Sick of Shadows

∨ Sick of Shadows ∧

Nine

Life is the art of drawing sufficient conclusions from insufficient premises.

– SAMUEL BUTLER

Berrow and Cyril fled as far as Glasgow. Scottish law was different from English law, so surely, they felt, they would feel safe for a while.

They booked into the Central Hotel beside the railway station, sharing a suite and calling themselves the brothers Richmond.

“I say,” said Cyril moodily, looking at their great pile of luggage, “we are drawing attention to ourselves with all this stuff. We had to employ a squad of porters to get the few yards round from the station. And I’m sick of this disguise. It’s hot.” Like Berrow, Cyril was sporting a false beard. They had managed to work their way north by means of several branch railway lines before they arrived tired and weary in Glasgow.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Berrow. “You know that big motor car Cathcart has?”

“What about it?”

“We could get something like that. It would take us and all the luggage. We could then make our way by country roads to Stranraer, get over to Ireland. Great place to hide out, Ireland.”

Both had taken with them a considerable amount of money and valuables. The timely warning call from the police had also enabled them to transfer their accounts to a Swiss bank.

“Good idea,” said Cyril.

That evening, they inquired at the reception desk for the whereabouts of a motor car salesroom and got directions to a large one in Giffnock.

The following morning, they set out. Pride of the salesroom display was a Rolls-Royce, and Berrow decided that it would be ideal. He paid cash, to the delight of the salesman, who then discovered that neither knew how to drive.

Cyril was taken out on the road for a lesson. After two hours, he decided he knew how to start up and go forward. So long as he was not expected to reverse, he felt he could manage pretty well. They returned to the centre of the city and bought leather motoring coats, leather hats and goggles, and Berrow embellished his ensemble with a long white silk scarf.

Not wanting to cope with the Glasgow traffic, they took a cab back to their hotel. They waited until the following morning and had to hire two of Glasgow’s new motorized taxi-cabs to take them and their luggage out to the salesroom.

With Cyril at the wheel, scowling in concentration, they set out on the road. Berrow studied ordnance survey maps. The idea was to go by country roads to Stranraer and take the ferry to Ireland. They planned to hide out in Ireland for a time and then sail to France and make their way to Switzerland.

The weather was fine, with feathery clouds decorating a pale blue sky. The fresh scents of the countryside blew into the open car. Cyril relaxed as he grew more confident.

The trouble began when they motored through a village and a pretty girl stared at the car in open-mouthed admiration.

When they were clear of the village and Berrow saw a long straight stretch of road ahead, he called, “Stop!” Berrow had become jealous of Cyril at the wheel.

Cyril pulled to a halt. “What’s up?”

“Let me take the wheel for a bit.”

“You can’t drive.”

“Show me. Just how to move it along.”

“Oh, all right.” Cyril got out and they changed places.

After several attempts and crashing gears, Berrow managed to get the car to move forward. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator. Although the speed limit was thirty miles an hour, the Rolls was capable of doing a hundred.

Hedges hurtled past in a blur as Cyril screamed, “Ease off the accelerator!”

“What?” shouted Berrow. “This is fun.”

As he hurtled down a bend in the road and straight at a hump-backed bridge, his scarf blew across his face. Panicking, Cyril grabbed the wheel. With a great crash, the car hit the parapet sideways on. The ancient stonework crumpled. Cyril was catapulted onto the river bank. He hit a stone with the full impact of his head and lay still.

Berrow stared down at him in horror. “Are you all right?” he called, but he was sure Cyril was dead.

He felt the car lurch. He got out carefully and went and looked at the damage. The wheels were hanging over the edge where the parapet had once been.

He struggled down the river bank to Cyril. He felt for a pulse but found none.

Berrow climbed back to the car. He would need to walk back to that village for help. His hands were shaking. He stood at the back of the car, lit a cigarette with a vesta and tossed the lighted match on the ground, unaware of the lake of petrol that had formed.

There was a terrific explosion as Berrow and the car went up in a fireball of flame.

Harry was to escort Rose to a luncheon party and she prayed he would not cancel.

They were accompanied by Daisy, Turner, the lady’s maid, and two footmen. Rose began to wonder if she would ever have a chance to speak to Harry in private.

She was not seated next to him at table and so talked a little to the gentleman on her right – the weather – and the gentleman on her left – the state of the nation – picked at her food and thought the wretched meal with its eight courses would never end. How wonderful it would be, she thought, if I were to pick up the table-cloth and bundle all this food and take it down to the East End.

At last the hostess signalled to the ladies to join her in the drawing-room and leave the gentlemen to their port.

“Why are you looking so nervous?” whispered Daisy.

“Nothing.” Rose wanted to tell Harry about her discovery first. A little twinge of guilt warned her that she should have confided in Daisy first, but Rose wanted to impress Harry, to show him she could detect as well.

At last the gentlemen came in. Bridge tables were being set up and Daisy’s green eyes gleamed like a cat’s. She was a killing bridge player.

Harry joined Rose. She whispered urgently, “I must talk to you in private.”

“There’s a conservatory at the back of the house. Let’s walk there.”

In the steamy warmth of the conservatory, they sat down on a bench in front of a marble statue of Niobe.

Harry was the first to speak. Rose listened in amazement when he told her how Berrow and Banks had hired Finch and how his secretary had nearly been killed. “The police commissioner in York is going to arrest them. Don’t you see? You are safe now. They must have been the ones behind the murder of Dolly.”

Rose’s splendid deduction was losing its glow, but she said, “I have discovered something as well. I am sure it was Jeremy Tremaine who hired Reg Bolton.”

“Why?”

“There is this Cockney who comes to the soup kitchen. He found God in prison. Don’t you see? Jeremy is a divinity student. He could have been visiting prisoners and found a useful one.”

“I really do think we’ll find out it was Berrow and Banks.”

Rose looked so disappointed that he said hurriedly, “To put your mind at rest, I can leave now and go to Wormwood Scrubs and check the book for visiting clerics.”

“Take me with you. Please!”

“Very well. Tell Daisy to take Turner home in a cab.”

Normally Daisy would have been curious, but she was so addicted to cards that she only nodded.

At the prison, the governor protested that he was too busy a man to keep dealing with Captain Cathcart’s requests.

Rose gave him a blinding smile and the governor thawed. He not only produced the required books but suggested that he take Rose on a tour of the prison.

Wormwood Scrubs proved to be even larger than Rose had imagined. It generally contained a thousand male and two hundred female convicts. They walked round the laundries where the women worked and then to the bakeries where the prisoners in their ugly uniforms were baking bread. There was also shoemaking and tailoring going on.

What Rose found unnerving was that all the labour was done in complete silence. It was like being in a Trappist monastery.

She was also taken to a room where the triangles were. Prisoners were strapped to these triangles and either birched or lashed with the cat-o’-nine-tails. The cat-o’-nine-tails was kept in a drawer. The governor lifted it out for Rose to examine. “Doesn’t look much, but it can inflict some damage.”

Rose repressed a shudder and suggested they return to Harry.

He was just closing the books when they entered the governor’s barrack-like office.

As he and Rose got into the Rolls, he said, “Jeremy Tremaine visited the prison on six occasions in the months before his sister’s death. One of the prisoners he visited was Reg Bolton.”

“I wonder what Jeremy will say when we ask him?”

“We? I thought of going myself with Becket tomorrow.”

“You must take me with you! It was my idea.”

“I suppose your parents will agree if we take Becket and Daisy.”

Lady Polly was in a fury when they got back, demanding to know where they had gone, Rose without either her maid or companion. Rose took Harry’s arm and smiled up at him. “Only for a little drive,” she said. “We wanted to be alone.”

Harry’s heart gave a lurch and then he realized that, of course, she was acting.

Nonetheless, it took a great deal of persuading to get permission to go “for a little drive” with Harry the following day with just Becket and Daisy as chaperones.

But Lady Polly finally melted. She saw the way Rose smiled up at the captain and was sure her wayward daughter was in love at last.

They all set out the following morning in high spirits that even the damp mist clouding the day could not dim.

Daisy had won too much at cards to be angry with Rose for not having told her about Jeremy.

When they turned down Oxford High, the mist was hiding the spires and pinnacles of the colleges, and even the top of Cairfax Tower was lost to view.

Daisy and Becket were told to stay in the car while Rose and Harry made their way up the shallow stone steps to Jeremy’s rooms.

“We’re in luck,” said Harry. “He’s not sporting his oak.”

“What does that mean?”

“These are double doors. If the outer door is closed, that’s called sporting the oak and it means you’re either out or do not want visitors.”

Harry knocked and a faint voice called, “Enter.”

Harry held open the door for Rose and followed her in. Jeremy was dressed in gown and mortar board.

“What do you want?” he demanded harshly. “I was just going out.”

“You visited a certain Reg Bolton in Wormwood Scrubs on several occasions just before his release. He is the man who tried twice to kill Lady Rose.”

“I visited him along with other prisoners. I was doing my duty, bringing Christian hope to the suffering.”

“Nobody seems to think of bringing Christian hope to the victims,” said Rose.

“Don’t you think it odd,” pursued Harry, “that after your sister is murdered, a hired assassin called Reg Bolton tries to kill Lady Rose, a man you visited?”

Jeremy’s face was wax-pale and his eyes burned with fury. “Get out of here,” he shouted. “How dare you? You are accusing me of killing my own sister.”

“You haven’t heard the end of this,” said Harry. “I am sure the police will want to interview you. Come, Rose.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to get a confession out of him,” said Rose as they walked together across the quadrangle.

“No, the purpose was to rattle him and see if he betrays himself in any way.”

Daisy and Becket sat in the front seat in sulky silence. Becket had sprung the idea on Daisy that maybe they could one day save enough to buy a little pub in the country. Daisy could work behind the bar. Daisy had said furiously that she was not going to sink to be a barmaid. Becket had called her a snob and said she had acquired ideas above her station.

Becket was driving, so Rose and Harry climbed into the back.

They went to the Randolph Hotel for luncheon. Daisy and Becket sat at a separate table, staring angrily at each other in dead silence.

“I think,” said Harry, “that I should go to Scotland Yard on our return and tell Kerridge about these visits.”

“Good idea. I shall come with you.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why?”

“It’s a man’s world. There are people at Scotland Yard who view my visits with disfavour. They feel Kerridge should not be wasting time with amateurs. The presence of even a beautiful lady like yourself diminishes me.”

“That’s not fair!”

“As I have just pointed out to you, it’s man’s world.”

Now Rose was, like her companion, too furious to speak. Harry tried several times to talk about various things, but she sat glaring at him and refused to utter a word.

It was a carload of silent and sulky people who returned to London.

Harry went straight to Scotland Yard. Kerridge was out on a case, so he waited patiently while the mist thickened on the river Thames outside the window.

At last Kerridge returned and listened in surprise to Harry’s story about Jeremy’s prison visits.

“I’ll pull him in for questioning.”

“It won’t do any good at the moment. All he has to do is look outraged. No one else is going to believe he had a hand in his sister’s murder. I’d like to examine that house they rented for the Season.”

“What do you expect to find? It’ll have been scrubbed from top to bottom.”

“There might just be something.”

“All right. I’ll come along with you.”

“Are you sure the servants that were there at the time didn’t hear or see anything?”

“With the exception of a temporary footman hired from an agency, the servants were all the country ones. I gather Apton Magna is a pretty poor place. They weren’t going to say anything that might mean they’d lose their jobs.”

The thin house in Clarges Street that had been rented by the Tremaines was standing empty. They got the key from the factor and let themselves in, then searched high and low, Harry crawling along the floor-boards, to see if one bloodstain might have been overlooked.

“She might have been killed here,” said Harry. “She certainly wasn’t killed in that boat or there would have been a lot more blood.”

“The pathologist said that costume had been put on her after her death and the blood from the wound on her chest had seeped through the material.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“You’re not in the force and I have plenty of other cases taking up my time, which reminds me, if you’re finished here I’d like to get back to the Yard.”

♦

“I hate being passed over just because I’m a woman,” raged Rose, walking up and down her sitting-room. “I’d like to show him I can detect better than he can. I’d like to go down to Apton Magna and get the parents’ reaction to the fact that their precious son was consorting with a criminal. But how are we to get out of the house without Turner and two footmen following us?”

“I’ve an idea,” said Daisy. “‘Member that ladder we used to get over the garden wall? It’s at the side of the garden. If we left, say, about five in the morning, the staff would still be asleep. We could sneak out and get the early-morning train at Paddington.”

“We’ll do it!” said Rose.

Harry set out to find the temporary footman who had worked for the Tremaines. His name was Will Hubbard and his address was number five Sweetwater Lane in the City.

After the Great Fire, plans had been drawn up to build a modern City out of the ashes, with airy streets and wide boulevards. But there turned out to be so many claims from property owners who would demand heavy compensation if, say, a street ran through where their buildings used to be, that the new City, the commercial hub of London, rose again following the old medieval pattern of narrow winding lanes.

Sweetwater Lane was just north of Ludgate Circus and consisted of two lines of black tenements. Number five had a great quantity of bell-pulls. Harry pulled several of them. The front door was opened by a lever on each landing. When the door opened, several voices asked him what he wanted.

“Will Hubbard,” he shouted. There was a sudden silence and then the sound of slamming doors.

He made his way up, knocking on door after door, but nobody answered until, at the very top, an elderly lady opened the door a little. “I am Captain Cathcart,” said Harry. “I am helping Scotland Yard with an investigation.”

The door began to close. He put his foot in it, fished out a guinea and held it up. The door opened wide. She snatched the guinea in a claw-like hand.

“Come in. What do you want?”

The room was sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs and an iron bedstead in the corner. A linnet in a wicker cage sang at the window.

“Do you know where I can find William Hubbard?”

“In the cemetery.”

“What happened?”

“‘Twere a good few months ago. I heard shouting and then a scream. That was during the night. But there’s often screaming and shouting here. In the morning, I went out to buy milk. He lived in the room below this one. The door was standing open and he was lying there, all blood. He’d been stabbed.

“I was ever so shook. I went out and saw a policeman and told him. More police came and then detectives. But nobody said anything. Well, most of them are villains, so they wouldn’t. Then his pore sister came. Such a taking she was in. I took her up to my room and made her tea.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“She wrote it down on a slip of paper and told me if I remembered anything at all to contact her.”

“Do you still have it?”

She went over to the mantelpiece and extracted a piece of paper from behind a plaster statue of the Virgin Mary.

“May I take this?”

“Yes, I’ve no use for it. I couldn’t tell her any more than I’ve told you.”

Outside, Harry looked at the paper. A Miss Emily Hubbard was lady’s maid to a Mrs. Losse and there was an address in Launceston Place in Kensington.

He drove to Launceston Place and rang the bell. When a butler answered, Harry handed him his card and said he wished to speak to Miss Hubbard.

“Wait there,” said the butler, letting him into a hall which was little more than a narrow passage.

Harry waited. Then the butler came back downstairs, followed by a vision. This surely could not be the lady’s maid.

“Captain Cathcart,” she cooed in a husky voice with a slight accent. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. I am Mrs. Losse. Please come into the parlour and tell me why you want to speak to Emily.”

Mrs. Losse had masses of glossy auburn hair piled up on her small head. Her excellent bosom and tiny waist were displayed to advantage in a green silk gown which matched her very large and sparkling green eyes.

She listened while Harry told her of the murder of William Hubbard. “I feel it is connected to another case I am investigating.”

“How thrilling. I read about you in the newspapers. So brave! All those people you rescued in that dreadful train crash.” They were sitting together on a sofa. She put her hand on his arm and leaned towards him. She was wearing a heady perfume. Harry thought briefly of his chilly fiancée with a flash of dislike.

“May I speak to Miss Hubbard?” asked Harry. Something seemed to have happened to his voice and it came out as a croak. She gave him a languorous smile and rang a little silver bell on the table in front of her.

After a moment, a mousy little woman entered the room. She was in complete contrast to the amazing beauty of her mistress. Harry wondered whether she had been employed for that very reason.

“You may be seated, Emily,” said Mrs. Losse. “This is Captain Cathcart. He has decided to investigate further the murder of your poor brother.”

Emily sat down on the very edge of a chair and clasped her hands. “Oh, sir,” she said, “I was afraid no one was ever going to find out anything.”

“Tell me about your brother?” asked Harry gently.

“He was good and worked hard. He liked working for the agency because he said there were so many banquets and functions that there was always demand for extra footmen and he didn’t need to be tied to one master like some.”

I wonder whether he was blackmailing the Tremaines, thought Harry. Aloud, he asked, “Did your brother say anything about coming into money?”

She gave a sad little laugh. “He was always dreaming. I met him just before he was killed on my day off. We walked down to London Bridge. He said we would go and buy a little cottage in the country and raise hens and pigs.”

“And was this new?”

She sighed. “Oh, no, it was a dream he’d always had.”

“Did he talk of any rich or influential friends?”

“No, sir. He only talked about other servants he had met on his various jobs.”

Harry promised that if he found out anything, he would let her know immediately. Emily was dismissed. Harry rose to leave.

“You must come back and see me,” said Mrs. Losse as she escorted him to the door. She stood very close to him in the narrow passage, that bewitching face of hers turned up to his own.

“Yes, I will,” said Harry.

“Promise!” Those eyes glinted flirtatiously. Harry laughed. “Of course.”

He went straight to Scotland Yard to find that Kerridge had gone home ages ago and so he said he would return in the morning. When he returned to his home, he told Becket of the latest developments.

“Do you not think you should tell Lady Rose about this?” suggested Becket.

“No, I don’t think so. She will demand again to accompany me to Scotland Yard. I am in enough difficulties there with some of them who regard me as an interfering amateur. Lady Rose is very forceful. With her along, it would look as if I was under some sort of petticoat government and life would be made even more difficult for me. Kerridge is always helpful, but he doesn’t tell me everything just because I am not on the force. I know that Inspector Judd disapproves of me and I have overheard detectives calling me ‘that dilettante.’ I shall call on her after I have talked to Kerridge.”

“It is late,” said Becket. “You were supposed to take dinner with the Hadfields this evening.”

“Now I really am in trouble,” groaned Harry.

“I really think it shameful,” said Lady Polly over dinner that evening. “Captain Cathcart now no longer calls to give his excuses. I am furious with him and so I shall tell him.”

“I hope he is all right,” said Daisy. “I am sure it was something very important.”

Mrs. Barrington-Bruce was one of the guests. She gave a great laugh. “To be sure, for a man it was important.”

“Do you know something?” asked Rose.

“Only that one of my footmen was walking my little doggies round Launceston Place. He told me just before I left to come here that he had seen Captain Cathcart visiting the home of a certain Mrs. Josse.”

“Who is Mrs. Josse?” asked Rose.

“A certain very beautiful member of the demi-monde.”

“Then it must be part of some case the captain was working on,” said Rose.

Mrs. Barrington-Bruce looked at her with pity in her eyes. “Oh, my poor child. My poor innocent child.”

Rose was so angry that she barely slept that night, but she was still determined to go to Apton Magna. She rehearsed scene after scene in her mind where she would present Kerridge with evidence that Jeremy was a murderer, and leave the superintendent to let Harry know she had solved the case.

At five in the morning, she and Daisy crept downstairs and into the back garden. They propped the ladder against the wall and climbed up. They sat on the top and pulled up the ladder and slid it down the other side.

Once they were in the lane, they hurried away. Beyond the square, they were lucky in finding a sleepy cabbie, and asked him to take them to Paddington Station, where Rose bought two first-class tickets.

Once the train moved out, Daisy fell asleep, her head bobbing against the lace antimacassar. Rose sat bolt upright, staring unseeingly at a bad oil painting of the coastal town of Deal on the carriage wall opposite.

The carriage was stuffy, so she jerked down the window by the leather strap. The train plunged into a tunnel and smoke billowed into the carriage. She spluttered and choked and jerked the window shut again.

When a waiter called out that breakfast was served, Rose shook Daisy awake and they made their way to the dining-car.

They ate in silence. Daisy was beginning to wonder if Becket would make a suitable husband after all and Rose was eaten up with fury at Harry.

At Oxford, they changed onto the train for Moreton-in-Marsh. It coughed and wheezed and jerked its slow way into little country stations and then sat at each for what seemed like ages before jerking forward again.

They found a cab in the forecourt of Moreton-in-Marsh Station. Rose instructed him to take them to the rectory at Apton Magna and to wait for them.

“It’s Sunday,” said Daisy. “They’ll all probably be in church.”

As they got down from the carriage, they could see the congregation filing into church.

Inside, the pews were like the ones in railway carriages. “Let’s go up to the gallery,” whispered Rose. “We’ll get a better look from there.”

They sat in the front of the gallery and looked down. A smell of unwashed poverty rose up from the well of the church and Rose held a scented handkerchief to her nose.

“I wonder,” she murmured to Daisy, “why the rector ended up in a poor living like this. Perhaps there is something in his past which put him out of favour.”

They got to their feet for the opening hymn. As they sang, Rose saw the rector in his robes walking down the aisle. He climbed up the steps to the pulpit, grasped the wings of the golden eagle which decorated the pulpit and stared down at the congregation.

“Look!” hissed Rose when the hymn finished. Jeremy Tremaine was walking down to a lectern under the pulpit.

Jeremy began reading from the Revelation of Saint John the Divine.

“And he that sat was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine stone: and there was a rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald.”

“What’s a sardine stone?” asked Daisy.

“Shhh!”

Jeremy’s voice droned soporifically on. “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat upon him was Death.”

He cast his eyes up piously and then they suddenly sharpened and focused directly on Rose and Daisy. He slammed the Bible shut and strode off down the aisle. His father looked down in surprise at his son’s retreating figure and then looked at the gallery. When he saw them, for a brief moment his face was a mask of fury.

Then the next hymn began.

The lady’s maid, Turner, waited to be summoned by Rose. When no summons came, she went to Rose’s bedchamber. Finding it empty, she checked the sitting-room and then Daisy’s room.

Turner became very worried. Only the other day, Lady Polly had threatened her with dismissal if she tried to cover up what Rose was doing.

She went down to the breakfast room. “My lady,” she said, “Lady Rose is not in her rooms. Neither is Miss Levine.”

The earl and countess stared at her in alarm.

Brum gave a discreet cough. “The coachman was saying this morning that the ladder that was left in the garden was now in the lane by the mews. Also there are footprints of ladies’ boots in the mud in the mews.”

“Damn the girl!” roared the earl. “Get Cathcart!”

As they both walked down from the gallery, Rose said, “This, I feel, is a dangerous mistake. I think we should leave.”

“Me, too,” said Daisy, heaving a sigh of relief.

They had to wait in line. The parishioners were shaking hands with the rector at the church door.

When it came their turn, Rose put out her hand and said, “We were in the neighbourhood and thought we would visit your charming church.”

She held out her hand, determined to give his a brief shake and move out to the waiting carriage as quickly as possible. But he held her hand in a firm grip. “You must stay and take some refreshment. Ah, here is my wife. Mrs. Tremaine, do take the ladies indoors.”

“I am afraid we really must go,” said Rose, trying to extricate her hand. “Our carriage is waiting.”

He turned round. “I do not see any carriage.”

Rose stared across in dismay. “I told him to wait. No matter. It is a fine day for a walk. Come, Daisy.”

“Now, you cannot walk,” said Mrs. Tremaine. “Do but step inside the rectory and our carriage will take you.”

She looked her normal friendly self. I’m imagining things, thought Rose.

“Very well. Just for a few moments. Most kind of you.”

♦

Harry was telling Kerridge about the murder of Will Hubbard. “That’s too much of a coincidence,” said Kerridge. “We’ll go down there and sweat it out of those servants after we arrest the Tremaines. If they see the master arrested, then I think they might talk.”

Judd entered and said lugubriously. “Lord Hadfield has just called. He wishes Captain Cathcart to attend him immediately.”

“I am busy at the moment. Is all well with Lady Rose?”

“He says his daughter has disappeared. The staff believe she left during the night by climbing over the garden wall.”

“Now what?” Harry looked at Kerridge in dismay. “Where would she go?”

“I hope it’s anywhere but Apton Magna.”

“Oh dear. I have an awful feeling that’s just where she would go. She wanted to come here this morning and I wouldn’t let her. Lady Rose, being as stubborn as a mule, has probably decided to investigate the Tremaines for herself.” He turned to Judd. “Tell Lord Hadfield I am sure I know where his daughter has gone. I am going to collect her. Kerridge, we’ll take my car. It’s faster.”

“I’ll phone the Oxford police to get out there.”

“No,” said Harry. “If the Tremaines are guilty, something might happen to them if the police go crashing in first. We’ll call on them in Oxford and get them to follow us.”

“How kind of you to visit us again,” twittered Mrs. Tremaine over the teacups. “Such an honour.”

The rector and his son said nothing.

“Most kind of you,” said Rose, “but we really must leave.”

“Our carriage will be here shortly. Have another cake.”

Daisy’s green eyes were wide and frightened. Why did I come here? thought Rose desperately. No one knows we are here. But what can they do? I am not now going to ask Jeremy about his prison visits.

The rector spoke at last. “Who were you visiting in the neighbourhood?”

“We weren’t really visiting anyone,” said Rose. “The countryside here is so pretty, and after London, we felt in the need of fresh air.”

“I am surprised,” said Mrs. Tremaine, “that a great lady such as yourself should travel into the country in a hired cab with only your companion.”

“I do like a little freedom sometimes. Now we really must go. If the carriage is not ready, we will walk.” She got to her feet. “Come, Daisy.”

“Just another moment or two,” said Mrs. Tremaine. “I am still mourning my poor daughter. Why, only the other day, I found a number of Dolly’s things in one of the attics. It turns out the poor girl kept a diary.”

Rose decided this was too good a chance to miss. “Perhaps I may see her diary?”

“By all means. Follow me.”

“You wait there, Daisy,” said Rose.

“I’m coming with you.”

Mrs. Tremaine led the way to the top of the house. She opened a low door and stood inside. “Go ahead. You will find her things in here.”

Rose and Daisy walked into the room. As the door slammed behind them and the key turned in the lock, Rose realized they had been tricked.

They hammered on the door and screamed and shouted. Surely one of the servants would hear them. But they had not seen any servants. Mrs. Tremaine had made and served tea herself.

“Jeremy!” said Rose. “He must have run out of the church and dismissed the servants for the day. Then he must have told his mother what he planned. I don’t think she was in church when we arrived. She must have turned up towards the end of the service.”

“The window’s barred,” said Daisy. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

They sat in silence and then Rose whispered, “Listen. I can hear voices. It’s coming from the fireplace.”

They both crouched down beside the tiny fireplace. They could hear the voices of the Tremaine family. Jeremy was saying, “We must make sure they came on their own. I am sure her family doesn’t know she is here.”

Then Mrs. Tremaine: “I will take the pony and trap and go to the public phone-box in Moreton and phone the earl’s household. I will say I am still distressed over Dolly’s death and must speak to Lady Rose.”

“You will just be told she is not at home.” The rector’s voice.

“I am a very good actress,” said his wife. “Leave it to me.”

The voices faded.

Rose and Daisy looked at each other in alarm. “Please God, Brum just says I am not at home without elaborating. They daren’t do anything to us if they think anyone knows we are here.”

Daisy’s voice choked on a sob. “I was so nasty to Becket. If I ever see him again, I’ll give him a great big kiss.”

♦

Mrs. Tremaine asked the telephone operator to connect her to the earl’s residence. Brum answered. “May I speak to Lady Rose?” asked Mrs. Tremaine in a quavering voice.

“I am afraid Lady Rose is not at home.”

“Oh dear,” wailed Mrs. Tremaine. “Lady Rose has been helping me get over my terrible grief. I-I d-don’t know what to do.”

The inveterate gossip in Brum rose to the surface. He lowered his voice. “Between you and me, madam, Lady Rose sneaked out this morning and nobody knows where she is. Always wilful, she is.”

“Oh, thank you. I will call again.”

“I hear a carriage coming back,” said Rose. They both crouched down by the fireplace again.

The chimney must lead straight down to the parlour, thought Rose, because she could clearly hear Mrs. Tremaine say, “The butler said she sneaked out this morning and nobody knows where she is.”

“Good,” came Jeremy’s voice. “We’d better wait until dark.”

Rose looked wildly round the attic room. “We’ve got to get out of here. They must be really mad. If anything happened to us, the captain would think immediately of Apton Magna and check all the cabbies at the station.”

Daisy went over and put her eye to the keyhole. “They’ve left the key on the other side. Maybe I can poke it out. We need a piece of paper or cardboard to slide under the door.”

“There’s that old trunk over there. I’ll lift the lid and see if we can find anything useful.” She threw back the lid. “School-books. Just the thing.” She tore the cardboard cover off one of the books and gave it to Daisy.

Daisy slipped the cardboard under the door and then took a hat-pin out of her hat and poked at the lock. “It’s no good,” she said at last, sitting back on her heels. “I need a straight piece of metal. I know, me stays.”

Daisy took off her coat and frock and Rose helped her out of her corset. Then Rose took a little pair of scissors out of her reticule and they unpicked stitches and slid out one of the steels. Daisy put her corset and frock and coat back on again and set to work on the lock. An hour passed while Rose fretted, until Daisy said, “Got it!”

She drew the cardboard from under the door with the key on it.

“Quietly now,” said Rose. “Let’s take our boots off.”

They slipped off their boots. Daisy gently unlocked the door and then locked it again behind them.

Holding their boots, they crept down the stairs. The house was silent. “Back door,” murmured Daisy.

They walked softly down to the basement, opened the back door and let themselves out into the garden. They put their boots on and went out through the garden gate and began to run across the fields.

Rose finally stopped running. “We’d better circle round to the main road or we’ll be lost.”

“There’s a farmhouse over there,” said Daisy. “Let’s go there and get someone to get the police.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” said Rose. “The farmer is probably a tenant of the Tremaines and would tell them first. If we bear left, we should meet the road to Moreton.”

They trudged on, always looking fearfully to the left and right.

At last they reached the road. “Now I feel free,” said Rose as they both strode out in the direction of Moreton.

They rounded a bend in the road and Rose let out a scream of dismay. Jeremy and his father were just emerging from a copse.

They ran towards them. “Get the maid,” shouted the rector. “I’ll get the other.”

Daisy shrieked in fright as Jeremy reached for her, and kicked him as hard in the crotch as she could. He doubled up and fell on the road. Rose seized a hat-pin out of her hat and drove it into the rector’s arm. Undeterred, he threw his arms round her and began to drag her towards the trees. Daisy jumped on his back and clawed at his eyes.

The Rolls, speeding round the corner, nearly ran into them. Harry slammed on the brakes and leaped from the car. The rector released Rose and stood with his head hanging while Daisy slid off his back. She saw Becket climbing out of the back of the car and threw herself into his arms and kissed him full on the mouth.

A carload of police which had been following Harry’s car came to a stop. Father and son were cautioned and handcuffed.

Overcome with relief, Rose ran to Harry. “You silly girl,” he said furiously. “You could have been killed.”

Rose, who had been about to throw herself into his arms, backed off. Her face flamed. “You would never have found out it was them if it hadn’t been for me,” she raged. Then she burst into tears.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Harry. “I was so worried about you.”

He tried to take her in his arms, but she turned away.

Daisy moved forwards and put an arm around Rose. “Quietly, now, my dear,” she said. “It’s all over now.”