Our Lady of Pain

by Marion Chesney

  “Very well.”

  “And when are you seeing him again?”

  “We are to take luncheon together tomorrow, but now, in view of Daisy’s predicament …”

  “Piffle. She will be well looked after.”

  Rose went up to her room, wondering what to do about Roger. Roger seemed to her to present a golden world of travel and respectability, far away from getting attacked in the East End. Her parents would be so pleased. She would never have to worry again about Harry’s fancy being taken by another woman, never again feel that burning misery she had experienced when he had promised to escort her to a ball or party and had failed to turn up. Marriage to Roger would mean travel and companionship. Marriage to Harry, on the other hand, held only the promise of hurt and danger.

  Harry stretched his bad leg out in front of him as he sat in a chair opposite Kerridge. “So do you think we have our murderer?”

  “I’m sure we have, although Jones is swearing blind he’s innocent of that.”

  It had transpired that Jones had not sold the shop in the Mile End Road, but had turned it over to Daisy’s assailant, Pat Docherty. The shop had been used as a front. The police had wondered for quite a time where robberies from the ships at London’s docks had gone to. Now, they knew. The cellars below the shop had been crammed with stolen goods. Jones had worked as the fence. Docherty had caved in after his arrest and told them everything, including the names of all the other men who had worked for Jones.

  “As Jones knew so many villains, it stands to reason that although he may not have done the murders himself, he could easily have got one of his ruffians to do them for him.”

  “We’re fingerprinting the lot of them, although the gun that shot Dolores had Lady Rose’s fingerprints on it. Isn’t society amazing? If Lady Rose had been Miss Bloggs of Nowhere, she’d be ready for a hanging about now.”

  “Don’t even think about it. I’m off to the hospital to see Daisy.”

  Harry was told that Mrs. Becket was asleep and was conducted to the room given to Becket.

  “How is she?” asked Harry.

  “She’s lost the baby. She has a bad concussion and lost a lot of blood but they say she is going to be all right.”

  “Docherty should be charged with murder. I thought he only hit her on the head.”

  “They say she would probably have lost the baby anyway. It was a weak pregnancy.”

  “I want you to stay here until she’s better. I’ll go home and pack up your clothes and shaving kit. And tell them to bill me for any expenses.”

  “Lord and Lady Hadshire have taken care of everything.”

  “Really? You amaze me. I’ll be back shortly with your things.”

  Harry collected his car from where Becket had left it outside the hospital. He considered his changed circumstances as he drove back to Chelsea. Before he had started the agency, when he had little money, he had been content with Becket as his only servant. Then there was Phil, but Phil had left. He would hire two detectives to help him, and in the morning he would get his secretary to call an agency and employ a housekeeper and gentleman’s gentleman. He would find an apartment for Daisy and Becket. Becket could work as his chauffeur and Daisy could be a lady of leisure.

  During the next week, he longed to see Rose, but instructing his two new detectives and breaking in new staff left him little time to visit the hospital, and on each occasion he found Rose had just left.

  Kerridge phoned him one day to say that they could not charge either Jones or Docherty with the murder of Dolores because there was no proof. “But if they didn’t do it, I’m sure they organized it,” he said, “so Lady Rose does not have to worry about any of them any more.”

  Harry entered his office in the morning to be told that Lady Glensheil was waiting for him. He had worked for Lady Glensheil before.

  Lady Glensheil was an imposing woman with a face like a Roman emperor.

  “How can I help you?” he asked, ushering her into the inner office.

  She sat down with a sigh. Her hat was decorated with a stuffed ptarmigan with little rubies for eyes. He wondered how she could bear the weight of it.

  “I employ a lady’s maid. Her name is Henrietta Thomson.”

  Harry had begun to take notes. He looked up sharply. “She did not once work for Dolores Duval, did she?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Who was her last employer?”

  “Lady Burridge. Thomson has excellent references.”

  “I think I know the woman. But first tell me your problem.”

  “Some of my jewellery has gone missing. I do not want to call in the police because most of the staff have been with me for a long time. I am having one of my tea afternoons. If you could come at five as a guest but observe the servants and this Thomson woman and tell me what you think …”

  “Perhaps it would be better if you could sketch me a plan of the house, pointing out where her room is. When your guests arrive, keep her occupied and I will search her room.”

  “Thank you. I knew I could depend on you. Lady Rose and Lady Polly will be there.”

  The same morning, Rose visited Daisy. “Where’s your husband?” she asked.

  “Becket’s gone out to buy me some fruit.”

  “Do you always call him Becket? What is his first name?”

  “Reginald. I’m worried, Rose.”

  “The doctors say you will soon be restored to complete health.” “It’s not that. Becket has found an apartment for us in Bloomsbury. He says it is very fine, three bedrooms. But I am to be the lady of the house. I am not to do any outside work at all. Rose, I will die of boredom.”

  “I am sure he can be persuaded to let you do something.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s become all masterful. You will do this, Daisy, and you will do that. I’m afraid I don’t love him any more.” A tear slid down Daisy’s cheek.

  Rose took her hand. “You are still suffering from shock. Once you get on your feet again, you will see things differently.”

  But when she left the hospital, Daisy’s words rang like a dirge in her ears. “I’m afraid I don’t love him any more.” For Rose was seriously beginning to wonder if she loved Harry. She found herself thinking more and more about Roger. He was as fair as Harry was dark. He had none of Harry’s brooding good looks. He was sunny and uncomplicated and he made it plain he thought she was wonderful.

  Rose knew that unless her intentions were honourable, then she should not continue to see him.

  When she arrived with her mother at Lady Glensheil’s that afternoon, it was to find Harry was there. Her heart gave a lurch. Then, without even looking at her, he put down his teacup, muttered an excuse and left the room.

  Rose’s face flamed with humiliation. She could see some of the debutantes glancing at her in a sly way and then whispering to one another behind their fans.

  And then a welcome voice in her ear said, “What a delight to see you again so soon.”

  Roger stood smiling down at her. “You did not mention at luncheon that you would be here.”

  “Mama handles my social engagements. I did not even know until this afternoon that I was invited.”

  Roger fetched a chair and sat down next to her. Now the debutantes were scowling and Rose experienced a little stab of triumph.

  Harry found the lady’s maid’s room by studying the sketch of the house that Lady Glensheil had given him. Most of the servants were on duty at the tea party or in the kitchens, and so the upper part of the house was quiet. He tried the door. It was locked. Thankful that he had brought his lock picks with him, he got to work.

  At last he got the door open and went inside. He began to search diligently, opening drawers, searching in the wardrobe and under the mattress. He could not find any jewels. The lady’s maid had a jewel box but it only contained a few trinkets.

  He lifted the rug and checked the floorboards but they looked as if they had lain undisturbed for years. He sat down
in an upright chair by the window and looked carefully around.

  Downstairs, Lady Glensheil said sharply, “Where are you going?”

  “I am going to my room to collect something, my lady.”

  “You will stay where you are until I give you permission to leave.”

  Upstairs, still in the lady’s maid’s room, Harry noticed a small strand of thread by the window. He got up and lifted one of the thick lined curtains, weighing it in his hand. He then went to the worktable and took out a pair of scissors. He deftly unpicked the deep hem of one curtain and shook it. An emerald necklace dropped to the floor, followed by a diamond brooch. He rapidly unpicked the hem of the other curtain and found a cameo brooch, an amethyst ring and a pearl bracelet.

  He went rapidly downstairs to the hall and phoned Scotland Yard and left a message for Kerridge. Then he went to join Lady Glensheil. “You were right,” he whispered. “Get a couple of your men to lock her up until the police arrive.”

  Lady Glensheil signalled to a hovering footman. “I want two of you to take Thomson here and lock her up until the police arrive. Not in her room. The library will do.”

  Thomson jumped to her feet. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “You are a thief,” Lady Glensheil said coldly. “Take her away.”

  The guests sat as if turned to stone, some of them with teacups halfway to their lips as a screaming and protesting Thomson was dragged away.

  “Just domestic trouble,” said Lady Glensheil. “Do not let it spoil my party.” Rose looked across at Harry but he was talking intently to Lady Glensheil and did not seem aware of her existence.

  She leaned across and said to her mother, “I have a headache. I would like to leave.”

  Lady Polly smiled indulgently at Roger. “Would you mind escorting my daughter home?”

  “I would consider it an honour.”

  It was then that Harry saw Rose. He hurried round the tables to catch up with her. Lady Polly watched him with furious eyes and just as he was passing her she thrust out her parasol and tripped him up.

  Harry fell across the table, sending cups and glasses flying. He straightened himself up painfully because his bad leg was hurting. His suit was covered in jelly and cake. He hobbled quickly out of the room to catch up with Rose.

  He was just in time to see her driving off with Roger. “Rose!” he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of Roger’s car’s engine.

  Thomson paced up and down the library, looking for escape. The library was on the ground floor and so the windows were barred.

  She stopped her pacing and looked at the fireplace. She walked over and removed the screen and bent down. It was an old, wide chimney with climbing rungs for the chimney sweep’s boys.

  She took off her hat and threw it on the floor. Bending her head, she went into the fireplace and began to climb. When she reached to top, she let out a strangled sob because her way was blocked by the chimney pot. Standing on the last rung, she stretched her arms up and pushed sideways with manic strength. The pot gave a little. She pushed harder until it gave and fell onto the roof and began to roll down to the edge.

  Kerridge had just arrived with police officers when they heard a rumbling sound and a crash.

  One of the policemen ran outside and then came running back. “It’s a chimney pot, sir, fallen off the roof.”

  “The library chimney,” said Harry, who had just joined them wearing one of Lord Glensheil’s suits. “She might have escaped that way.”

  They unlocked the library door. The maid’s hat lay in front of the fireplace and a final cascade of loose soot came falling down the chimney.

  Thomson knew that the house next door was empty, the owners having gone to the country. She smashed the lock on a back door with a rock and let herself in. Far above her, she could hear the police searching the roofs.

  She stripped naked in the kitchen and scrubbed herself clean at the sink. Then, still naked, she ran upstairs and into a lady’s bedroom. Quickly, she put on underclothes, gown and hat. She found a reticule and transferred the contents of her own sooty one into it.

  She ran from room to room, ransacking the drawers and picking up as many portable valuables as she could. With a sigh of relief, she found a bag of guineas carelessly left in the bedside table in the master bedroom. She also found a spare set of keys, which by their size she guessed were for the front door.

  Thomson walked down to the front door. She picked a parasol out of the stand by the door and took a deep breath. Unfurling it to hide her face, she unlocked the front door, locked it behind her, and strolled down the street. She hailed a cab at the corner.

  “Where to?” asked the cabbie.

  “I’ll let you know. Just drive on.”

  Kerridge and Harry went to St. Stephen’s Tavern that evening to worry over this new development.

  “It’s a pity Lady Glensheil did not remember that the neighbours were away from home until hours later,” said Kerridge. “A sooty woman running around London would have been easy to find, but there were all the signs that she had washed herself and stolen clothes.”

  “Do you think it is possible she is a murderess?” asked Harry. “Might Jones be telling the truth?”

  “It’s hard to believe. We never even thought of her. What we should have considered was the oddity of a seemingly respectable lady’s maid taking a post with a well-known tart. It’s a class thing and I fell for it. Me! If she had been some slattern from the East End, I would have been suspicious.”

  “If she is a murderess, is Lady Rose is any danger?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. Why?”

  “I think that perhaps Thomson went to considerable lengths to persuade Jeffrey to make her look guilty. She must be deranged and she may have a personal vendetta against her.”

  Harry looked uneasy. “I am barred from her home. I’ve hired two detectives. One of them, Bernie King, is very young and sharp. I think I’ll put him on to following her discreetly.”

  Rose’s mind was in a turmoil over the rival attractions of Roger and Harry. She decided the next morning to slip out of the house, go to Harry’s office and ask him outright if he loved her and if they were getting married and what the scene at Lady Glensheil’s had all been about.

  She escaped from the house when Brum wasn’t looking, knowing the butler would immediately inform her parents.

  She hailed a cab and gave the driver instructions as to how to get to Harry’s office in Buckingham Palace Road.

  Her heart was beating hard. It was only when she descended the carriage that a wave of helplessness engulfed her. Harry would say that of course he wanted to marry her and then he would go on behaving as usual. And he had not even troubled to tell her what all that fuss at the tea party had been about.

  Upstairs, Bernie King had just received a phone call from Harry, who was still at home, ordering him to follow Lady Rose. Bernie was a thin, black-haired man in his early thirties. He had been in the police force but had been attracted by Harry’s advertisement. He grabbed his coat and glanced down from the window. He knew what Lady Rose looked like, Harry’s secretary having provided him with a photograph from a society magazine.

  To his surprise he saw her standing on the pavement outside. He ran lightly down the stairs. He was glad that Lady Rose did not know what he looked like.

  She was climbing into a cab. Bernie hailed another cab and followed her. He saw her entering her home. He moved a little way around the square where he could observe the house without being obvious.

  At noon, when he was beginning to feel thoroughly bored, he saw a smart motor car drive up and a handsome fair-haired man descended and went into the house. Bernie groaned. If the young man had come to take Lady Rose driving, how could he follow?

  The square was deserted. He strolled past the car, looking to right and left. When he came abreast of the car, he leaped into the rumble—that rear seat for luggage—and finding a carriage rug, pulled it over himself.
If he was discovered, he would need to rely on his boss to get him out of trouble.

  After ten minutes, he felt the car dip and the man’s voice say, “I thought we would take a spin down by the river.”

  Rose’s voice answered, “What a lovely day!”

  Bernie lay for what seemed to him a long time. The couple did not talk much because of the sound of the engine.

  At last, the cab stopped. “I believe this is quite a good place for lunch,” he heard the man say. “We can have lunch in the garden.”

  She answered something as their voices faded away.

  After a few minutes, Bernie cautiously lifted his head. He recognized the Star and Garter at Richmond.

  Some people were passing, so he ducked down again. Then he tried again. No one around.

  He nipped out of the rumble and strolled into the pub. He went to the bar and ordered a half pint of beer and then carried it to a table where he could look out into the garden.

  He felt a pang of envy. They looked such a handsome, carefree couple. He took out his notebook and began to write.

  His stomach rumbled after half an hour but he did not want to order any food and then lose them if they suddenly decided to leave. He regretted his decision after an hour.

  Just when he thought they meant to spend the whole afternoon in Richmond, he saw the man calling for the bill and Lady Rose adjusting her driving veil.

  He left quickly, getting a sour look from the barkeep, who obviously did not favour customers who only ordered one drink and stayed for a long time.

  Bernie went outside, looked around, and jumped back in the rumble.

  As the couple approached the car, he heard the man say, “Are you going to the masked ball at the Twenders tonight?”

  “I believe so.”

  He laughed. “I have a secret. I have already asked your parents’ permission to escort you.”