by M C Beaton
“He’s well-connected,” said Becket. “His aunt was Lady Tremaine and she married well and left him quite a large legacy.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“You always tell me to listen to servants’ gossip. The Running Footman where a lot of them drink is an amazing source of information.”
“I suggest you take yourself there this evening and try to find out what you can about the family.”
“May I have some money to entertain, sir?”
“Of course,” said Harry, hurriedly pulling out his wallet. He drew out a large white five-pound note. “Will this be enough?”
“More than enough. I will bring you the change.”
“You may keep any change for further bribery.”
“Do you think, sir, that Lady Rose and Miss Levine will be safe?”
“Why?”
“The murderer may think that Miss Tremaine told Lady Rose much more than she actually did.”
Harry shifted uneasily. “I am sure they will be all right. I wonder about Lord Berrow. He’s in his fifties, is he not?”
“I believe so. He is a widower. Gossip says he drove his wife to an early grave with his womanizing.”
“Indeed! So what was saintly Dr. Tremaine about to even consider handing his daughter over to such a man?”
“Lord Berrow is very rich.”
“Ah. Do you not find our society very corrupt, Becket?”
“It is not for me to say. Will you be going out this evening?”
“Yes, I may as well call on my fiancée. Her father has accused me of neglect.”
Harry had to wait quite a long time while the earl and countess argued over whether he should see their daughter. “I was hoping this deuced engagement would just fizzle out,” said the earl.
“We should have sent Rose to India. Mrs. Fanshawe’s daughter, who is mortally plain, went out and secured the affections of Colonel Brady. Nonetheless, perhaps if Rose sees more of Captain Cathcart, she will realize her folly. She does seem to be forming a tendre for Sir Peter.”
And so they discussed and argued while Harry paced up and down the hall.
At last he was summoned and told that he might have fifteen minutes alone with Rose, provided the door of the drawing-room stayed open.
Before leaving them, Lady Polly watched as Harry rushed forward and, seizing Rose’s hands in his, kissed them both. When she had gone, Rose, blushing, snatched her hands away and demanded, “What do you want?”
“I am concerned for your safety. As Becket has just pointed out to me, your life might be in danger. Do be very careful.”
“I am tired of being careful,” snapped Rose. “I am tired of dressing and undressing and sitting down to enormous banquets which might alleviate some of the misery of the poor of London.”
“I thought you might be interested in finding out the identity of the murderer?”
Rose’s blue eyes lit up with sudden interest.
“How could I do that?”
“This Lord Berrow. If I go to interview him, he will probably clam up. But if you were to meet him socially and start to talk about poor Dolly, then he might tell you more than he would tell either me or Kerridge.”
In Scotland Yard, Kerridge was being told that his application to search the rector’s town house had been refused and he also got a blistering lecture on his lack of sensitivity in proposing to add more grief to an already grieving family.
He felt tired. He had earlier interviewed Lord Berrow, who had simply stared insolently at him and then threatened to report him to the prime minister.
Harry heard a movement on the landing outside the drawing-room, gathered Rose in his arms and kissed her gently on the forehead just as Lady Polly entered the room.
“You may go now,” said Lady Polly. “I have cancelled my daughter’s social engagements for the next two days. After that, I will apprise you of her calendar and I expect you to be on hand to escort her.”
“Delighted,” said Harry and bowed his way out.
Outside, he could still somehow smell the light flower perfume that Rose wore and he swore so loudly that a lady walking her dog stared at him in outrage.
♦
Two days later, Brum, the butler, brought in the morning post as usual on a small silver tray and placed it at the earl’s elbow as his lordship was eating breakfast.
Rose looked at the little pile of letters. Had she been a man and not a girl, she thought angrily, any letters addressed to her would have been given to her unopened. Not that there was really anything personal addressed to her, but she lived in hope that perhaps Harry might write to let her know how the case was progressing.
The earl put down his knife and fork and riffled through the letters. Then he rang the bell. “Give these to Mr. Jarvis,” he said to Brum. “Nothing of interest here.”
“There is one letter addressed to Lady Rose,” said Brum.
“Is there? I didn’t notice. Let me have it.”
“I really think I am capable of reading it myself,” said Rose.
Her father paid no attention. He lifted up a letter and stared at it. Then he held out his hand and Brum handed him a letter opener from the tray.
“Harrumph, let me see. Good Gad!”
“What is it?” asked Lady Polly.
“Give me that letter, Pa!” shouted Rose.
“You go to your room, miss. You, too, Levine, and get Cathcart!”
“What can it be?” asked Rose, as she and Daisy sat in Rose’s private sitting-room.
“Maybe one of your admirers sent an over-warm letter and Lord Hadfield’s getting the captain to frighten him off.”
Daisy stood up and walked to the mirror. Rose had presented her companion with a morning gown of white lace decorated with little red roses. Daisy admired her reflection in the glass and then wondered if she would ever have a chance to show it off to Becket.
She had an idea. “Maybe the captain will bring Becket with him and Becket will wait in the hall. I could nip down and see if he knows what’s going on.”
“Good idea. But you know what Pa is like. The captain will have simply been summoned without any explanation being given.”
“I’ll watch from the window and see if I can see them arriving.”
Rose fidgeted while Daisy looked down from the window. At last, after what seemed like an age, she saw the captain’s car stop outside, with Becket at the wheel.
“They’re here!” cried Daisy. “Won’t be long.”
Daisy waited outside on the landing until she heard the captain being ushered into the breakfast room and then ran lightly down the stairs.
Becket was standing in the hall.
“Why, Daisy!” he exclaimed. “You do look like such a fine lady.”
“Pretty, isn’t it?” said Daisy, smoothing down her gown with complacent fingers. “What’s going on?”
“At first the captain refused,” said Becket in a low voice, “because he’s busy and he doesn’t like the way Lord Hadfield expects him to drop everything and come running. So the secretary, Mr. Jarvis, he phones back and says that Lady Rose has received a death threat.”
“Oh, my stars and garters!” said Daisy. “This is bad. Rose has had a bad shock. She looks as cool as anything but I heard her crying during the night. I hope they don’t decide to ship her off to India after all!”
“The story’s been in all the papers. Probably some nutter.”
♦
“Probably a madman,” Harry was saying. “I’ll take this round to Scotland Yard. Kerridge will want to see if he can get any fingerprints off the letter. I mean, it must be from someone deranged.” He studied the letter again. It consisted of letters cut out from magazines and the message read, “Dear Lady Rose, Keep your mouth shut about what Dolly told you or you’ll be next. A Well-Wisher.”
“I mean,” Harry went on, “any sane person would assume that Lady Rose had already told Scotland Yard everything she knew.”
Matt
hew Jarvis, standing behind the earl’s chair, gave a slight cough. “If I may be so bold, my lord…”
“Go on. What is it?”
“There was an article in the Daily Mail yesterday which speculated that Lady Rose probably knew the dark secret of what had caused Miss Tremaine to say she was running away but was keeping quiet out of loyalty to her friend.”
“Rubbish,” said Harry. “Lady Rose barely knew the girl.”
“How did the papers find out that my daughter was even involved?” raged the earl.
“I’m sure they have some pet policeman at Scotland Yard in their pay, not to mention the bribes they give to servants.”
“A reporter tried to bribe me,” said Brum. “But I sent him off with a flea in his ear, my lord. I told him I was due for a raise in salary anyway.”
“Are you?” asked the earl, bewildered.
Harry looked briefly amused. “I think Brum means that he is now.”
The earl twisted round and goggled at his butler. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”
The butler raised his gloved hands in horror. “I would not dream of it, my lord. But your lordship did promise me a raise in salary after a number of years.”
“Did I? Oh, well, see to it Mr. Jarvis.”
“My lord…” began Brum.
“What now?”
“If I may speak, my lord. It concerns Lady Rose and her dark secret.”
“She doesn’t have a dark secret!” howled the earl. “Oh, what is it?”
“The Morning Bugle has picked up on the Daily Mail’s story and has a large feature on Lady Rose about her involvement in previous murders and the fact that her fiancé is the captain here. They have published a photograph of Lady Rose taken a year ago at a garden party in which she looks sad. They say she must break the bounds of loyalty and tell the police what she knows. I did not wish to distress you, but several newspapers were on the doorstep yesterday.”
Harry eyed Brum’s impassive face and was suddenly sure that the butler had taken money from the reporters and had supplied them with fantasies about Rose in return.
“This is serious,” said Harry. “I should have read the popular papers instead of the Times. I am afraid Lady Rose will need to be kept indoors until we are sure she is safe.”
Rose was summoned. She turned slightly pale when she realized Harry was taking the threat seriously. Daisy had just told her about the letter.
“It may be just some crank,” said Harry soothingly, “but it is as well to be safe.”
♦
Rose and Daisy were kept indoors. Rose had books to read to pass the time but Daisy felt she would die of boredom and repeatedly said she could not understand why the ban on going out of doors applied to her as well.
One bright sunny day after they had been kept in for almost two weeks, even Rose began to feel she could not bear this form of genteel imprisonment any more.
She stood by the window looking down at the square. “If only we could go outside for a little walk,” she mourned.
“We could try,” said Daisy eagerly. “Lord and Lady Hadfield have gone down to Stacey Court for the weekend.”
“They might have told me. Why go into the country?”
“Some boundary dispute.”
“I do think my parents are a trifle odd. They might have said something to me at dinner last night.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to tell you in case you thought it a good opportunity to get out of the house.”
“Brum will stop us going. And what about Turner?” Turner was Lady Rose’s recently hired lady’s maid.
“I’ll tell them you have a headache and want to be left alone,” said Daisy eagerly. “Then we can wait until they are taking their luncheon and slip out. With my lord and lady being away, they’ll be careless about guarding us. They’ll be sitting down for luncheon any minute now. You wait here and I’ll tell Turner to join the others for luncheon as she will not be needed for the rest of the day.”
Rose waited eagerly for Daisy’s return. Daisy was back after only a few minutes. “Let’s wear our plainest clothes,” said Daisy. “We don’t want to attract any attention to ourselves, even though the press have given up watching the house.”
They changed quickly, Rose into a straight skirt, striped blouse and jacket and sailor hat, and Daisy also into a blouse, skirt and jacket but with one of Rose’s old straw hats embellished with flowers on her head.
They crept together down the stairs and quietly let themselves out through the front door and then scampered along the square, giggling and hanging on to each other, thrilled with the combination of sunshine and freedom.
“Where now?” panted Rose.
“Let’s look at the shops and try on hats,” said Daisy, happy that now she and Rose seemed to be friends again instead of mistress and companion.
By mid-afternoon, they realized they were hungry and went to the tea-room at Fortnum and Mason in Piccadilly.
William Fortnum, who founded the famous store, was a footman in the royal household of Queen Anne. His job was to replace the candles every night and he made a tidy profit out of selling the old ones. He also had a sideline as a grocer.
He persuaded his landlord, Hugh Mason, to go into the grocery business with him and Fortnum and Mason was born.
Daisy and Rose had salmon in aspic embellished with prawns and lobster before they got down to the serious cake-eating business.
They chatted happily about this and that and then began to discuss the threatening letter. “I am sure it was some crank,” said Rose. “I am in no danger at all. I think we should sneak into the study and phone the captain. He must persuade Pa to let me go out again.” She blushed suddenly, remembering again the feel of his lips against her forehead.
Rose paid the bill and they walked out into Piccadilly, knowing that they had to return home and beginning to feel depressed.
“Cheer up,” said Daisy. “I’m sure it won’t be long before we’re out and about.” She stopped in front of a milliner’s. “I say, do look at that hat. They must ha’ slaughtered a whole aviary. It’s got more stuffed birds on it than’s decent.”
“My lace has come untied,” said Rose, stooping down.
There was a sharp report. The milliner’s window shattered just as Daisy grabbed hold of Rose and fell back onto the pavement with her. People began screaming. Some man shouted, “He had a gun! He had a gun!”
Rose and Daisy got unsteadily to their feet. Daisy brushed shards of glass off their clothes with a trembling hand. Commotion surrounded them. The milliner came out screaming that they had broken her window. Others were saying someone had fired a shot. Finally, to Rose’s relief, a constable pushed his way to the front, demanding to know what was going on.
“I d-don’t know,” said Rose, on the verge of tears.
“Someone tried to shoot her,” said Daisy. “You should be asking for witnesses. He’ll be miles away by now.”
“You trying to tell me how to do my job, young lady? Let’s be ’aving your name.”
“I’m Miss Daisy Levine, companion to Lady Rose Summer. This is Lady Rose Summer.”
More policemen arrived on the scene. Rose explained that as she bent down to tie her bootlace, a bullet had whizzed over her head and shattered the window. “I assume it was a bullet,” she said, “because I heard someone shouting, ‘He’s got a gun.’ ”
A police inspector joined them just in time to hear Rose’s last words. “Get into that crowd,” he roared, “and get hold of anyone who saw this man.”
At last a small, fussy elderly man was propelled through the crowd to the inspector.
“There was a lot of traffic, officer. I noticed him because he had an odd colour of red hair. He stood in the middle of the traffic behind a hackney carriage and I wondered why he did not cross. Then, as the traffic in front of him cleared, he pulled out a gun and fired.”
“Age? What was he wearing?”
“He was wearing a long black cloak
. Oh, and he had pincenez. No hat.”
Another two witness were brought forward. They said they had seen the man with the red hair and black cloak run away in the direction of the Green Park.
The inspector snapped out orders. The park was to be searched immediately and all the streets round about.
Kerridge had been talking to Harry when the phone on his desk rang. When he answered it, Harry, to his dismay, heard Kerridge exclaim, “Lady Rose! Shot! I’ll be down there right away.”
“Is she dead?” asked Harry. “Please don’t tell me she’s dead.”
“No. Someone fired a shot at her in Piccadilly. She bent down to tie her bootlace and that’s what saved her. Lady Rose is being escorted home. We’d better go there.”
Lord and Lady Hadfield were heading back to London, a local policeman having been sent to tell them about the attack on their daughter.
“I’ve had enough,” said the earl. “The only thing is to send her out of the country where she’ll be safe. I must say Cathcart’s been a fat lot of good at protecting her.”
“It’s Rose’s fault,” moaned the countess. “Always wilful. And what were the servants about to let her leave the house?”
“If Brum thinks he’s getting any sort of raise in pay after this, he can forget it,” raged her husband.
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Lady Polly uneasily. “He might talk to the press.”
Rose was beginning to feel exhausted as she told her story over and over again to Harry and the superintendent. Matthew had told her that her parents were on their way back and she felt sure that nothing now would stop them from packing her off to India. Inspector Judd had been placed on guard outside the drawing-room to make sure none of the servants was listening outside the door.
“I think the fellow was probably wearing a wig,” said Harry. “I mean the wig, the pince-nez and the black cloak are really all that anyone can remember. I think, Lady Rose, that it would be a good idea to get you out of London for a bit, but not to Stacey Court. You would not even be safe in your country home. I wish we could lock you up in a police station.”
“Wait!” Kerridge held up a hand for silence. “I’ve got an idea.”
