She loved Alec dearly, but her sight was misty as she glanced back at the following motor-cars. The second, Alec's cherished Austin "Chummy," was driven by his sergeant, Tom Tring, who had stood as his best man. In the back seat, Mrs. Fletcher sat poker-stiff with Alec's ten-year-old daughter, Belinda, bouncing slightly at her side. It was a small wedding party, just what Daisy had wanted but not at all what her mother considered proper.
George's, Hanover Square. Darling, I'm frightfully glad Superintendent Crane gave you so little notice of your fortnight's leave. The Channel Islands have their own legal system, which is none of our business. And I haven't mentioned to anyone at the Yard that we'll spend the second week at home. No, I suspect the Super has something special in store for when I go back to work. Oh, here we are. You squashed my flowers. Is my hat straight? In spite of the short notice, few of those invited failed to attend. The Dorchester's ballroom was crammed with Daisy's aristocratic family connections, Alec's Metropolitan Police colleagues, and an eclectic collection of friends.
Daisy made friends easily and, according to her mother, without discrimination.
Standing in the receiving line, the Dowager Lady Dalrymple was forced to shake hands with, among others, an Indian doctor, an American industrialist, and a Russian Jewish violinist. I wrote an article about Wentwater Court, remember? For the moment at least, Daisy was spared further reproaches. Another "suitable" guest was the Honourable Phillip Petrie, who had grown up on the estate next to Fairacres.
Lady Dalrymple's only objection to him was that he had not married Daisy. It was not for want of trying. As Gervaise's closest chum, he had long felt honour-bound to take care of Gervaise's little sister, which led him to propose to her at regular intervals. Daisy having refused him with equal regularity, he had recently married an American girl.
Arbuckle, approached. Curiously, he was accompanied by Detective Superintendent Crane, with whom he appeared to be on unnaturally friendly terms. They were an oddly assorted pair, and the uniform of formal morning cutaways and striped trousers only served to accentuate the contrast.
The American millionaire was short and spare, his long face lengthened by a receding hair-line. The English policeman stood well above the regulation height, his bulk still muscular thrice weekly games of fives, according to Alec , his sandy hair fading but still thick. Arbuckle looked smug, Superintendent Crane bland in a way Daisy had long since concluded all detectives must practise in front of their looking-glasses. She regarded him with suspicion. Catching her words, Gloria glanced back. I've seen them with their heads together, haven't you, honey?
In anyone she knew less well, Daisy might have supposed he was aware of whatever plot was hatching and was attempting to conceal his knowledge.
The interpretation of various characters voices and personalities kept grating on my nerves, making me wish I had bought or borrowed the actual book to read so I didn't have to listen to what the narrator thought the voices and personalities should be. If the trip were really as idyllic as the set-up promised, of course, Daisy would spend it between books. There are a dozen interesting characters and the mystery is well developed. Lose yourself in the gripping first novel in a new series of Golden Age murder mysteries set amid the lives of the glamorous Mitford sisters. Francis Duncan.
In Phillip, however, blankness of face denoted blankness of mind. Put him down in front of a motor-car engine and his capabilities amounted to near genius, according to his poppa-in-law.
Little else, always excepting his young bride, was able to stir his brain cells into action. Arbuckle and Crane were upon them. The usual congratulations for the groom and wishes for the bride's happiness were repeated.
He turned his head towards his fellow conspirator. See, our noo President, Mr. Orgian stables isn't in it, trust me. After a momentary vision of mounted police indulging in orgies, Daisy translated it as Augean stables. Her school had not considered Greek and Latin suitable for feeble female minds, but tales from the myths, properly bowdlerized, were staples.
Burns, the Director, has been using federal employees to run his own 'tec agency.
Waal, to cut a long story short, I got put onto this smart young guy who'll likely end up as the boss man. I talked to him on the transatlantic telephone and convinced him he needed to consult with Scotland Yard. Anyways, as I was about to say, there's no police department back in the States that's worth a dime, not when it comes to big ideas for organizing things on a sound, honest basis. Change Language.
Editorial Reviews. From Publishers Weekly. In the eighth in a charming series of mysteries set Book 9 of 23 in Daisy Dalrymple Mysteries. To Davy Jones Below: A Daisy Dalrymple Mystery (Daisy Dalrymple Mysteries, Book 9) [Carola Dunn] on cydyqywyty.cf *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers.
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