail, pure and simple.’
‘Well, how completely bloody horrid of her,’ said Daisy, comical in her indignation. ‘After all we’ve done for them!’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, all right, putting up with them mostly. But remember how we took Cara off their hands that winter to let Mrs and the Ice Princess go gallivanting? Wheeled her about for months.’ What I love about Daisy is her lack of guile.
‘As I remember it, darling, you spent most of that winter gallivanting yourself. Didn’t you swan off to New York for weeks on end and leave poor Cara here with Nanny?’
‘It was just after the war, Dan, and I hadn’t seen Mummy for five years – hardly gallivanting. And I brought you back some lovely things, didn’t I? Anyway, Silas was here. He taught Cara to shoot.’
‘And Mrs Duffy has never forgiven you for that,’ I reminded her. ‘She was still scowling when Cara took a gun last Boxing Day, do you remember?’
‘You don’t think…’ said Daisy. ‘That couldn’t be why she’s got a down on us, could it? Something as silly as that?’
‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘Even Lena wouldn’t threaten you with ruin because one of her daughters has learned an unladylike sport. She isn’t as mad as all that. Unless you get her on to the diamonds, that is – you want to hear her on them! Gives me the creeps. But otherwise, no. Leave the detecting to me.’
‘Darling Dan,’ said Daisy, giving me a squeeze. ‘I must go now and deliver croquet lessons for beginners until tea.’