Sick of Shadows

∨ Sick of Shadows ∧

Three

The two divinest things this world has got,

A lovely woman in a rural spot.

– JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT

Despite her loudly proclaimed distaste at being sent off to live with a rural policeman, Rose began to feel a certain amount of excitement as they were smuggled out through the garden door of the town house and over a ladder placed on a wall at the back and so into the mews, where a closed carriage was waiting for them.

They were taken to Paddington Station to catch the midnight North Eastern Railway train to York. Because of the innovation of Pullman coaches in first class, there were now three classes: first, second and third.

Rose had been given first-class tickets to York but it had been suggested they travel second class to Plomley on the Scarborough line.

Daisy kept looking nervously over her shoulder, seeing assassins behind every station pillar. Smoke billowed out from the steam engines up to Brunel’s high arched roof.

A porter loaded their luggage on board. No footmen had been allowed to accompany them. The servants would be told in the morning that Rose and Daisy had left during the night for Stacey Court.

They had the luxury of a sleeping compartment thanks to Mr. George Pullman’s invention. When a Pullman car was attached to the funeral train carrying Abraham Lincoln’s body, the demand for Pullman’s product swiftly grew. Pullman died so hated by his employees in 1897 that his heirs feared his body would be stolen and so the coffin was covered in tar-paper and enclosed in the centre of a room-sized block of concrete, reinforced with railroad ties. Ambrose Bierce said, “It is clear the family in their bereavement was making sure the sonofabitch wasn’t going to get up and come back.”

Rose was beginning to feel that life might not be so bad after all. It was exciting to go to sleep over the chattering wheels. Only Daisy felt torn away from London, and the wheels sang a dirge on her ears: “Can’t go back. Never go back. Can’t go back.” She peered out of the window and saw only her own reflection as the night-time countryside went flying past. The east coast line was in competition with the west coast line and the great steam engine could reach up to a hundred miles per hour. Daisy shuddered. They were flying into foreign territory. Yorkshire.

They tumbled out sleepily at York station at seven in the morning. They had arrived an hour earlier, but first-class passengers were allowed to stay on for breakfast.

Rose commanded a porter to take their luggage to the Scarborough train. Daisy followed behind, feeling once more like a servant, not knowing that Rose’s autocratic behaviour was caused by her sudden nervousness. What if the would-be assassin had followed them onto the train and was biding his time?

In a fusty second-class compartment they were crowded by a large woman with four sleepy cross children who kept crying and wailing. Their mother seemed indifferent to their noise and distress.

Rose fretted and fidgeted, feeling the beginnings of a headache, and could only be glad when Daisy suddenly shouted, “Shut that bleedin’ noise.”

The children stared at her in awe and then mercifully fell silent.

The train stopped at station after station, until it finally drew into Plomley and settled down with a great hiss which sounded like a giant’s sigh.

The mother prodded Daisy in the back with her umbrella as Daisy was leaving the compartment. “Just you wait till you got kids of yer own,” she shouted.

Daisy whipped round. “If I had brats like yours, I’d drown them!”

Can’t possibly be them, was P.C. Shufflebottom’s first thought on hearing Daisy’s remark. I was told to look for two grand ladies.

But then Rose descended and looked around. She saw the policeman in uniform and approached him.

“Mr. Shufflebottom?”

“Yes, indeed, ma’am. Good journey?”

“Yes, I thank you. As you probably know, I am Rose Summer and this is Miss Daisy Levine.”

“Is that your luggage?” asked the policeman nervously, looking at a pile of suitcases and hat boxes.

“We decided to travel light so as not to occasion comment,” said Rose.

Bert Shufflebottom signalled to an elderly porter. “Load the ladies’ bags on the trap, Harry.”

Rose thought briefly of that other Harry. Did he miss her? What was he doing?

The morning was cold, with patches of frost in the shadowy bits of the station platform.

They climbed into the trap outside the station. Bert made a clucking noise and the pony moved off.

“We don’t have all that much room, ladies,” said Bert. “I suggest you select the clothes you really need – we lead a simple life – and store the rest in the old stables at the back of the cottage.”

“You do not live in the police station?” asked Rose.

“Got a tidy cottage next door.”

“How old are your children?”

“Let me see, the eldest is Alfred – he’s just finishing school this year. He’s fifteen. Next is Lizzie, fourteen. Then there’s Geraldine. Her’s thirteen. After her comes Maisie at nine years. And then there’s the baby, Frankie, nine months. Frankie was unexpected like, but we ain’t complaining.”

“We will do our best not to put Mrs. Shufflebottom to too much trouble.”

“Oh, nothing bothers my Sally much. Looking forward to some grown-up female company, she is.”

I’m not going to be able to bear this, thought Rose.

They fell silent until, after a few miles, Bert pointed with his whip and said, “That be Drifton, in t’valley.”

Rose looked down the road to a huddle of houses crouched beside a river.

“And that’s the river Drif. Get some good trout there. If Alfred’s lucky with his rod arter school, we’ll have trout for tea. I likes a nice bit o’ trout.”

Rose had expected Sally Shufflebottom to be an apple-cheeked countrywoman, but the woman waiting on the dirt road outside the cottage next to the police station was tall and thin with a severe mouth and grey hair scraped back into a bun.

She came forward to greet them. “I’m Sally,” she said. “I’ve been instructed to call you just Rose and Daisy, not to occasion comment, like. My, my, look at all your luggage!”

“I told them to take out a few things and put the rest in the stables,” said Bert. “T’won’t do to look too fine and grand.”

The cottage was a rabbit warren of small rooms. There was a kitchen-cum-living-room with a great black range along one wall on which two pots were simmering. It was furnished with a horsehair sofa, a long table flanked by upright chairs, and two armchairs on either side of the range. The floor was covered in shiny green linoleum with two hooked rugs.

“I’ll show you your room,” said Sally. She led the way along a stone-flagged passage and threw open a door. There was a double bed covered in a patchwork quilt, a dresser, a marble wash-stand holding a basin and ewer. A little table by the bed held a blue jug of wild flowers.

Daisy, used to poverty, realized that Sally had gone to a lot of trouble. The patchwork quilt was new and the room was clean and aired.

“Thank you,” she said, while Rose stared around her as if visiting a prison cell. “We’ll just sort out a few clothes and take the rest to the stables.”

“I,” said Rose haughtily, “would like a bath.”

“Bath day isn’t until Friday, when we fire up the copper in the wash-house,” said Sally. The copper was a huge copper container with a fire underneath for washing the laundry.

Daisy threw a warning look at Rose. “I hear the river at the back of the house. We’ve got our swimming costumes. That’ll do.”

“I’ll leave you to it. Dinner won’t be long.”

“Dinner?” echoed Rose faintly when Sally had left the room.

“They take dinner in the middle of the day.” Daisy took out a bunch of keys and began to unlock their cases. “I’ll get out our swimming costumes first.”

The water in the river was so cold that they both plunged in and then scrambled out again and ran back into the house. Large coarse towels had been laid out on the bed. They scrubbed themselves down, Rose too cold to be ashamed of standing naked in front of Daisy.

They put on plain wool dresses and had just finished dressing when they heard Sally call, “Dinner!”

The Shufflebottom family were all seated around the table. The girls stared wide-eyed at Rose and Daisy.

“Sit down on those two chairs next to Bert,” said Sally.

Dinner started, after Bert had said grace, with mutton broth followed by lamb stew and then apple crumble. Rose realized she was very hungry and had to admit the food was delicious.

Lizzie found courage to speak first. “Ma says you went swimming.” She stared in awe at the elegant beauty that was Rose.

“One gets very dirty on a train,” said Rose. “Your mother said bath day wasn’t until Friday.”

“You could have waited until then,” said Lizzie. “Ma would have given you first water.”

Maisie piped up. “By the time I get it, it’s awful dirty.”

Rose repressed a shudder and hoped the river would warm up soon.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind us arranging our own baths,” said Daisy, “if we find the wood and fire up the copper.”

“If you’re prepared to do that, lass,” said Sally, “then I’ve no objections.”

I must phone Captain Cathcart, thought Rose, and beg him to let us come back to London. “May I use the telephone in the police station?” she asked Bert.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Superintendent Kerridge said there were to be no further calls from here regarding yourself in case some girl on the exchange listens in.”

When dinner was over and the children had left again for school, Sally told Rose and Daisy to go and lie down and take a rest.

“It’s not too bad,” said Daisy as she lay in the double bed next to Rose. “They’re nice people.”

“I shall go mad here,” said Rose curtly. “Peasants do not amuse me.”

“You rotten snob!”

Rose hunched over on her side. “I am going to sleep. I hope this will all turn out to be a bad dream.”

“How do you think Lady Rose is doing?” Kerridge was asking Harry.

“Probably suffering and blaming me for everything. Lady Rose likes to be radical and think she’s at one with the common people, just so long as she doesn’t have to meet any of them.”

“Then this visit will do her good. We’re no further forward except for one little thing. Well, may not be a little thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The Honourable Cyril Banks proposed to Dolly and was turned down.”

“Let me see, that one has a bad reputation from drinking and gambling. I feel sure Dolly’s parents told her to turn him down. No money there.”

“Anyway, I’m going to interview him.”

“Mind if I come along?” asked Harry.

“Very well. But I’ll get a lecture from Judd over allowing amateurs into a Scotland Yard investigation.”

“What about the gun?”

“We got the bullet. It was embedded in some stupid hat covered in dead birds. Our expert thinks it came from a lady’s purse revolver, maybe a 0.2500 French-Belgian one.”

“Any gun of that type registered to anyone?”

“We’re working on it. Let’s go and see what the Honourable Cyril has to say for himself.”

They tracked Cyril down to The Club in St. James’s. His manservant had told them that was where he had gone. The gloomy Inspector Judd had at last to realize that there was some benefit in bringing Harry along, for The Club would not have allowed policemen, however high-ranking, past the entrance. Since Harry was a member, he was sent it to winkle Cyril out.

Kerridge waited outside until Cyril, protesting volubly that he would have Harry blackballed, emerged at last from The Club and was helped into the police car and they all drove to Scotland Yard.

In Kerridge’s office, a flustered Cyril was still protesting. “It is disgraceful that I should be dragged out of my club like a common criminal. I shall report you to the Home Office.”

“Settle down, Mr. Banks,” said Kerridge. “Only a few questions and then you will be driven back to your club. Now, we believe you proposed marriage to Miss Tremaine and were turned down.”

“So what?” said Cyril. He raised his monocle, screwed it firmly in one eye and glared at Kerridge.

“As you know, we are investigating her murder.”

“Here, now!” exclaimed Cyril. “I’m leaving. You’re trying to pin this murder on me!”

“Sit down, Mr. Banks. No one is accusing you of anything. We simply, at this stage, want to ask a few questions about Miss Tremaine. Did she say anything or give any indication that she was being threatened?”

“Well, no. In fact she prattled on about the countryside and how she missed it. Empty-headed sort of girl.”

“If you thought her empty-headed, why did you want to marry her?”

Cyril looked at the superintendent as if he thought the man had lost his wits.

“She was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. What did it matter whether she had a brain or not?”

“How did you take it when you were rejected by her?”

“She didn’t reject me, the parents did. Never got as far as popping the question to her. I asked her father’s permission and he told me she was meant for greater things. I told him she couldn’t do better than me and who did he think he was anyway? A mere country rector. Silly little man.”

“Did you threaten Miss Tremaine?”

“No, I danced with her after that and I said I wanted to marry her but her father wouldn’t let me ask her and she burst into tears, right on the dance floor. Her mother came up and dragged her off. Disgraceful!”

Harry studied Cyril while the interview was going on. He could imagine such as Cyril being capable of murder. He was an extremely vain fop from the top of his bear-greased hair to his tiny patent leather boots. He had a smooth round barbered face, small eyes and a small mean mouth.

“Did she talk about any friends, any acquaintances?”

“No; may I go now?”

“I suggest you remain in London for the time being. If you have urgent business in the country, you must report to me.”

“That’s it!” said Cyril furiously. “I’m off. The Prime Minister shall hear of your treatment and no, I am not going back to The Club in your rotten motor car. I shall take a hack.”

Rose awoke late the next day. There was no sign of Daisy. She washed and dressed and went through to the living-room.

“Where is Daisy?” asked Rose.

“She very kindly took the children to school and then said she would go for a walk. I’ll make you some breakfast although they’ll all soon be back for dinner.”

Rose was feeling uneasy and ashamed of her remark about peasants. What if they had heard her?

Sally bent over her cooking pots. “It’s Plomley Fair next week and the girls are crying out for new dresses, but I told them there isn’t the money to buy new frocks every year.”

Rose thought about all her gowns lying in suitcases in the stables. “I have a great deal of clothes I will not need while I am here,” she said. “I will go out to the stables and select some items which can be made over for the girls.”

Sally stared in amazement at the young lady she had thought was a chilly aristocrat. Rose suddenly smiled. “If I were to do something, the time would pass more quickly. That way it would please your little girls and it would please me.”

“Well, in that case…”

“I’ll go now,” said Rose.

♦

Daisy collected the children from school. She had already made a slingshot for Alfred out of a small forked branch and one of her garters and had bought sweets for the rest at the local village shop. “You’re not to eat them, mind,” she cautioned, “until after you’ve had your dinner.”

She was still furious with Rose for being so high and mighty. Daisy was enjoying all this freedom of being away from the rigid class system of London’s top ten thousand.

When they all crowded into the living-room, an amazing sight met their eyes. On the horsehair sofa were spread out gowns in fine muslins, silks and satins.

“Ah, Daisy,” said Rose, “I was just saying to Sally that we could make over some of my gowns to provide the girls with new dresses for the fair.”

The girls screamed with delight. “Silence,” roared their father. “Say thank you to Miss Rose and sit down at the table.”

“Do we have to wear our pinafores over them?” asked Geraldine.

“Of course,” said her mother. “Girls of your age without pinafores? Won’t do.”

Bert said grace. The meal was faggots in a rich sauce, followed by rhubarb tart.

“We’re going to be right fat by the time we leave here,” said Daisy and everyone laughed.

Rose ate steadily, enjoying the food. The rich food she was used to had never spurred her appetite the way Sally’s simple cooking did.

When Daisy went off to take the children back to school, Sally said, “I’ve a sewing-machine in the parlour.”

The parlour was kept for high days and holidays. The sewing-machine was set up at a table by the window. The fireplace was stuffed with newspaper and the room was cold. A newer version of the horsehair sofa in the living-room dominated the parlour, along with two horsehair armchairs covered in slippery black leather. On the mantelpiece was a clock stuck forever at ten past twelve and on an occasional table sat a stuffed owl in a glass case. Against the wall opposite the window was an upright piano.

Sally saw her looking at it. “It’s never played. Bert saved old Mrs. Carey’s life once and she left him that in her will.”

“I’m sure Daisy and myself can give your children lessons if you would like,” said Rose.

Under her hard-looking exterior, Sally was actually shy and had been very nervous of housing this aristocrat and her companion. For the first time since they arrived, she began to feel at ease. “That would be lovely. I’ve got patterns there for all the girls. They had dresses made from them last year, but they’ve all grown a bit since then.”

“I’ll measure them all when they get home from school.”

“Your beautiful gowns,” said Sally awkwardly. “Won’t you need ’em for yourself when you go back to Lunnon?”

“I can have more made,” said Rose, giving Sally a glimpse of what is what like never to have to worry about money.

Mathew Jarvis was sending a very generous sum of money each week for Rose’s and Daisy’s upkeep. The thrifty Bert put it all in a savings account for his children’s futures, keeping some back so that Sally could provide ample meals.

That evening, while Rose measured the girls and discussed which material they would like best, Daisy sat down at the piano and began to sing.

After finishing his beat, Bert was walking home with Dr. Linley, who lived farther along the road. The doctor stopped and said, “Listen!”

From the policeman’s cottage came the sound of two voices. Rose had joined Daisy at the piano.

“You are my honeysuckle, I am the bee,

I’d like to sip the honey sweet

From those red lips, you see.

I love you dearly, dearly, and I

Want you to love me –

You are my honey, honeysuckle,

I am the bee.”

“It’s those girls, those distant relatives of ours,” said Bert. “Seem to be settling in.”

“Shh!” said the doctor.

Rose had started to sing “Just a Song at Twilight.” Other villagers came to join them. The evening air was soft with a hint of summer to come.

Then a smart landau came along and stopped. “What’s going on?” cried an authoritative voice.

“Lady Blenkinsop,” muttered Bert gloomily. “We’re listening to one of my relatives singing,” he said aloud.

Lady Blenkinsop listened as well. “Very good,” she said at last. “They will sing for me. Fetch them out.”

What would Kerridge say to this development? wondered Bert. But Lady Blenkinsop, for all her airs and grand house, was only the widow of an ironmaster who had bought his title. And she never went to London.

The crowd waited until Rose and Daisy came out. There was a polite spattering of applause.

“Come here!” barked Lady Blenkinsop.

By the light of the carriage lamps, Rose saw a very small, sour-looking woman dressed in widow’s weeds.

Daisy suddenly wished Rose would look, well, more messy. Even in a plain white blouse and skirt, Rose looked impeccable and she had dressed her hair fashionably.

Daisy curtsied but Rose held herself ramrod-stiff and demanded in glacial tones, “Yes?”

“Yes, what, my girl? I have a title.”

“What do you want?” asked Rose.

“I want you and the other one to come and sing for me tomorrow afternoon.”

“I am afraid we are otherwise engaged,” said Rose. “Good evening to you. Come, Daisy.”

Rose turned on her heel and strode back into the house.

“That uppity little minx needs a taste of the birch,” fumed Lady Blenkinsop. “Drive on.”

Two days later, Bert was summoned by the police commissioner in York. Lady Blenkinsop had accused him of insolence.

“I will go with you,” said Rose.

“You’ll make matters worse,” groaned Bert.

Sally returned after seeing Bert off at the station. “Do not worry,” said Rose. “If your husband is dismissed, then my father will support him.”

The policeman’s wife whipped round. “And you think that’ll solve the problem, lass? My Bert’s proud of his job. You’ve brought nothing but trouble.”

♦

“We must do something,” whispered Daisy. “If only we could phone the captain.”

“I could do that,” said Rose. “I know we were told not to phone or write but I could pretend to be his cousin and talk in a sort of code. We must move quickly. We can’t use the telephone in the police station or the girl in the exchange might tell Bert. I know, we’ll get to Plomley. I’ll just tell Sally we’re going out for a walk. I do find all this use of first names rather peculiar, but Bert said it makes us sound more like family.”

They hitched a lift to Plomley on a farm cart.

It was an old-fashioned wooden telephone kiosk in Plomley, not one of the new boxes.

Rose got through to the operator and gave her Harry’s number, shovelled the required pennies into the slot and waited.

Let him be there, she silently prayed. Please let him be there.

Ailsa Bridge answered the phone. Rose asked to speak to the captain. “Who is calling?” asked Ailsa.

Rose thought quickly. “His cousin, Miss Shalott.”

Harry came on the line. “This is your cousin, Miss Shalott,” said Rose quickly. “Our uncle Bert is in trouble again, the old rip. The police commissioner in York has summoned him this morning. He must have been drunk and breaking windows again. Added to that, a certain Lady Blenkinsop has put in a complaint against poor old Uncle because she says I was rude to her and all because she wanted me to sing at her house, just like a common chorus girl. Too, too sickening. Do help Uncle Bert, please.”

“Where are you telephoning from?”

“Such a quaint little wooden kiosk. You know Mama will not let me use the telephone and she says that Uncle Bert should be left to his own devices.”

“I’ll deal with it right away. Are you well?”

“Oh, yes, very well. Thank you.”

Rose replaced the receiver. “Let’s hope he gets to the commissioner in York in time, Daisy.”

Bert stared miserably at his shiny regulation boots as he sat outside the commissioner’s office. He would do anything to avoid losing his job. But Kerridge had sworn him to secrecy.

At last a police officer emerged from the commissioner’s office and said, “Go in now.”

Bert, with his helmet tucked underneath his arm, went in.

The commissioner, Sir Henry Taylor, was a bluff, red-faced man. “Sit down, Shufflebottom,” he said. “You must be thirsty after your journey. Tea?”

Bert blinked in surprise, too startled to speak.

“I know, you’d probably like a beer. Tretty,” he said to the attendant police officer, “fetch Mr. Shufflebottom a beer and bring me one as well. Now, there’s been this complaint from Lady Blenkinsop.”

“I – I’m right sorry,” stuttered Bert. “You see, sir, what happened – ”

“Never mind. That old witch is always complaining about something. Ah, beer, just the thing. Drink up.”

“Your health, sir.” Bert raised the tankard with a shaking hand.

“I’ve been looking at your record. Very fine. No scandals. Everything dealt with quietly and decently. Then you rescued that family last year in Plomley at the fair when their carriage horse bolted. The reason I called you in was to tell you that we think the time has come to give you a little rise in salary as a token of our appreciation.”

“Oh, sir, thank you, sir. What about Lady Blenkinsop?”

“The lord lieutenant is calling on her. You will not be troubled by her.”

Lady Blenkinsop was initially delighted when the lord lieutenant, Sir Percy Twisletone, called on her. She longed to mingle with the aristocracy, but they mostly shunned her.

“I will get right to the point,” said Sir Percy. “You have put in a complaint against the village policeman because of his relative’s behaviour.”

“Of course! Cheeky minx. I honoured her with an invitation to sing for me and she refused!”

“Miss Rose comes from a very distant aristocratic branch of the family, fallen on hard times.”

“I find it hard to believe that Shufflebottom has any aristocratic connections.”

“They may have been, shall we say, on the wrong side of the blanket, but royalty – excuse me, I should not have said that – certain sins must be forgiven.”

Lady Blenkinsop goggled at him. “Do you mean…?”

“I said nothing,” said Sir Percy sternly. “I only came to warn you to be careful whom you insult in future. The news can travel upwards to amazingly high circles.”

“Oh, dear,” babbled Lady Blenkinsop. “I shall apologize.”

“No, you will not say anything of this matter and you will not go near the policeman again. We have eyes and ears everywhere and if you tell anyone about this, I shall find out.”

♦

Sally collected the children from school herself. She could hardly bear to speak to either Rose or Daisy. She drove the children to Plomley Station in the pony and trap. They all held hands as they saw the train rounding the curve. Sally stood holding baby Frankie in her arms. We’ll get through this together, she thought.

She stared in amazement as Bert descended from the train with a bunch of roses in one hand. His smile was so wide it seemed to split his face in half.

She ran to meet him and Frankie set up a wail at being jogged about on her hip.

Bert bowed and handed her the roses. “I’ve got a raise,” he said. He fished in his pocket and brought out a paper bag of aniseed balls and handed them round. “We’ll even be able to go to Scarborough this year for a holiday.”

Sally began to cry with relief. When she could speak, she asked, “What about Lady Blenkinsop?”

“The lord lieutenant’s dealing with her. This is Rose’s doing. I know it is. She didn’t use the phone, did she?”

“No, but Dr. Linley said that he saw them on Farmer Jones’s cart heading towards Plomley today and then they came back in a hired carriage.”

Rose was sewing at the machine in the parlour when they came in and she smiled with relief when she saw all the happy faces.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

Sally rushed forward and hugged her. “I don’t know how you did it, but Bert’s got a raise and Lady Blenkinsop won’t be troubling us. I’ll get tea on.”

The children were so excited about their new frocks and about going to the fair that Rose decided to dress up for the occasion, never thinking for a moment that by doing so she was putting her life at risk.

Rose had given Sally one of her best hats, a leghorn straw embellished with little yellow silk flowers.

“You do look a picture,” said Bert to his wife, his face beaming with love. Rose felt a pang. This policeman saw his thin, hard-faced wife as beautiful. That was real love. Would any man ever look at her like that?

The day of the fair dawned sunny and warm. Rose was wearing a white lace gown embroidered with blue forget-menots. On her head she wore a straw hat covered in silk forget-me-nots. A fine cashmere shawl was thrown round her shoulders and she carried a white lace parasol. Daisy was wearing a green silk gown with a little rakish green hat perched on her curled hair.

The fair lasted two weeks. They decided to visit on the second week, after the horse fair was over, because the gypsies raced each other up and down the main street and there were always accidents.

They wandered around the dozens of stalls. The children clamoured for brandy snaps filled with cream and then walked around to look at the gypsy caravans where the women sat outside making pretty little pincushions stuffed with bran to sell at the fair.

Bert was on duty, so Sally kept near him, pushing the baby in a pram made out of an orange box and an old set of wheels.

The children dragged Rose and Daisy to the steam roundabouts and Rose good-naturedly helped Daisy lift the smallest child up onto the brightly painted horses before climbing on herself. How wonderful it was to ride round and round while the barrel organ churned out music-hall songs. The current favourite was: “Oh! Oh! Antonio, he’s gone away – left me on my own e-o, all on my own e-o, I’d like to meet him and his new sweetheart, then up will go Antonio – and his ice cream cart.”

Dr. Linley stopped to watch them. He was a keen amateur photographer. He raised his new Kodak camera just as the carousel slowed to a halt and snapped a photograph of Rose sitting side-saddle on the painted horse.

In the evening, he developed the photographs in his darkroom. He stared at the photograph of Rose. It was perfect. She was holding on to her hat and her lips were curved in a smile.

There was a new magazine for amateur photographers and they offered a prize every year for the best photograph. The next day, Dr. Linley entitled the photograph “A Summer’s Day at the Fair,” and posted it off.

The year moved into high summer, and in July Bert took two weeks’ leave and they all went on holiday to Scarborough on the Yorkshire coast.

Daisy reflected that she had never seen Rose so happy. She took the children swimming and never once did she complain about the rather seedy lodging-house where they stayed.

Sally’s face was filling out now that, thanks to the payment from Rose’s family, they could afford good food at every meal, and she was not so careworn looking after the children, as Rose and Daisy took the burden of that duty off her hands. For the first time in years, she and Bert were able to spend time alone together.

When they returned to the village they were all glowing with good health. Rose started to organize a concert to raise funds to repair the school roof. Daisy was to be the star performer, but Rose had promised to sing one song.

The village hall was packed when Rose, accompanied by Daisy, walked onto the stage and began to sing:

“Birds in the garden, all day long, singing for me their happy song

Flowers in the sunshine, wind and dew, all of them speak to me of you;

You that I long for, near or far, you that I follow, like a star,

Day may be weary, weary and long, you will come home at evensong.

When you come home, dear, all will be fair,

Home is not home if you are not there;

You in my heart, dear, you at my side,

When you come home at eventide.”

Rose sang with a depth of feeling Daisy had never heard in her voice before. She thought of Becket and wondered whether Rose had been thinking of the captain.

There was a great roar of applause.

Rose took Daisy’s hand and led her forward. Then they both bowed, and just as they bowed, a shot rang out.

Women screamed, Bert blew his whistle, Daisy dragged a trembling Rose from the stage. “He’s here! He’s found us,” whispered Rose.