Our Lady of Pain

∨ Our Lady of Pain ∧

Twelve

Let us have a quiet hour,

Let us hob-and-nob with Death.

– Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Roger had found out from Lady Polly that Rose planned to go to the ball as a Roman lady and delighted her when he arrived to escort her attired as a Roman soldier.

She could not help noticing that he had very fine legs.

Rose knew she would be the envy of every debutante there and was human enough to look forward to it after having been regarded as one of society’s failures.

She decided to forget all about Harry and enjoy the evening. Rose called on Aunt Elizabeth before she left, as that lady was leaving for Scotland on the following day.

“You look much happier than I have ever seen you,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “Go off with your young man and have a splendid time.”

♦

Harry was furious. Always anxious to help those in need, he had employed a retired detective, Tom Barnard, as his gentleman’s gentleman. In pressing his evening coat, Tom had left a glazed iron mark on the back.

“What am I to do now?” raged Harry.

Tom was fat and round and his face never betrayed any emotion. His wife, Martha, who now worked as Harry’s housekeeper, was built along the same lines and she had the same sort of impassive face.

“Why did you not leave the job to your wife?” he raged.

“I thought valeting was to be my duty, sir,” said Tom.

The door opened and Martha came in carrying a black velvet evening cloak. She curtsied and said, “I found this in your wardrobe, sir. If you put it about your shoulders and wear your black mask, it will look very dashing and I will have your evening jacket restored tomorrow.”

“Oh, very well,” snapped Harry. Then he relented. “I know you are new to all this. I will get Becket to spend a day with you, Tom, and he will instruct you as to what to do. Now, help me on with my clothes!”

♦

Roger swung Rose round in the steps of a waltz. He was feeling elated. He had received permission from Rose’s parents to pay his addresses to her. Nestling in a little pouch attached to his belt was an engagement ring.

After the waltz had finished and the guests were beginning to move towards the supper room, he whispered, “Come out onto the terrace with me. I have a present for you.”

Rose hesitated. But he had said nothing about a proposal. “Very well,” she said, “but just for a few moments. I am quite hungry. An unfashionable thing to say.”

They walked to the long French windows at the end of the ballroom and he ushered her out onto the terrace.

To Rose’s alarm, Roger got down on one knee and took her hand. “Rose,” he said earnestly, gazing up into her eyes. “I –”

The terrace windows opened and a masked devil stepped out. Roger looked round in irritation. To Roger’s horror, a gun appeared in the devil’s hand and a female voice said. “Get up, you, and the pair of you walk down into the garden.”

Roger got to his feet and stared in terror at the masked woman. “Is this a joke?”

“No joke. Move.”

For a moment Roger stood paralysed with fear and then his bladder gave.

“Move,” ordered the woman.

They walked down the steps into the darkness of the garden.

When they were deep in the darkness, the woman removed her mask. In the dim moonlight filtering through the trees, Rose recognized the maid who had been dragged out of the tea party.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” jeered Thomson. “Well, I’ll tell you. You and that captain of yours have ruined all my plans. I kill you, he suffers. You flounce around London society without a care in the world. Now you know what it is like to be frightened.”

“I’ve got nothing to do with this,” gasped Roger. “This is between you and Rose.”

“What a coward you are! What do you think of your precious beau now, Lady Rose? Cringing and pissing himself. Well, he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Thomson,” said Rose. “You were Dolores Duval’s lady’s maid. You murdered her.”

“Why not? The trollop would have come to a bad end anyway.”

♦

Harry had been scouring the supper room for Rose. At last, a debutante said with a giggle, “If you are looking for Lady Rose, she went out on the terrace with Mr Sinclair.”

Harry ran to the French windows and let himself out. He stared around.

Then, from down in the garden, he heard a man’s voice pleading, “Please let me go.”

Harry seized his stick and moved silently and quickly down into the garden.

“It’s no use begging,” he heard a cold female voice say. “You’re first.”

Roger fell to his knees and burst into tears.

Rose gazed coldly at Thomson. If she had to die, then she would do so with dignity.

Thomson raised the gun. Then an arm brandishing a stick with a gold knob came out of the darkness and struck her a vicious blow on the head. Thomson collapsed on the ground.

Harry gathered Rose in his arms. “There now, my sweet,” he said. “It’s all over now.”

“She confessed to the murder,” said Rose. “I heard her. Roger heard her.”

“You!” Harry barked at Roger. “Get up off the ground and go into the house and telephone the police.”

“I can’t,” wailed Roger. “I… I’ve wet myself.”

Harry looked at him in disgust. “Come, Rose. You will need to do it while I guard this creature. You, Mr Sinclair, will need to wait for questioning. Here, take my cloak.”

Rose hurried off into the house. She drew aside her hostess and told her the police were to be called immediately. There was a murderer in the garden. The alarmed hostess ordered footmen to go into the garden and then called the police.

“There is no need to alarm your guests,” said Rose. “If you could find us a quiet room.”

She was led to a study to await Harry.

Rose sank down into a chair and began to cry. She was crying not only over the fear of having nearly been killed but also because the dream of Roger had been exploded.

When she heard footsteps approaching the study, she hurriedly dried her eyes. Roger came in wearing Harry’s cloak. He slumped down in another chair and buried his head in his hands. Then Harry came in followed by footmen carrying the unconscious Thomson. Harry ordered them to lay her on the floor and then knelt down beside her.

He raised her head and looked at Rose. “She’s still alive. I would not have liked the complications if I had killed her.” He turned to one of the footmen. “Fetch brandy.”

He pulled a chair up next to Rose and held her hand. “Why did you go out on the terrace?”

“Roger said he had a present for me. He said it would only take a few minutes.”

“And what was the present?”

“I don’t know. That awful Thomson creature appeared with a gun and ordered us down into the garden.”

Harry surveyed Roger with contempt. “You may as well give it to her now.”

“I must have lost it,” mumbled Roger, wondering whether it might be possible to die of shame. During his many travel adventures, he had always been surrounded by a protective retinue of servants and had never before been in any danger at all. All he wanted to do now was to get as far away from Rose as possible.

“Here’s the brandy. Pour Lady Rose a stiff measure,” Harry ordered.

The door opened and Kerridge walked in with Inspector Judd and six policemen.

“That’s her,” said Harry. “Get her off to the prison hospital. I want her well enough to stand trial.” Rose let out a little sigh of relief as the lady’s maid was carried out.

“Now Lady Rose,” said Kerridge, “we’ll need to take a statement from you.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” asked Harry.

“It’s all right,” said Rose. “I’ll do it now.”

Roger trembled. She would tell them how he had pleaded for his own life. But Rose, in a flat little voice, merely described how they had both been forced to walk down into the garden and how Thomson had confessed to the murder.

Roger corroborated her statement and then pleaded to be allowed to go home. He left the room without saying goodnight to Rose or offering to return Harry’s cloak.

♦

Lady Polly was standing by the drawing room window. Her husband was sleeping in an armchair behind her. “What can be keeping her?” fretted Lady Polly. “It’s nearly dawn.”

A gentle snore was the only reply she got.

And then a car stopped outside. To her alarm, Lady Polly saw Harry helping Rose out.

“Wake up!” she screeched at her husband. “She’s arrived! She’s with that terrible Cathcart. Oh, what went wrong? Roger was supposed to propose to her.”

Rose had not taken a house key with her. Lady Polly ran down the stairs as she heard the loud sound of the door knocker. She flung open the door and howled, “What is the meaning of this?”

“We will tell you all,” said Rose. “Something terrible happened.”

In the drawing room, where her father was now awake, Rose told them about the happenings of the evening.

“This is all your fault,” said the earl, glaring at Harry.

“How can it be?” asked Rose. “He saved my life. Roger was no help. He would have run away if she had let him. All he did was wet himself.”

“You must not say such things,” exclaimed Lady Polly. “Captain Cathcart has led you into danger.”

“It all started when I went to see Dolores and found her dead,” said Rose. “If I had not been so stupid as to go and see her, then I would never have been involved or in danger. You must thank Captain Cathcart for saving my life and then let me go to bed. I am weary.”

“I suppose thanks are in order,” said the earl. “Go off with you, Rose. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

“I must go to Scotland Yard tomorrow,” said Rose, “and I would like Captain Cathcart to escort me.”

“Oh, very well,” said Lady Polly.

Rose left the room and Harry watched her go with sad eyes. Bernie had given him a very detailed report of that outing to Richmond. Harry guessed that Rose had enjoyed such easy company, such fashionable company, and thought she could please her parents by marrying such an unexceptional young man.

“I had better leave as well. I will call for your daughter just before noon. She is very tired.”

When he had left, the earl grumbled, “I’m afraid we’re stuck with him. But did you see his evening coat? Great shiny mark of the iron on the back of it. No gentleman should go out of the house like that.”

Lady Polly said in a weary voice, “If he had been a gentleman like Roger, then our daughter might be dead. We’ll need to let him marry her.”

♦

Harry appeared early in the office the next morning. After telling Bernie the events of the previous night, he said, “I’ve got a couple of small cases for you, but before that, I would like you to go to the hospital and make sure Mrs Becket is all right. I have asked Mr Becket to spend the day with my new servants and instruct them in their duties.”

Bernie brightened. He seized his coat. “Mrs Becket wanted some romances. I’ll buy some from a bookshop on the way there.”

Daisy smiled when Bernie entered her hospital room.

“I’ve got you the books you wanted,” said Bernie. He read off the titles. “The Duke’s Passion, Lady Jane’s Dilemma, and Shop Girl to Countess.”

“Sounds just the thing. I should be out of here by tomorrow.” Daisy’s bandages had been removed. She put a hand up to the shaved part of her head and said, “I must look a fright.”

“No, you look fine.”

“Sit down, Mr King.”

“Bernie, please.”

“Then sit down, Bernie. Has anything else happened?”

Bernie told her all about the drama in the garden and the arrest of Thomson. “Oh, that is wonderful,” said Daisy when he had finished. “Rose will have nothing to worry about now. I do miss her. I liked being companion to Rose. We were like sisters.”

“But you’re married now and have a new home to go to.”

A shadow crossed Daisy’s expressive little face and she plucked nervously at the blankets.

“You must be mourning for your baby,” said Bernie sympathetically.

“I feel unnatural because I’m not. You know how the upper classes say the lower classes don’t have the same fine sensitive feelings as they have. Maybe it’s true.”

“Rubbish.”

“I feel a failure as a wife, that’s all. Now I’m to be a lady of leisure. What am I going to do with myself all day? I wish I could go back to being a companion to Rose. I wish…”

Daisy bit her lip in consternation. She had been on the point of saying she wished she had never got married. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Here, now,” said Bernie. “What can I do to cheer you up? I know, I’ll start to read one of those books to you. You just lie back and listen.”

He started to read, using different voices for the characters, until Daisy began to laugh. Then she said contritely, “I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“Course you should. Best medicine there is.”

The door opened and Lady Polly came in, followed by a footman carrying a large basket of fruit.

She eyed Bernie. “Who is this person?”

“Not a person, my lady. Mr King works for Captain Cathcart and he has brought me some books.”

“I’ll be off,” said Bernie hurriedly. Daisy sadly watched him go.

“Now,” said Lady Polly, “I have had my servants move all your belongings from Chelsea to your new home. My maids have cleaned your flat and everything is ready for you.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“What is this trash you are reading?” asked Lady Polly, picking up Lady Jane’s Dilemma.

“Just some romances. I didn’t feel like reading anything heavy.”

Lady Polly flicked the book open to the first page. “How is Lady Rose?” asked Daisy, but Lady Polly had become absorbed in the romance and did not hear her.

♦

Rose sat silently beside Harry as he drove her to Scotland Yard. It was raining so she was wearing an oilskin coat, hat and goggles and shielding her head with a large umbrella. There was no danger of the umbrella being whipped away because the traffic was so bad; the motor seemed only able to inch along.

She remembered the sunny day with Roger at Richmond. It seemed very far away now.

At Scotland Yard, Rose took off her wet outer clothes with relief and followed Harry to Kerridge’s office.

“Come in, Lady Rose,” said Kerridge. “Are you recovered from your ordeal?”

“I hope so,” said Rose. “I gather you want a detailed statement.”

“My officer there will take it down. Just begin at the beginning.”

Harry watched Rose anxiously as she began to speak. She described the events of the evening but without describing Roger’s cowardice.

When she had finished, Kerridge said in a fatherly voice, “Thank you. I’ll let the captain take you home now. You will need more rest.”

“Actually, I think I will go and see Daisy.”

“I’ll take you there,” said Harry quickly.

Rose gave him a small bleak smile. “I would rather see Daisy alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Then I shall drive you to the hospital. I suggest when you are ready to leave that you telephone Matthew Jarvis and get him to send a carriage for you.”

♦

Another silent journey while Harry tried to think of things to say while Rose sat beside him, her back ramrod-straight and her face shielded by the large umbrella.

At the hospital, Harry made to accompany her into the building, but Rose said, as if speaking to a stranger, “No, leave me. I shall do very well.”

And Harry sadly watched her go.

♦

Daisy smiled as Rose walked in. “Your mother has just left. Lady Polly has been so kind.”

Rose divested herself of her rain clothes and sat down wearily. “Tell me all about it,” said Daisy.

“I am tired of talking about it,” said Rose, but once more she described what had happened.

When she had finished, Daisy asked, “But did Roger, Mr Sinclair, not try to rescue you?”

“It was awful, Daisy. When we first went out on the terrace and he got down on one knee, I knew he was going to propose. And I would have accepted! But then he became so frightened he begged Thomson to let him go. He was prepared to run away and leave me to my fate. I thought he was so strong and adventurous and yet he just crumbled.”

“Not like the captain?”

“No, not like him.”

“Your parents must be very grateful to the captain. Before she left, Lady Polly said, ‘I’ll need to let them marry now’.”

“I don’t think I want to marry Harry.”

“Go on!”

“You know, Daisy, I am tired of being society’s rebel. When I was with Roger, things seemed so gay and easy. I began to see how happy I would be with someone cheery and undemanding. I do not want any more adventures. But don’t look at me like that. You have your Becket, and all’s well that ends well.”

“I don’t want to be married,” said Daisy in a small voice. “I want to go back to the way things were.”

“You are depressed because of the loss of your baby.”

“I’m not. Not now. I feel unnatural. I feel the whole pregnancy was a dream and my marriage as well. I sometimes wake up and think I’m back in Belgrave Square with you. Then I realize I’m not and I cry.”

“I’m sure we are both suffering from shock.”

“Maybe. I had another visitor this morning. Bernie King. He works for the captain. He brought me some nice trashy books to read.” Daisy giggled. “Lady Polly took one away with her.”

“And what is this Bernie King like?”

“Ever so amusing. He comes from Whitechapel, same as me. Oh, Rose, what am I to do? I want a divorce.”

Rose looked alarmed. “Daisy, once you are out of here and established, you will feel better. Besides, we are moving to the country soon and Mama has already said that you and Becket can come with us so that you may have some fresh air. So we will be together like the old times.”

“Well, that’s at least something,” sighed Daisy. “But the old times will never come back now.”

♦

Harry and Kerridge had been told that Thomson was now conscious and they went to the prison hospital, where she was chained to the bed.

Her eyes glittered with fury as she looked at them. “How could you behave so wickedly?” asked Kerridge.

“What would you know about it?” she spat out. “You, the bourgeois and you, the slumming aristocrat, playing at being a detective. Do you know what it’s like to be brought up in poverty? Then have to work one’s way up through the ranks of servants to become a lady’s maid? Always having to smile and crawl and watch people stuffing themselves with mountains of food while there are people starving in this country? Pah. Jeffrey was an easy tool. He kept calling for money and she would only give him a little at a time. He grew discontented. Then this Dolores said she did not want him coming around any more. She was getting threatening letters and she did not want anyone to know of her previous existence down the East End.

“Then Jeffrey told me that she had left a will leaving everything to him. I worked on him. I persuaded him that if I could get his sister out of the way, then he would inherit everything and he could pay me half for my trouble.

“He hummed and hawed until the last day, when he tried to talk to her and she screamed she never wanted to see him again. I gave him some of her jewels and told him to leave it to me.

“I thought Lady Rose would be accused and we would be free from suspicion, but of course I should have known an aristocrat is never under suspicion. It’s one law for the rich and one for the poor.”

“It’s the same law for all,” said Kerridge. “You will be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and good riddance.”

♦

When they left the hospital, Harry asked Kerridge, “Did Jones write those letters?”

“Yes, he’s admitted to it.”

“I haven’t been pestered by the press,” said Harry.

“We’re keeping it quiet until the trial. Amazingly, none of the guests at the ball seems to have known what really went on. So what are your plans now?”

“More detective work,” said Harry. “Lost dogs, scandals to be covered up, that sort of thing.”

“What about Lady Rose?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Are you getting married?”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

But Harry could not bear the idea of a rejection. He had a feeling that if Rose refused him, it would be final.

♦

Rose longed for the departure for the country. Her brief popularity had gone. It was put about that she had turned the catch of the season down. The Duchess of Warnford told everybody who would listen that she had discovered in Paris that Rose was seriously unconventional and would probably remain a spinster until the end of her days.

Daisy, too, longed for the day of departure. She was borne to her new home in Bloomsbury. Becket then had to go off immediately to chauffeur Harry.

The flat faced north. It was furnished in the heavy, oppressive furniture of the last century. The windows were shrouded in blinds, net curtains and heavy damask curtains and the rooms were dark.

The flat consisted of a long corridor with the rooms leading off it. Daisy removed her hat and sat down in the parlour and stared bleakly around. She remembered how she had longed for a home of her own and wondered what had happened to her.

Harry had installed a telephone. Daisy eyed it. Then she picked up the receiver and asked to be connected to Harry’s office number. The secretary answered and Daisy, trying to disguise her voice, asked for Mr Bernie King. “Who is calling, please?”

“His sister,” said Daisy, hoping Bernie had one.

His cheery voice came on the phone. “Bernie, it’s me, Daisy,” she said. “I’m going mad with boredom. Is there any chance you could meet me for a cup of tea?”

She waited anxiously. “There’s a Lyon’s tea shop at Victoria, near the station. Know it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Who was that?” asked Becket, who was sitting in a chair in the outer office.

“Just my sister,” said Bernie.

♦

“I wonder what your husband would make of this,” said Bernie, as he and Daisy sat over muffins and tea in Lyon’s tea shop.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” said Daisy. She wondered if Bernie had noticed her hat, a straw cartwheel embellished with fat pink and yellow pansies. “My husband is working all day and I felt I had to get out.”

“When do you leave for the country?”

“Next week.”

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“I’m a city girl. Stacey Court is very quiet.”

“How long will you be away?”

“Just a couple of weeks. It was Lady Polly’s idea. She thinks fresh air would be good for me.”

“Two weeks isn’t a long time. It’ll go quickly.”

“May I see you from time to time when I get back?”

“I don’t know, Daisy. I like you lots, but it doesn’t seem right.”

“I’m allowed friends,” exclaimed Daisy.

“Of course, friends.” Bernie gave Daisy’s hand a little squeeze. “What else?”

♦

Daisy prepared lamb chops for Becket’s supper. She looked around the large high-ceilinged kitchen and reflected that soon she would at least be occupied in cleaning the flat. Her husband had said nothing about hiring help, and anyway, Daisy was sure they could not afford it.

When Becket came home, she served supper in their dining room. Becket looked about him with pride. “I say, Daisy, isn’t this marvellous? Our new home at last.”

“You know,” said Daisy cautiously, “I am trained to type and take shorthand. It will be very dull for me, being here on my own all day. I could find a job and hire someone to clean.”

“Nonsense. You’re my wife and a lady, and ladies don’t work.”

“I ain’t no lady.”

Becket gave an indulgent laugh. “If Lady Rose could hear you now! You’re slipping back into your old speech.”

“I mean it. Why can’t I work?”

“Because,” said Becket severely, “you’ll be too busy being a wife and mother.”

“Mother,” echoed Daisy faintly.

“As soon as I get round to it, I’m going to fix up one of the spare bedrooms as a nursery.”

A scream rose up inside Daisy, but she fought it down and said, “I’ll need to go to bed. I’m still not feeling well.”

“You go ahead. I’ll clean up here.”

I’m trapped, thought Daisy miserably as she crawled into bed, and I don’t know what to do about it.

♦

The exodus to Stacey Court took place the following week. Masters and servants and mountains of luggage made their stately procession out of London. It was one of those grey weeping British days with a fine drizzle falling from the sky.

Daisy would have liked to travel with Rose, but in her new diminished status, she and Becket had to travel with the upper servants.

Stacey Court was a Tudor building, its rose-red walls covered in creepers and with many mullioned windows. In Tudor times, the more windows, the higher the status of the owner.

It was dark and damp inside. The earl ordered fires to be lit in all the rooms although it was warm outside. He had a fear of rheumatism and blamed his secretary for not having had the foresight to air and warm the place before they arrived, unaware that Matthew had suggested it to Lady Polly and had been told that as it was summer, such preparations were not necessary.

Daisy and Becket were given a room on a half landing below the servants’ quarters in the attics.

Another dark place, thought Daisy miserably as she unpacked. In the servants’ hall that evening, she and Becket received a warm welcome from the other servants. Brum smiled and suggested that after dinner, perhaps Mr and Mrs Becket could entertain them as they had done before, Becket playing his concertina and Daisy singing music-hall songs.

Daisy was about to agree but Becket said severely, “I do not like my wife performing in public.”

“It’s not public,” protested Daisy. “We’re with friends.”

Becket shook his head and said firmly, “I’m sorry. It would not be suitable.”

A vision of the chirpy, cheery Bernie rose in Daisy’s mind and again she felt that suffocating feeling of being trapped.

♦

Upstairs, at the dinner table, the earl said to his daughter, “Captain Cathcart will be arriving tomorrow. He wanted to come and I could hardly refuse.”

Rose felt a jolt of fear. She knew Harry was probably going to propose marriage. This is what she had wanted. Why did she not want it now?

After dinner, she sent a footman with a note asking Daisy to join her.

When Daisy entered, Rose hugged her. “I miss you.”

“Me, too.”

“Captain Cathcart is calling tomorrow. I think he means to ask for my hand in marriage.”

“There you are,” said Daisy bracingly. “We’ll both be married ladies.”

“I don’t think I want to get married,” said Rose.

“Go on with you! The pair of you are so well suited.”

“I’m sick of danger, Daisy. I’m sick of being frightened. If I marry Harry, I will be drawn into his life.”

“You don’t need to be,” said Daisy.

“Then what if, after we get married, another Dolores comes along?”

“Or another Roger,” Daisy pointed out.

“Oh, that was such a mistake. But I would never have known how weak he was if that terrible woman hadn’t threatened to kill us.”

“How do you mean, ‘weak’?”

“He wanted to leave me with her to get shot as long as he could escape.”

“Well, they’re not all like the captain.”

“True. Or your Becket.”

Daisy leaned forward and poked the fire. A wind had risen and was howling in the chimney. “I’m in trouble, Rose, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why? What is the matter?”

“I don’t love him any more. I’ll have to spend the rest of my days in the gloomy flat in Bloomsbury, having one baby after another, and that’s if I can have babies. Who knows? It might be one miscarriage after another. I’ll be an old woman before my time.”

“Daisy, dear Daisy. You’ve had a very bad shock. After a bit of rest and quiet, you’ll feel differently.”

“No, I won’t. I know I won’t. I’m frightened of beginning to hate him. Divorce isn’t for the likes of us. Unless he dies, I’m stuck with him.”

“You can hardly kill him,” said Rose.

“Can’t I?” howled Daisy. “Just you wait and see. And there’s worse.”

“Than wanting to kill your husband?”

“I’ve met someone else. It’s Bernie King who works for the captain.”

“His new servant?”

“No, his new detective. Oh, Rose, he’s light and easy and cockney like myself. He’s fun. He makes me laugh.”

“Daisy, listen to me. It is all a reaction to what you have gone through.”

“Do you think you could ask the captain to suggest to Becket that I go out to work? I’m sure that would make all the difference.”

“Yes, of course I shall. Now, your husband will be wondering where you are.”

♦

Rose waited anxiously the next day for Harry’s arrival. What should she say to him? If she refused his proposal now that he appeared to have her parents’ permission, he would never ask her again and she would probably never see him again.

The weather had cleared up and pale sunlight streamed in through all the windows.

She paced up and down the gardens, hoping to tire herself out so that she would feel calmer.

“Look at her!” said Lady Polly as she and her husband watched from the window as Rose paced up and down. “She’s got permission to marry the wretched man and she looks miserable. If we mention India to her again, she’ll accept him just to get out of it.”

“I’m weary of the whole business,” said the earl. “Rose has been such a disappointment. She’ll have her own money by the time she’s twenty-one. Perhaps we should accept the fact that she’s going to be an old maid.”

“But what a waste of all that beauty,” sighed Lady Polly.

“I hear that motor of his,” said the earl.

Rose had obviously heard the sound as well because she looked alarmed and then fled into the house.

“Better go and welcome him,” said the earl.

♦

Harry took tea with the earl and countess, wondering all the time where Rose had got to. The murders were not referred to. Now that the case was over, the earl and countess considered talk of murder in their drawing room very bad form.

Putting his teacup down in the saucer with an impatient little click and wondering if Lady Polly meant to talk all day about the weather, Harry said, “May I see Lady Rose? You know why I have come.”

They both rose to their feet. “We’ll send her to you,” said the earl.

Harry waited, pacing up and down much as Rose had done in the garden.

Rose came quietly into the room. She was wearing a white lace gown with a high, boned lace collar. Her brown hair was piled up on top of her head and her blue eyes looked larger than ever.

This is it, thought Rose. What am I to do? What am I to say?

Harry took one of her hands in his. “My darling Rose,” he said. “Would you –”

Brum gave a loud cough. “What is it?” demanded Harry.

“There is a police inspector has called and insists on seeing you urgently.”

“Tell him to wait.”

“I fear he has come to arrest you, sir.”

“What nonsense. Wait here, Rose. I won’t be long.”

Harry followed the butler down the stairs.

“I have put the person in the study,” said Brum in lugubrious tones.

Harry opened the study door and walked in. A police inspector rose to meet him, flanked by two police officers.

“Captain Cathcart,” he said, “we must ask you to accompany us to the police station for questioning.”

“What is this about?”

“At the police station, sir. Come along. We don’t want to put the cuffs on you.”

Harry was taken to the market town of Hidwell and ushered into an interview room.

♦

Daisy was sitting in the housekeeper, Mrs Henry’s, parlour, having a cup of tea. She was privately hoping Rose would be successful in persuading Harry to talk to Becket and get permission to work. The news of Harry’s departure had not yet filtered below stairs.

“Must have been awful losing your baby,” said Mrs Henry, a woman as fat and comfortable as a well-worn sofa.

“You know, I don’t want babies,” said Daisy. “Is that unnatural?”

“Not after all you’ve been through.”

“It’s all right for the men,” complained Daisy. “If they don’t want babies, they can wear a condom.”

The condom had been around since the time of the Egyptian pharaohs. Some say it was named after Dr Condom, who supplied Charles II with animal-tissue sheaths.

“There is a country way for women,” said Mrs Henry.

“What’s that?”

“You get a piece of green elm and stick it up your whatsit. The wood expands and blocks everything.”

“I wouldn’t know green elm. Can you get me some?”

“If you’re sure, m’dear. Seems bit hard on your man.”

“I would only use it for a little.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

♦

“I am Inspector Robinson,” said the inspector, facing Harry across a table scarred with cigarette burns and tea stains. “You visited Miss Thomson, the woman accused of the murders, last evening, did you not?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“I was curious about her state of mind. I had begun to consider writing a book on the criminal mind.”

“And she was well when you saw her?”

“Spitting venom, but otherwise fairly well. What is this about?”

“Half an hour after you left her bedside, she was found stabbed to death.”

“Good heavens, man, that had nothing to do with me!”

“We checked with the prison hospital and you, sir, were the last to see her.”

The questioning went on and on and then finally Harry was told they would be holding him overnight. He was formally charged with the murder of Thomson. Before he was led off to the cells he called his lawyer, who promised to be there first thing in the morning.

One of the policemen told his wife that evening of the arrest and the gossip swirled out of the town and reached Stacey Court.

The earl and countess were alarmed. Rose was strictly forbidden to visit Harry.

“We must get her away from here,” said the earl, “or Rose will decide to elope with a jailbird.”

“She can’t elope with him if he’s locked up.”

“Superintendent Kerridge is a friend of Cathcart’s and will probably get him released. We must get her away. Let’s take her up to Tarrach as fast as possible.” Tarrach was the earl’s hunting lodge in Perthshire. “I’ll get Matthew to make all the arrangements.”

♦

Daisy tried not to feel too selfishly upset when Rose told her that there had been no time to speak to Harry about Becket. “And you are going away tomorrow,” mourned Daisy.

She looked hopefully at Rose. “We could run away again.”

“I’m afraid I can’t face running away any more. The stay in Scotland will help me to make up my mind about Harry.”

♦

Becket called early in the morning at the police station with a change of clothes for Harry.

“This is ridiculous,” raged Harry. “I am being moved to London. My lawyer couldn’t get hold of Kerridge. I thought Lady Rose might have tried to see me.”

“Lady Rose was refused permission and the family are leaving for Scotland today.”

Harry fretted all the way to London and when he found himself locked up in a police cell in Pentonville Prison, he felt he was moving through a nightmare.

In the evening, a guard told him he was wanted in the governor’s office. Harry followed him along the bleak corridors and down the iron staircase to the governor’s office.

When he walked in, Kerridge was waiting. “My dear fellow,” said Kerridge, “this has all been a terrible mistake. We’ve caught the culprit, a hospital porter. It turns out he has a history of insanity. A nurse who was off duty when you were arrested saw him go into Thomson’s room. We found the knife that stabbed her on the floor and it had his fingerprints on it.”

“Wasn’t there a policeman on guard outside her door?” asked Harry.

“I’m afraid he had fallen asleep. We are so sorry.”

“You don’t begin to know what you have done,” said Harry. “Now get me out of here!”

Becket was waiting for him in the car outside. “Home, sir?”

“No, back to Stacey Court as soon as possible.”

“I am afraid it is too late. The family left for Scotland this morning.”

Harry felt bitter. He knew that Rose could be courageous and resourceful. She could have escaped from the house somehow and she could have come to see him.

It was finished. She did not care for him.

♦

It was a mellow summer in Perthshire. Rose went with her parents to various parties and exercised by walking on the moors. She knew she should feel relieved, and yet she felt dull and empty. She had read about the false arrest of Harry in the newspapers. She had also read about the successful opening of Miss Friendly’s salon, which had been delayed for a few weeks because a supply of brocade had not arrived in time, and experienced a pang of guilt that she had forgotten all about the opening.

She tried to tell herself that she was better off and safer without him, but she felt like a coward. She knew she should have escaped from Stacey Court and gone to see him.

One evening, she attended a grand ball given at the home of the Duke of Perthshire. As she whirled about the ballroom floor, Rose began to wish irrationally that Harry would walk in. She had wanted a peaceful social life and now she had it. Then she saw a man with his back to the ballroom standing at the entrance. He was tall and dark. Then he turned round and her heart sank. She had thought it was Harry.

Rose began to feel as if she had lost something very valuable.

♦

“This is a handsome sideboard, is it not?” demanded Becket.

“Yes,” said Daisy, looking up from the romance she was reading.

Becket ran a finger across the surface and held it up accusingly. “See? Dust! You’ve got nothing else to do all day. The least you could do is to keep the place clean.”

“Oh, clean it yourself. I’m bored being stuck here.”

Becket bent over her. “You are my wife and you will do what I say. When I return this evening, I want this place to be spotless. Do you hear me?”

“Stop shouting. They can probably hear you over at Tower Bridge.”

Becket crammed on his bowler hat and stormed out.

Daisy sighed. She looked thoughtfully at the phone.

On impulse, she picked it up and asked to be connected to Harry’s office. She asked the secretary if she could speak to Mr King.

“Who is calling?”

“Mrs Aymes.”

“One moment.”

Bernie’s voice came on the line. “It’s me, Daisy,” she whispered. “Care to meet me in Lyon’s for a cup of tea?”

“Hour’s time, Mrs Aymes,” said Bernie.

“Who was that?” asked Harry, who had just walked into the office.

“A Mrs Aymes,” said Bernie. “Friend of my mother’s. I’m taking her for a cup of tea at the Lyon’s in Victoria in an hour’s time, if that’s all right with you, sir.”

“Yes, I can’t see why not.”

♦

Daisy was just about to leave when there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, it was to find Becket there accompanied by a squat woman. Becket was carrying a large bunch of red roses.

“What’s this?” asked Daisy.

“This is Mrs Blodge, who will do the cleaning.”

“I’ll start in the kitchen,” said Mrs Blodge cheerfully. “I allus starts in the kitchen.”

Becket handed Daisy the bouquet. “I’ll show you the kitchen. Wait there, Daisy. I see you’re dressed to go out. But I need to talk to you.”

Daisy waited nervously. She put the roses down on a side table. Becket came back.

“I’ve given Mrs Blodge a spare set of keys,” he said. “She can let herself out.” He took Daisy’s hands in his. “When I was walking away from here, I heard my own voice and the things I said to you, and I was that ashamed of myself We used to have fun, Daisy, and it’s a long time since I’ve heard you laugh. I phoned the captain and I’ve got the day off. We’re going out for a slap-up lunch, champagne – the lot. Can you forgive me?”

He hung his head.

Daisy felt a great wave of relief sweeping through her. She leaned forward and kissed Becket on the cheek and said, “Come on, love. We’ll let bygones be bygones.”

♦

Harry was walking past the Lyon’s tea shop in Victoria an hour later and glanced in at the window. Bernie was sitting there alone, looking at his watch.

Harry walked into the tea shop. “She didn’t arrive?”

“No,” said Bernie gloomily. “I’d better get back to the office.”

Once back at his desk, Harry sat with his head in his hands. In that moment, he hated Rose for the way she kept haunting him, the way he could not get her out of his head.

Bernie knocked and came in. “There’s a lady to see you, captain.”

“I’m busy…” Harry was beginning to say when Bernie stood aside and Rose walked in.

“Why have you come?” demanded Harry harshly. “I thought you had run away to Scotland to avoid me.”

“I did,” said Rose quietly, “and now I have run back again. My parents will be furious. I must send them a telegram.”

“Why have you come?” demanded Harry again.

Rose was dressed in a tailored blue velvet walking dress and on her shiny brown curls was a jaunty little hat tilted to one side.

She regarded him steadily and then said in a voice that shook slightly, “I have come to ask you to marry me.”

He walked quickly round the desk and took her hands in his. “Do you know what you are saying? Why do you want to marry me? Are they threatening to send you to India again?”

“No,” said Rose. “I-Il-love you.”

He swept her into his arms and kissed her, and all the passion that he had suspected was in Rose surged up to meet his own.

♦

“Have another glass of champagne,” Becket was saying.

“I’m tiddly already,” said Daisy. “Oh, well. Why not?”

♦

“You know, Daisy. I’ve tried and tried. But I don’t think I’m ever going to be a gentleman.”

“Amen to that!” said Daisy. “Bottoms up!”