Hasty Death

∨ Hasty Death ∧

Twelve

Really, if the lower orders don’t set us a good example, what on earth is the use of them?

Oscar Wilde

Rose felt sick. Angela’s eyes were glittering with a mad light, but the hand holding the gun never wavered. Rose tried to think coolly and calmly but jumbled thoughts raced through her brain. That famous line from adventure stories she had read – ‘With one bound he was free’ – tumbled into her brain. Would Daisy bring the photograph or would she find Captain Cathcart and get help? Her mother had insisted she go back to wearing ‘proper stays’ and a steel had edged itself loose and was cutting into her. The whalebone stiffening in the high collar of her gown was digging into her neck. If she had accepted Tristram’s proposal and settled for an uneventful married life, she would never have landed in this mess. “If you shoot me,” said Rose, finding her voice, “how do you expect to get away with it?”

“I will leave the country and hide abroad. They will never find me.”

“If you have to leave the country, Mrs Stockton, what is the point of wanting the photograph? Your reputation will be ruined by this mad action of yours.”

“I am not mad!”

Rose was aware of the bell-rope next to her chair. If only she could tug it, a servant would appear, and surely this whole household of servants wasn’t party to the murders.

“What happened to Murphy? What happened to Mr Pomfret’s manservant? Did you kill him, too?”

“I paid him to leave for Ireland. He was glad to accept. He didn’t know I’d killed Pomfret but I didn’t want him in that flat in case he found that photograph. I said I was looking after him out of kindness and to honour Pomfret’s memory.”

Rose put her hand to her forehead and swayed in her chair. “I feel faint,” she said.

“Then faint,” snapped Angela.

Rose swayed in her chair nearer the bell-rope. Then, as if about to lose her balance, she seized the bell-rope.

The double doors of the drawing-room opened and a footman stared at the tableau and then retreated. Rose could hear him running down the stairs.

To her amazement, Angela, in her fixed concentration, had not even noticed.

But suddenly a voice shouted from downstairs, “We’ve got to get the police!”

Angela’s eyes widened and her finger tightened on the trigger.

Rose threw herself to one side, tipping her chair over onto the floor, just as the gun went off with a deafening report. The recoil jerked Angela backwards and she gave a howl of pain and dropped the gun.

Rose sprang up from the floor. She fell on Angela, screaming and clawing and biting, dragging her out of her chair while Angela fought to get the gun. Angela was wiry and strong. She rolled Rose under her and her bony hands encrusted with rings fastened around Rose’s throat.

And then Harry erupted into the room, followed by Becket and Daisy. They had met Daisy in the street as she was running to get help.

Harry seized Angela by her thin shoulders and jerked her off Rose. He turned and addressed the gawping servants clustered in the doorway. “Fetch something to tie her up!”

“No,” gasped Angela. “I am calm now. I will go quietly.”

Two policemen came into the room. “Arrest this woman for murder and phone Detective Superintendent Kerridge. We will follow you to the police station and make statements,” ordered Harry.

Angela stood up and with a quaint dignity said, “I must take my medicine with me. I have a bad heart.”

“Send a servant.”

“No, I have it here, over in that desk.”

She went to the desk and took out a small bottle. She squared her shoulders. “Now, I am ready.”

Rose looked wildly at Harry but he stared back at her, his face a mask. The two policemen moved forward. “If you will come with us…” one started to say. Angela twisted the cork off the bottle and tipped the contents down her throat.

“In a moment,” she gasped. Her face contorted and she clutched her neck. Then she held her stomach and moaned as she sank to the floor.

“She’s taken poison,” said Harry. He turned to the servants. “Send for a doctor. Miss Levine, take Lady Rose into another room, for God’s sake. Lady Rose, there is blood on your dress. Are you wounded?”

“One of the steels in my stays came loose,” said Rose with a hysterical laugh. “You knew she was going to poison herself, didn’t you?”

“You are upset and don’t know what you are saying. We will talk later.”

By the time Kerridge lumbered up the stairs, Angela Stockton was dead. He had taken half an hour to arrive, and in that half-hour Harry, Becket, Rose and Daisy had a hurried consultation to get their stories right.

“I want to know what you have all been up to,” said Kerridge. The four had retreated to a morning-room on the same floor.

“Lady Rose is still shocked,” began Harry. “Mrs Stockton held a gun on her and was going to shoot her. Miss Levine managed to escape and came to look for me. Fortunately we saw her on the street and came here immediately.”

Kerridge turned his grey gaze on Rose. “Why was Mrs Stockton trying to kill you?”

“I had been thinking and thinking about the murders,” said Rose in a low voice. “I thought she might have committed them. I always thought she was mad. I came with Miss Levine and challenged her. She pulled out a gun and said she was going to shoot me. She confessed to both murders. She said she shot Mr Pomfret because he was blackmailing her. He had a photograph of her eating roast beef.”

Kerridge’s bushy eyebrows nearly vanished into his hairline. “Do you mean she killed twice over a plate of roast beef?”

“She said she had built up a world-wide reputation as a vegetarian. She said Mrs Jerry was going to the police. She said Mr Pomfret had a picture of her in a compromising position with a young footman. Although she did not have the evidence, Mrs Jerry thought she had.”

“And what was Lord Alfred being blackmailed about?”

“I believe it was because he had got a servant girl pregnant and she died in childbirth,” said Harry smoothly. “We only have what Mrs Stockton told Lady Rose. There is no proof of that.”

“The press are going to have a field day with this,” said Kerridge.

“I think it would be better,” said Harry, “if we stick to the roast beef blackmail. We cannot mention the other two because there is no evidence.”

“At least Mrs Stockton saved us a court case. Did you not guess she was going to poison herself?”

“How could I?” said Harry. “She said it was heart medicine.”

“I don’t believe you. There’s a lot in your statements I don’t believe. But I’m very glad to have two murders solved.”

“May we please leave further questioning until tomorrow?” asked Harry. “Lady Rose has been through the most terrible ordeal.”

“Very well. But Lady Rose, you did a mad and foolish thing. If you had any suspicions that the killer was Mrs Stockton, then you should have come to me. Never do anything like that again. Go back to your society life. Get married. Have children. That’s what a woman is supposed to do.”

“You are just an old-fashioned fuddy-duddy, Mr Kerridge,” said Rose. “Women should be independent and have the vote.”

“Those trouble-making suffragettes should all be locked up. I want you all at Scotland Yard first thing in the morning.”

♦

Rose, Harry, Becket and Daisy emerged from Angela’s house. The day had turned dark and they were nearly blinded by the magnesium flashes of the press on the doorstep going off in their faces.

“This is bad,” said Rose as they drove off. “My parents are never going to forgive me. Why did you not tell Kerridge the truth about why Lord Alfred was being blackmailed?”

Harry shrugged. “He did not murder anyone. It would extend the inquiry and I am heartily tired of the whole thing.”

♦

The Roast Beef Murders hit the papers the following morning. Photographs of Rose, looking beautiful, stared out wide-eyed from every newspaper. She was hailed as a heroine, as the New Woman of this new century.

Rose’s parents recovered from their initial fury to bask in the reflected glory of their daughter’s bravery. Invitations poured into the earl’s town house, every society hostess wanting to brag that she had managed to get the latest celebrity to attend her ball or dinner.

Rose became tired of relating the edited version she had told Kerridge over and over again.

Tristram seemed to be always at her side, saying loudly that he should have been there to protect her.

Rose came to the conclusion that nothing could make her want to marry such a boring man as Tristram. She decided she had better get rid of him. Everyone seemed to assume that an engagement was in the offing.

He was driving her in the park one day a few weeks later. Rose was in low spirits. Harry had not called or sent any message.

“I am thinking of joining the suffragette movement,” she said, unfurling her lace parasol to shield her face from the rays of the sun.

“Eh, what? You’re joking, of course.”

“Not in the slightest. If I marry, I would expect my husband to attend rallies with me.”

Tristram was so shocked and alarmed that he blurted out, “Any husband worth his salt would give you a good beating first.”

“Take me home now,” ordered Rose.

♦

The former Miss Jubbles, now the new Mrs Jones, left church that day on the arm of the baker. She had experienced savage pangs of jealousy when she read about the exploits of what she considered her ‘old rival’ in the newspapers. But now she felt simply proud to be a married lady.

She had inherited a comfortable sum of money on her mother’s death, and as Mr Jones drove her off in their new motor car under the admiring gaze of the neighbours, she felt she would burst with pride.

Her replacement, Ailsa Bridge, filed Harry’s cases, typed his letters and occasionally fortified herself with gin. She no longer kept a bottle in her desk drawer but had a flask of gin firmly anchored by one garter under her skirts.

♦

Harry was plucking up courage to try to call on Rose. It was only his duty, he told himself. He at last presented himself at the earl’s mansion to be told that Lady Rose was not at home. This he translated that she was not being allowed to see him.

♦

Rose was, in fact, upstairs in the drawing-room being confronted by her parents. “It’s no use your protesting, my girl,” the earl was saying. “It’s India for you. And don’t threaten me with that business of me stopping the king visiting. It would harm you as much as me, and that precious Captain Cathcart would go to prison. The season’s nearly at an end. You’ve led us all to think that you might accept Baker-Willis after all and then you tell us some story that he had threatened to beat you, which I don’t believe. Should have beaten you myself.

“I will arrange for you to sail at the end of the summer. You may take Levine with you, but you’ll be staying with the Hulberts, remember them?”

“I do. Mrs Hulbert is a cross, overbearing woman.”

“Enough of that. Need someone to keep an eye on you. Get yourself a nice officer. No adventurers, mind.”

♦

Inspector Judd said to his superior, “You never quite believed Lady Rose’s story, did you, sir?”

“No, I did not. Oh, yes, the Stockton woman did commit the murders, but I think either Lady Rose or Cathcart found the blackmailing stuff. I think they’re protecting Lord Alfred.”

“Why?”

“Because that young man had an affair with another man, I’m sure of that. I just sense it.”

“But that should have been reported!”

“I let it go because we got our murderer and we’ve enough on our plate without hounding Lord Alfred. But I do think that somehow Lady Rose or Captain Cathcart decided to take the law into their own hands. I don’t like it. Let’s just hope Lady Rose settles down and gets married. I’m sure she’s the one who causes all the trouble. Women always do.”

The superintendent did not see the paradox in that in his dreams of the revolution, there were always beautiful women on the barricades beside him, armed to the teeth and waving the red flag.

♦

“What am I to do?” wailed Rose later that day. “I don’t want to go to India and sit in the heat while the memsahibs gossip about me.”

Daisy bit her thumb and looked at her sideways. “If I were you, I’d go to the captain for help.”

“What can he do?”

“I don’t know,” fretted Daisy. “But it’s his job to fix things for people.”

“How are we to get there? You know I am guarded.”

“Same as last time,” said Daisy cheerfully. “You’re in such disgrace that another disgrace won’t matter. Your parents are very wealthy. And yet they go on the whole time about the money they’ve wasted on you.”

“That is their way. They all go on like that. It’s a way of blackmailing their daughters into getting married during their first season. Most of the poor girls take anyone who offers.”

“Let’s just go,” said Daisy eagerly.

“I would rather slip out of the house when they do not know I have gone. Have we any engagement for this evening?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then after dinner, I will say they have upset me and I wish to go to my room and read. Then we will go out and get a hansom to take us to Water Street. What would I do without you, Daisy?”

♦

“I did call, you know,” said Harry when they were all settled in his front parlour. “I was told you were not at home. Are you feeling better, Lady Rose? Got over the shock?”

“I get a few nightmares,” said Rose.

Harry had the unkind thought that Lady Rose seemed to be quite up to saving herself. He felt he should have been the one to get the gun away from Angela Stockton.

“Miss Levine suggested I should come to you for advice, that being your job,” said Rose.

“Have you lost something? Servants been stealing from you?”

Daisy bristled. “Not with me around.”

“It’s just that my parents are now determined to ship me off to India. They have suggested that before and I always threatened to tell people about Father hiring you to deter the king from visiting.

“Well, that won’t work any more because they point out that if I did, you would be arrested. So I have come to ask you to think of something else.”

Harry sat silently for a long moment. Then he said, “The trouble is that I do not think they will ever give up until you are married.”

“I’ve got it!” Daisy clapped her hands, her eyes shining. “Why don’t you marry my lady, Captain Cathcart?”

“Don’t be cheeky, Daisy,” admonished Rose.

“Perhaps there is a way out,” said Harry slowly. “If I proposed marriage to you and suggested a long engagement, that would give you time. Then, after a year, you can break off the engagement, but during that year, as I shall be busy with my work, you will find time to find someone suitable.”

“My parents would never let me accept,” said Rose, a high colour on her cheeks. Did the captain need to look at her in that measuring way, as if she were nothing more than a business proposition?

“I think they would. I am of good family. I can afford to pay the no doubt horrendous marriage settlements that their lawyers will insist upon. I can be very persuasive. They will be anxious to see you settled.”

“You would need to look…affectionate,” said Rose.

“Oh, I can manage that.”

“Go on, Rose,” urged Daisy. “It’s him or India. Think of the heat, the flies, the boozy officers, the bitchy memsahibs, and what about the Hulberts?”

“Who are the Hulberts?” asked Harry.

“Some terrible dragon of a woman who is an old friend of Mama’s,” said Rose. “What if I take a fancy to some gentleman shortly after this supposed engagement?”

“Then you terminate the engagement early,” said Harry cheerfully. “Your parents won’t mind so long as you have someone, anyone, to marry.”

Rose was beginning to find all this humiliating. Harry could at least have shown a little warmth instead of looking at her as if she were nothing more than another case.

“I’m sure I can think of something else,” she said stiffly. “Goodbye, Captain Cathcart.”

“No, stay,” he said quickly. “I have hurt your feelings by being so detached about it all.” He suddenly smiled at her, that smile of his which softened the harsh lines of his handsome face. “And it would serve your purpose, would it not?”

“May I say something, sir?” interposed Becket, who was standing behind Harry’s chair.

“By all means, Becket. Pray be seated.”

Becket sat down next to Daisy. “Lady Rose,” he said, “I gather you have led a particularly restricted life of late. Were you engaged to my master, you would have more freedom. Captain Cathcart works hard, but I am sure he would be prepared to attend social events with you. You would not be the target any more of men you did not like, nor would you be so closely guarded by your parents. I think it is a very good idea.”

“Oh, very well,” said Rose ungraciously. “When do you plan to approach my parents?”

“Late tomorrow morning.”

“I do not think for a moment you will have any success,” said Rose, “but thank you for trying. Daisy, are you ready?”

♦

“Well, I think it downright noble of him,” said Daisy on the road back. “You would be able to help him with his detecting like you once wanted to.”

“I have had enough of horrors and frights to last me a lifetime,” snapped Rose, huffily thinking that Captain Cathcart might have said something like how honoured he was, or that he would do anything in the world to help her.

To Rose’s relief, after stopping the hansom on the far corner of the square and walking the rest of the way on foot, they were able to slip in unnoticed.

She finally fell asleep that night torn between worrying thoughts that her parents might not accept the captain’s proposal and being uneasily afraid that they might.

♦

The following morning, the earl looked up from his newspaper as Brum, the butler, entered the morning-room and said Captain Cathcart had called.

“What does that man want now?” demanded the countess. “You didn’t send for him, did you?”

“No, but I’d better see him. Useful chap. Put him in the study, Brum.”

“Very good, my lord.”

The earl entered his study and blinked at the vision that was Captain Harry Cathcart. The captain was wearing an impeccably tailored morning suit. His thick black hair with only a trace of grey at the temples was brushed and pomaded until it shone.

“Ah, Cathcart,” said the earl. “What’s amiss?”

“I am glad to say that nothing is amiss,” said Harry pleasantly. “I have come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The earl sank down into a battered leather armchair. “This is a shock. I must say I admire your cheek. Won’t do, you know. You’re a tradesman.”

“I am of good family, as you know,” said Harry, “and I can now afford to keep your daughter in style.”

“But you are one of society’s misfits!”

“As is your daughter. My lord, think calmly about my proposal. Can you envisage your daughter married to a conventional man? Lady Rose would quickly become bored and go looking for trouble.”

The earl took out a large handkerchief and mopped his brow. “This is so sudden,” he said like the heroine of a romance. “I don’t know what my wife’s going to say to all this.”

“Why don’t we ask her?”

“Follow me. But she’ll say the same thing.”

Harry followed the earl to the morning-room. Lady Polly was sitting reading her husband’s newspaper at a table strewn with the remains of a hearty breakfast.

“That’s mine!” said the earl, snatching the paper from her. “You know I don’t like anyone reading it until I’ve finished with it. You’ve crumpled it.” He turned to an attendant footman. “Take this away and iron it again.” Newspapers were always ironed so that nasty black ink should not sully aristocratic fingers.

“Captain Cathcart,” said Lady Polly. “Have you breakfasted?”

“Thank you, yes.”

“Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee, if you please.”

Another liveried footman went to the sideboard to get Harry’s coffee. When it was placed in front of him, the earl said to the footman, “Take yourself off and stand outside the door and make sure no one comes in. Got private business.”

Lady Polly looked at her husband in amazement. When the servant had left, she asked, “What is going on? Not more skulduggery, I hope.”

“Worse than that,” said her husband. “Cathcart here wants to marry Rose.”

“Well, the simple answer is no,” said Lady Polly placidly. “You should have known better, Captain. A man in your position can hardly hope to be allowed to marry an heiress.”

“Then what will happen to Lady Rose?” asked Harry.

“We are sending her to India.”

“Is that such a good idea? What if there is another mutiny? What if she meets some adventurer who is only after her money?”

“Rose will be staying with a very good friend of mine who will look out for her,” said Lady Polly.

“A Mrs Hulbert, I believe?”

“Yes, how did you know that?” Lady Polly’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been seeing my daughter behind my back? Oh, dear God, do you have to marry her?”

“Nothing like that. Servants will gossip, you know.”

“No, I wouldn’t know that, young man. Only very low people listen to servants’ gossip.”

“This Mrs Hulbert has daughters of her own, has she not?”

“Yes, two. Bertha and Caroline.”

“I assume they didn’t take at the season?”

“No, that’s why they’re going.”

“My lady, as I have heard,” said Harry, who had done his homework, “the Hulbert daughters are singularly plain and of a somewhat sharp-natured temperament. You are foisting onto Mrs Hulbert a beautiful girl. Lady Rose will have a horrible time. Mrs Hulbert will make no push to have Lady Rose settled until she has seen her own daughters safely engaged. She may even keep Lady Rose in the background. Do you dislike your own daughter so much that you must needs guard her night and day and possibly try to force her into an unsuitable marriage? Remember that she is now capable of working for a living, and as soon as she reaches her majority, she may simply leave home to get away from the pressure.

“I doubt if she will ever forgive you for putting her in asylum.”

“We didn’t know it was an asylum. She just thought it was a nerve place where she could be talked out of her odd ideas,” said the earl.

“You are in danger of forfeiting the love of your daughter,” pursued Harry.

“Don’t be vulgar,” said Lady Polly. Really, what was this odd man talking about? Daughters simply did as they were told. Everyone knew that. Did he expect her to behave like some common character in a cheap play?

“We’ll be here all day,” grumbled the earl. “Where’s that newspaper?”

“You told the servants not to interrupt us,” his wife reminded him.

A look of cunning came into the earl’s usually guileless eyes. “Wait in the drawing-room, Cathcart.”

When the door closed behind Harry, the earl said, “We needn’t bother. Let the man make his proposal. Rose isn’t going to accept him.”

The worry cleared from Lady Polly’s face.

“Of course. I’ll go and get Rose.”

♦

Rose was waiting in her sitting-room. She was dressed in a blue organdie gown with a little white spot. Blue kid shoes were on her feet and blue ribbons were threaded in her thick hair.

“You look very fine!” exclaimed her mother. “Were we due to go out anywhere?”

“No, Mama.”

“You’re to go down to the drawing-room. Captain Cathcart wishes to propose marriage to you.” She gave a chuckle. “Hurry along then. You’ve got ten minutes to deal with him.”

Rose entered the drawing-room and a footman closed the double doors behind her.

The couple studied each other for a moment, each reflecting how fine the other one looked.

Harry walked forward and took Rose by the hand. Then he sank down on one knee. “Lady Rose,” he said huskily, “would you do me the very great honour of giving me your hand in marriage?”

“There’s no need to play-act,” said Rose.

“Who knows when they’ll walk in on us?”

“All right. Yes, I do.”

Harry stood up and fished in his pocket and drew out a little box. He opened it to reveal a sapphire-and-diamond ring.

“Oh, how beautiful,” said Rose, as he slid it on her finger. “You should not have gone to so much trouble.”

♦

“He gone yet?” asked the earl.

Lady Polly looked down from the window. “His motor car is still there with his manservant at the wheel.”

“I think we’d better see what’s going on.” The earl sighed and put down his freshly ironed paper with reluctance.

“They’re coming,” said Harry, cocking his head to one side. He drew Rose into his arms.

“You’re not going to kiss me, are you?” demanded Rose, blushing.

“No, just lean your head on my manly chest.”

The doors opened and the earl and countess stood stricken at the tableau in front of them.

“Congratulate me,” said Harry. “I am the happiest of men.”

There was nothing that Rose’s parents could do now but give their blessing.

When Harry had gone, the countess rounded on her daughter. “Not a word out of you. You have thrown yourself away. Come, dear, I need a cup of tea.”

The earl went back to the morning-room and picked up his precious newspaper only to find it had fallen in the marmalade dish. “You,” he said to a footman, “take this away and clean it and iron it again!”

♦

Dr McWhirter’s corpse – or what was left of it – was eventually discovered by a gamekeeper. Foxes and other predators had done their busy work and left the rest to the maggots. The bullet had dropped down through the exposed skeleton and fallen to the ground. When two policemen came to remove the remains, one large regulation boot ground the bullet down into the forest floor. From the rags still clinging to the skeleton, they assumed it to be the remains of some tramp.

The remains were buried in a pauper’s grave. Foul play was not suspected.

♦

Superintendent Kerridge read of Harry’s engagement in the Times. He was happy for both of them and assumed they would settle down to a conventional married life. He doubted if he would ever see them again and felt a tinge of sadness. He had felt comfortable in their company because he sensed the three of them in their way did not really fit in anywhere and that had forged a bond between them. He had received news that Peregrine Stockton was back in the country. It crossed his mind that he ought to warn Lady Rose and then decided against it. After all, the man had had an unfortunate mother and there were no charges against him.

♦

Miss Ailsa Bridge ferreted through her belongings, some of which were still in boxes, and found a crystal butter dish which she considered would do very well for an engagement present. Then she took another sip of gin.

♦

Lady Polly had thawed somewhat towards the engagement. Harry had helped so many people in society that she found her daughter was regarded as fortunate. So it was with a lighter heart that she set out one sunny day to attend at garden party at Mrs Barrington-Bruce’s home in Kensington accompanied by Rose and Daisy. Harry had promised to be there.

Luncheon was served at tables in the garden. Rose was not seated next to Harry, a good hostess having assumed that engaged couples saw enough of each other.

She had a guards’ officer on one side and an elderly gentleman on the other, neither of whom seemed to wish to make conversation.

Harry was in conversation with a very pretty lady of mature years. The tops of her swelling white bosoms rose above a gown of midnight-blue moire. She was wearing a dashing little hat tipped over her glossy blonde curls. Harry was laughing at something she was saying. Rose reflected sourly that she had never seen Harry look so relaxed or happy before.

The guardsman next to her – what was his name again? She peered at the place card in front of him. Ah, Major Devery, that was it.

The major was crunching an ortolan, bones and all. She waited impatiently until he had finished and said, “Who is that lady next to Captain Cathcart?”

“Eh, beg your pardon?”

One monocled eye swivelled in Rose’s direction.

She repeated the question. The major stared down the table and then let out a guffaw. “That’s Mrs Winston. We call her the Merry Widow. Great flirt.”

A little black knot of jealousy tightened in Rose’s stomach. Harry was her fiancé. He had no right to be so flagrantly enjoying the attentions of that blowsy creature whose hair was probably dyed.

The bit of the table she was seated at was in full sunlight. Her hat of fine straw did little to protect her head from the heat of the sun’s rays. She suffered until the end of the luncheon and then with a muttered excuse got to her feet. Rose escaped to a shady part of the garden and sat down in an arbour. There was a slight breeze and the arbour was cool. She decided to sit for a few more minutes before rejoining the party.

Then she became aware of someone standing in front of her. She looked up.

Peregrine Stockton stood glaring down at her.

“Why, Mr Stockton,” said Rose. “I was just about to go back to the party. It was so very hot at luncheon.”

“It was all your fault,” said Peregrine passionately. “My poor mother would never have killed anyone had she not been blackmailed, and no one would have found out except for you and your nasty prying ways. You’re like all these cold little virgins. A good roll in the hay is what you need.”

He smelt strongly of drink.

Rose got up and tried to go round him but he seized her and began to drag her towards some thick shrubbery. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand was clamped over her mouth.

♦

“Such a drama about Mrs Stockton,” Mrs Winston was saying as she walked with Harry from the lunch table.

“I’m only glad it’s over,” said Harry, looking around for Rose. “I believe her son left the country.”

“Oh, he’s back, and I think he is as odd as his mother. I saw him peering out of the bushes while we were eating.” She had both hands clasped round Harry’s arm.

He broke free and demanded harshly, “Where? Where did you see him?”

Mrs Winston pointed. “Over there.”

Harry strode off and left her standing looking after him.

♦

Rose was lying in the bushes under Peregrine’s weight and fighting like a tigress. One of his hands was fumbling under her dress as he was cursing about the amount of underclothes while the other hand was still clamped over her mouth. In frantic despair, she bit savagely down on the hand covering her mouth and Peregrine snatched it away with a howl of pain.

Rose screamed, “Help!” at the top of her voice.

The next thing she knew was that Peregrine was jerked off her. Harry stood there, his eyes blazing. “Get along,” he said to Rose, “and don’t say a word to anyone.”

“But he should be charged. He tried to rape me!”

“Don’t say one damn word…please.”

He helped Rose to her feet. She smoothed down her dress and picked up her hat, which had fallen off.

Peregrine stood swaying, a leer on his face. “She was begging for it.”

Harry drew back his fist and struck Peregrine full on the mouth.

As Peregrine fell, he turned and saw Rose still standing there. “Go away!” he roared.

Rose emerged from the shrubbery and made her way back to the party. Daisy came up to her. “You’re as white as sheet, and your gown is torn at the hem.”

“Get me into the house, Daisy,” urged Rose, “and then fetch some sewing materials and get me some brandy. I’ll tell you about it later.”

♦

Harry rejoined the party half an hour later and sought out his hostess. “Have you seen my fiancée?” he asked.

“Yes, poor Lady Rose is in the library with her companion. She had a fainting fit in the gardens and tore her gown.”

“Where is the library?”

“Second door on the right off the hall.”

Harry walked into the library and jerked his head at Daisy. “Leave us alone for a bit. Where’s Lady Polly?”

“Gone for a nap. Her ladyship always likes to lie down after luncheon and so she asked Mrs Barrington-Bruce for the use of one of the bedrooms.”

“Good. We’ll be out shortly.”

Rose had regained some colour. Daisy had mended the tear in her gown, bathed her temples with eau de cologne and poured her a stiff measure of brandy.

Rose was sitting bolt upright in a chair by the open window. Through the window came strains of music from the band of the Life Guards playing selections from The Pirates of Penzance.

“Why did you not call the police?” asked Rose.

He pulled up a chair and sat opposite her and took her hand in his. “Because it’s a wicked world. Do you know what they say about women who have been raped, and I mean the police as well?”

Rose shook her head.

“They say, she was asking for it. The story would go round the clubs and your virginity would be in question. I have thrashed him soundly and I have told him I will kill him if he approaches you again.”

“I think men are animals,” said Rose, her voice breaking on a sob.

“Not all of us,” said Harry.

She snatched her hand away.

“You were flirting with that common widow.”

“Mrs Winston was flirting with me.”

“From where I was sitting, I could see you were definitely flirting.”

“I am engaged to you, not Mrs Winston.”

“Then kindly remember it.”

Harry was suddenly very angry.

“Is this all the thanks I get for having saved you? I am glad, repeat glad, that this is an engagement in name only because I would hate to be shackled to an ungrateful little shrew like you.”

He stalked out of the room.

Rose sat there for a long time. She finally decided that the least she could do was go to Harry and thank him. He should have realized she had only said these things because she was overset.

As she left the library, she was joined by her mother in the hall. “I had such a good nap, dear,” said Lady Polly.

They walked outside together. A marquee had been erected for dancing. They entered the marquee. It was a splendid affair, having been laid with a French chalked floor and decorated with banks of flowers.

Harry Cathcart was dancing a lively polka with Mrs Winston. She was laughing up at him. Harry’s bad leg did not seem to be troubling him at all.

Lady Polly looked from Harry to her daughter’s set face. Really, she thought, we might be rid of him after all. Not that he isn’t a good man. But trade! Our name should not be allied with trade.

♦

Kerridge mopped his brow and made a mental note to tell his wife not to put too much starch in his collars. The window of his office was wide open but seemed to let nothing else in but brassy heat and the smell of drains and horse manure.

Inspector Judd came in and put a cup of tea on his boss’s desk. “Thought you could do with that, sir.”

“Ta. Sit down. I was really thinking of nipping round to the pub for a tankard of beer.”

“Quiet day. You should be able to manage it, sir. You remember that thieving pair of servants at Lady Glensheil’s?”

“Yes. Any word of them?”

“No, disappeared into thin air. I was thinking of them only today, wondering how they’d managed to escape with all the police looking for them. Maybe we should have checked the ports.”

“Waste of manpower. That sort never leave the country. They just sink down into some thieves’ kitchen. They’ll be caught sooner or later, mark my words,” said Kerridge. “That sort always get found out.”

♦

Alice Turvey and the pot-boy, Bert Harvey, had bought a little shop in Brooklyn. The chef at Lady Glensheil’s had taught Alice one day how to make meat pies with a light golden crust. They called their pie shop A Bit of England and built up a steady trade. They soon had enough money to buy false papers. They took the names of Mr and Mrs Kerridge.

Bert was already thinking of training up a cook and opening another shop.

They were regular attenders at St Anne’s Episcopal church in Montagu Street and were regarded as pillars of the community by the other tradesmen.

♦

Lady Rose went to Deauville with her parents and then on to Biarritz. Harry stayed in London. She did not write to him or answer any of his letters.

On their return, Daisy surprised Rose by asking for an evening off.

“You’re not going to get into any more trouble, are you?” asked Rose anxiously.

“No, I just want to be by myself for a bit.”

Becket surprised Harry by asking for an evening off. He readily granted it but could not remember Becket ever before asking for any time off.

Becket and Daisy met in Hyde Park. It was quiet in the evening, with only a few couples strolling about.

“They’re not going to get married, you know,” said Daisy gloomily. She and Becket had never spoken of marrying each other, and yet between them there was an understanding that they would be free to do so only if Rose married Harry.

“Perhaps there might be another murder to bring them together,” said Becket. “Let’s forget them and let me take you out for a nice supper. What would you like? I’ve been saving up. Champagne? Oysters?”

“Jellied eels,” said Daisy dreamily. “I would love some jellied eels.”

“Then jellied eels it is!”