Our Lady of Pain

by Marion Chesney

  “How delightful,” he heard Lady Rose say. “I must thank you for lunch.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

  The car drove off. Bernie planned to escape when they stopped outside Lady Rose’s home. He knew if he stayed in the rumble, he might end up locked in a garage somewhere.

  He waited when he heard them descend, waited until he heard them mount the steps to the front door. He poked his head up. The man was kissing Lady Rose’s hand. He quickly jumped down from the rumble, glad the enamoured couple had eyes only for each other.

  When he was back in the office, he went in to see Harry and delivered his report. Bernie was not yet up to the mark in society gossip and did not know of Harry’s on/off engagement to Rose. So he was taken aback by the blind fury on Harry’s face when he delivered his report.

  “Have I done something wrong?” asked Bernie plaintively.

  Harry pulled himself together with an effort. “No, you have done very well.”

  “Would you like me to follow Lady Rose to this masked ball?”

  “No, I shall be going myself. I would like you now to go to Bart’s Hospital and visit Mrs. Becket and ask her if there is anything she or her husband needs.”

  When Bernie had gone, Harry telephoned Lady Glensheil.

  “That man who left your tea party with Lady Rose yesterday,” he said. “Who is he?”

  “Oh, that must be the catch of the Season, the Honourable Roger Sinclair, Lord Cherm’s eldest son. Captain Cathcart, I am sending you a cheque for finding my jewels and exposing that dreadful woman.”

  After Harry had finished talking to her, he replaced the receiver and sat staring bleakly into space. He had an awful feeling he was losing Rose.

  Becket had gone to survey the new apartment. Daisy lay listlessly in her hospital bed. She was grateful to the earl and countess for having got her a private room, but at that moment she would have welcomed the company of a general ward.

  The door opened and a nurse said, “Visitor for you.”

  Bernie entered the room. Daisy looked at this stranger. He was tall and thin with black hair and a sallow, clever face and a beaky nose and long humorous mouth.

  “I’m Bernie King,” he said, drawing a chair up to the bed. “I work for Captain Cathcart. He asked me to call on you and see if you need anything.”

  “I would like some books,” said Daisy. “The ones Lady Rose has left for me are a bit too clever. I would like some romances.”

  “I’ll get them to you. Now, how are you?”

  “Pretty awful. I keep thinking about the baby.”

  “You’ll have others.”

  Daisy shuddered. “Not if I can help it. Don’t let’s talk about me. Let’s talk about the case. What’s been happening?”

  Bernie told her all about Thomson, the lady’s maid. Then he told her how he had been asked to follow Lady Rose and keep an eye on her. He described the trip to Richmond and how he had hidden in the rumble.

  Daisy began to look animated. She pulled herself up higher on her pillows. “Oh, Gawd,” she said. “The poor captain. Rose does get tired of him not turning up to take her places.”

  “They’re going to a fancy dress ball tonight. Don’t worry. The captain’s going as well.”

  “Wait a bit. Does he think this lady’s maid might have done those murders?”

  “Could be.”

  “But where would her brother have come into it?”

  “This Thomson might have persuaded the brother somehow. Say, he called on Dolores for money and she got tired of him and threw him out. Thomson hears about the will leaving everything to him. She encourages him to call again. But this time he finds his sister dead. Stunned, he does what Thomson tells him, takes some jewellery. Thomson then tells him later that they can pin the murder on Lady Rose. She finds out about Madame De Peurey. They both go to Paris. Jeffrey is sent out to follow Rose. Madame de Peurey is killed and Thomson herself, maybe dressed as a man, maybe not, tries to push Lady Rose in the Seine and leaves that note.”

  “I wish I were out of here. I used to be Lady Rose’s companion before I got married. I miss being with her. What about you? How did you come to be working for the captain?”

  “I was in the police force. I was getting bored pounding the beat and saw the captain’s advertisement. He liked me and got Mr. Kerridge to intercede so that I could quit the force immediately. They weren’t bothered. I was only an ordinary copper.”

  “You’re obviously a Londoner.”

  “That’s me. Brought up in Whitechapel.”

  “Me too,” said Daisy. “You’ll never believe it, but I used to be a chorus girl at Butler’s.”

  “Gosh, I used to go to Butler’s.”

  They began to reminisce about places in Whitechapel and people they had known. Daisy was happy for the first time in a long time. Then the door opened and Becket came in.

  Daisy introduced them. Becket glared at Bernie.

  “Got to go,” said Bernie. “I’ll bring you those books.”

  “What books?” demanded Becket after Bernie had left.

  “Never mind,” said Daisy in a dull voice. “I want to go to sleep now.”

  Let us have a quiet hour,

  Let us hob-and-nob with Death.

  —ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “What am I to do now?” raged Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The terrace windows opened and a masked devil stepped out.

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

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

  “No joke. Move.”

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

  “Move,” ordered the woman.

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

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

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Roger fell to his knees and burst into tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  She was led to a study to await Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

  “And what was the present?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  A gentle snore was the only reply she got.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Oh, very well,” said Lady Polly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Daisy smiled when Bernie entered her hospital room.

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

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

  “No, you look fine.”

  “Sit down, Mr. King.”

  “Bernie, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Rubbish.”

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

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

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