further.”
Daisy found the family branch in her notebook. “Samuel’s father, James, he was the one lost at sea?”
“That’s right. His ship was sunk by a U-boat. Samuel’s ship was torpedoed, too, but he survived. He even turns out to have been something of a hero; he saved the lives of several of the crew. In fact, he was decorated after the war, when they got round to the Merchant Navy.”
“Tommy, you can’t just ignore them and hope they’ll go away!”
“I’ve no intention of doing so,” he retorted looking, harassed, “but what am I supposed to do when the man seems to have vanished? He sailed from Kingston weeks ago.”
Sakari appeared in the doorway, winked at Daisy, and advanced into the room in her stately way. “Have you decided, Mr. Pearson, whether I am to be trusted to see the letter?”
Tommy stood up, slightly flustered, turning towards her. “Of course I don’t distrust you, Mrs. Prasad. However, I have a duty to my client, who, in this case, is Lord Dalrymple—or the estate, rather—not Daisy.”
“As if Cousin Edgar would care!”
Sakari sank majestically into her chair. “Daisy, will you be so kind as to cut me another slice of this delicious-looking cake? I adore strawberries and cream.”
“Of course. Will you have some, Tommy?”
“I beg your pardon?” Apparently lost in thought, the lawyer had absentmindedly demolished the rest of the sandwiches.
“Cake?”
“Oh, yes, please. Our present cook isn’t much of a baker. Thank you.”
Daisy gave him a big piece, and cut a smaller one for herself. For a few minutes the only sounds were contented murmurs and the song of a blackbird in the garden.
Mellowed by the cake, Tommy showed Sakari a couple of lines of the letter, comprising Dear Sir, A friend has shown me your…, the rest carefully covered with a sheet of paper.
She took one glance and said, “Young, unsophisticated, lacking self-confidence.”
“Exactly what I said.”
Tommy snorted—luckily not with a mouthful of tea. Daisy thought she heard a mutter of “Piffle!”
“She is a simple person.”
“Simple-minded?” Tommy exclaimed, aghast.
“No, no, that is not what I said, Mr. Pearson. Uncomplicated. Without guile. And this is cheap paper—She is not well off.”
“That much I had worked out for myself.”
“Well taught, but not well educated.” Sakari handed the letter back to him.
“What do you mean?”
“I am sure you understand me. Her writing is clear and her English is good—as far as I, a mere foreigner, am able to judge. Nonetheless, she has no notion of the formal language a lawyer surely expects.”
“Believe me, we get letters in all sorts of language.”
“But you judge the writer thereby.”
“Touché. You are a shrewd woman, Mrs. Prasad. I grant you all you have said of her education and her means, if not necessarily of her character. Have you thought that perhaps she might be illiterate and have had someone else write it for her?”
“It is, of course, possible. However, is not the usual practice to mark an X for the signature in such cases? Is the letter signed with an X?”
“No, with her name in full. Possibly her signature is the only thing she’s able to write.”
“Is it in the same handwriting as the rest of the letter?”
“Yes,” Daisy intervened. Listening to Tommy and Sakari matching wits was entertaining, but enough was enough. “Tommy, argument may be your métier but you’re not going to best Sakari, not in a million years.”
Sakari laughed.
Tommy protested, “I’m a solicitor, not an advocate. I deal in facts, not in arguments.”
“There you go again, darling. We’re agreed—aren’t we?—that Martha is not strikingly knowledgeable or accomplished, and that she’s short of money. And we know her husband, who may be the missing heir, is away from home and apparently out of touch for the foreseeable future.”
“Mrs. Prasad didn’t know that until you just told
Daisy found the family branch in her notebook. “Samuel’s father, James, he was the one lost at sea?”
“That’s right. His ship was sunk by a U-boat. Samuel’s ship was torpedoed, too, but he survived. He even turns out to have been something of a hero; he saved the lives of several of the crew. In fact, he was decorated after the war, when they got round to the Merchant Navy.”
“Tommy, you can’t just ignore them and hope they’ll go away!”
“I’ve no intention of doing so,” he retorted looking, harassed, “but what am I supposed to do when the man seems to have vanished? He sailed from Kingston weeks ago.”
Sakari appeared in the doorway, winked at Daisy, and advanced into the room in her stately way. “Have you decided, Mr. Pearson, whether I am to be trusted to see the letter?”
Tommy stood up, slightly flustered, turning towards her. “Of course I don’t distrust you, Mrs. Prasad. However, I have a duty to my client, who, in this case, is Lord Dalrymple—or the estate, rather—not Daisy.”
“As if Cousin Edgar would care!”
Sakari sank majestically into her chair. “Daisy, will you be so kind as to cut me another slice of this delicious-looking cake? I adore strawberries and cream.”
“Of course. Will you have some, Tommy?”
“I beg your pardon?” Apparently lost in thought, the lawyer had absentmindedly demolished the rest of the sandwiches.
“Cake?”
“Oh, yes, please. Our present cook isn’t much of a baker. Thank you.”
Daisy gave him a big piece, and cut a smaller one for herself. For a few minutes the only sounds were contented murmurs and the song of a blackbird in the garden.
Mellowed by the cake, Tommy showed Sakari a couple of lines of the letter, comprising Dear Sir, A friend has shown me your…, the rest carefully covered with a sheet of paper.
She took one glance and said, “Young, unsophisticated, lacking self-confidence.”
“Exactly what I said.”
Tommy snorted—luckily not with a mouthful of tea. Daisy thought she heard a mutter of “Piffle!”
“She is a simple person.”
“Simple-minded?” Tommy exclaimed, aghast.
“No, no, that is not what I said, Mr. Pearson. Uncomplicated. Without guile. And this is cheap paper—She is not well off.”
“That much I had worked out for myself.”
“Well taught, but not well educated.” Sakari handed the letter back to him.
“What do you mean?”
“I am sure you understand me. Her writing is clear and her English is good—as far as I, a mere foreigner, am able to judge. Nonetheless, she has no notion of the formal language a lawyer surely expects.”
“Believe me, we get letters in all sorts of language.”
“But you judge the writer thereby.”
“Touché. You are a shrewd woman, Mrs. Prasad. I grant you all you have said of her education and her means, if not necessarily of her character. Have you thought that perhaps she might be illiterate and have had someone else write it for her?”
“It is, of course, possible. However, is not the usual practice to mark an X for the signature in such cases? Is the letter signed with an X?”
“No, with her name in full. Possibly her signature is the only thing she’s able to write.”
“Is it in the same handwriting as the rest of the letter?”
“Yes,” Daisy intervened. Listening to Tommy and Sakari matching wits was entertaining, but enough was enough. “Tommy, argument may be your métier but you’re not going to best Sakari, not in a million years.”
Sakari laughed.
Tommy protested, “I’m a solicitor, not an advocate. I deal in facts, not in arguments.”
“There you go again, darling. We’re agreed—aren’t we?—that Martha is not strikingly knowledgeable or accomplished, and that she’s short of money. And we know her husband, who may be the missing heir, is away from home and apparently out of touch for the foreseeable future.”
“Mrs. Prasad didn’t know that until you just told
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