Hasty Death (19 page)

Rose had a stab of worry that the door might prove to be locked, particularly after all the petty thefts, but to her relief it opened. Oil lamps were burning in the little sitting-room, so she
blew out the candle.

‘I’ll look,’ said Daisy. ‘If anything’s hidden, it’ll be on the little ledge above the hearth.’

‘These are Tudor chimneys,’ Rose pointed out. ‘They probably go straight up. Don’t take off your evening gloves, Daisy. If there’s anything there, we don’t
want to leave fingerprints.’

Daisy crouched down on the hearth and reached up into the chimney. She felt around. ‘Nothing,’ she declared, sitting back on her heels. She tried the bedroom chimney, but there was
nothing there either.

‘Let’s hurry and try Lord Alfred’s chimney.’

Another search along the old twisting corridors until they found Lord Alfred’s room.

‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ said Daisy. ‘I don’t want that manservant of his returning and finding us. He frightens me.’

Again, she knelt down to search up a chimney.

‘Nothing here either.’ She then searched the bedroom chimney. Nothing but soot.

‘It was a mad idea anyway,’ said Rose. ‘I know, let’s try Mr Jerry’s room, or rather, his wife’s bedroom. If the killer was in a hurry, he might have hidden
it there.’

‘Hurry, hurry,’ urged Daisy. ‘Don’t want to get caught.’

Rose felt a frisson of fear as she opened the late Mrs Jerry’s bedroom door. Of course the body had been removed, but somehow the air still smelt of the patchouli that Mrs Jerry liked to
spray on herself.

Daisy went quickly to the chimney. Again, her searching fingers couldn’t find anything. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she urged.

Back in their sitting-room, Daisy stripped off her sooty gloves. ‘Turner will wonder what I’ve been up to.’

‘Just tell her you dropped a brooch in the grate and you were looking for it.’

‘She’ll wonder why I didn’t just unbutton them at the wrist and peel them back like we do in the dining-room.’

‘Forget Turner. Let me think. Of course. The killer would hardly stand in front of her and inject whatever drug it was into the champagne bottle. He, or she, would take the bottle to their
room. People don’t normally carry syringes around with them. So whoever it was must have come prepared. But why? Did Mrs Jerry threaten the murderer in London?’

She went to the window and looked out. ‘If he – let’s assume it’s a he – threw the syringe out of the window it would land in one of the flower-beds below. But
I’m not thinking clearly. Whoever it was would not need to get rid of the syringe right away. He would only do it later after Captain Cathcart made his announcement in the dining-room about
the champagne bottle. Unless it was actually in his pocket – no, it wouldn’t be there. A servant might find it. So he goes up to his room as soon as he can. He must have had it hidden
somewhere very clever because the police had already searched the rooms.’

‘He might not have thrown it out of the window,’ said Daisy. ‘If he leaned out, he could hide it in that thick wisteria.’

‘Well, we can’t start climbing up ladders to look for it without occasioning comment,’ said Rose. ‘If we got up at dawn, the sun strikes full on the front of the house
and we might see the rays shining on the glass of the syringe. I’ll tell Turner that we are leaving for a walk very early and we can dress ourselves.’

There was a knock at the door. Daisy opened it. Harry stood there with Becket.

‘I came to see how you were feeling, Lady Rose,’ he said.

‘Oh, I’m fine now,’ said Rose airily. ‘It was the heat in the dining-room.’

Daisy was disappointed. Rose was obviously not going to tell them about the search for the syringe, so they would not be joining the early-morning hunt.

‘As long as you are well,’ said Harry. His eyes moved to the sooty pair of gloves Daisy had left on a side table. ‘Someone been cleaning out the fireplace with evening gloves
on?’ he asked.

‘Silly of me,’ said Daisy, not meeting his eye. ‘I dropped a brooch in the grate and scrabbled about for it.’

Harry’s eyes moved to the grate. Because of the warm weather, the fireplace had been cleaned and was now decorated with leaves and pine cones.

‘I found it,’ Daisy went on hurriedly.

‘They’re up to something,’ said Harry as he and Becket walked down the stairs. ‘Why would Daisy’s gloves be covered in soot?’

‘Miss Levine may have been searching up the chimneys looking for the blackmail material. I had forgotten, people sometimes hide things up chimneys when the fires are not being
lit.’

‘I’ll suggest that to Kerridge tomorrow. But why did she not tell me? Lady Rose will put herself in danger if she decides to detect on her own.’

Rose had a restless night. She was frightened of oversleeping. But as soon as they pale grey light of dawn filtered in through the curtains, she got up and roused Daisy.

They dressed and made their way down the stairs. ‘I hope there is sun this morning,’ whispered Rose. ‘It was overcast yesterday.’

They stood together on the lawn and waited. The sky was clear, with only a few wisps of cloud, which turned pink in the rays of the rising sun.

Their eyes swept along the thick wisteria which covered the front of the house.

‘There!’ whispered Rose, clutching Daisy’s arm in excitement. ‘There’s something sparkling amongst the leaves half-way up. Let’s tell Kerridge.’

‘He’s at The Feathers and the policeman at the gate won’t let us past,’ said Daisy. ‘The press are probably still lurking about. He usually comes here at eight in
the morning. Not long to wait.’

Daisy suddenly grasped Rose’s arm. ‘I think someone was watching us, I saw a curtain twitch.’

‘Let’s get back inside and wait for Kerridge,’ said Rose, looking uneasily up at the windows. ‘I can’t see anything.’

Harry went in to see Kerridge just after eight o’clock and found Rose and Daisy already there. ‘These young ladies,’ said Kerridge, ‘had the idea that
our murderer may have dropped the syringe into the wisteria. You were right about the drugging. The preliminary autopsy confirms that she was drugged with a powerful sleeping-potion. I’ve
sent my men to get ladders. Come with me, Lady Rose, and point out exactly where you think you saw something shining in the leaves.’

Harry was furious. Rose had lied to him. He followed them out, angrily reminding himself that he had never really liked her anyway.

As Harry stood apart from her, his hands behind his back, and his brows down, Rose felt ashamed of herself. She went up to him. ‘I would have told you the truth but I thought you would
think my idea silly.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ he said curtly. ‘You wanted to prove that you were better at detecting than I.’

He walked a little way away from her.

‘I thought
you
might have told me,’ said Becket to Daisy.

Daisy shrugged. ‘If she won’t, I can’t.’

Rose pointed to where she had seen something shining. Kerridge told the policemen to put the ladder up against the house at that point and begin the search.

Rose kept glancing at Harry’s set face. She knew in that instant that anything he found out about the case he would keep to himself in future.

The policeman on the ladder gave a shout. ‘I see it!’

‘Lift it with your hankie,’ shouted Kerridge. ‘Don’t want your prints on it. Is it a syringe?’

‘Yes.’

Kerridge turned to Rose. ‘Good work, my lady,’ he said. ‘We should have you on the force.’

Then he turned to Harry. ‘Let’s go inside. I want to discuss this.’

He waited until the policeman had climbed down the ladder and then he and Harry walked off together, followed by Becket and Inspector Judd.

‘Just look at them!’ raged Rose. ‘I find their evidence, but because I’m a woman they never think that I should be part of their rotten discussion. When I return to
London I shall contact the suffragettes and support them once more.’

‘I’ll get my men to search this place from top to bottom,’ Kerridge said to Harry in the estate office. ‘Then I’ll need to let them all go. Lady
Glensheil has tried to help, but I am now being leaned on heavily from above. Oh, yes, they want me to solve the case but without upsetting the nobs. And this old place has so many nooks and
crannies.’

Come the revolution, thought Kerridge, this would make a good orphanage and this lot would be out there working in the kitchens and gardens. He had a vision of Lady Glensheil scrubbing the pots
in the kitchen with a piece of sackcloth as an apron tied round her waist.

‘Mr Kerridge,’ said Harry sharply.

‘Eh, what? Oh, yes, I don’t suppose there will be prints on that syringe.’

A policeman entered. ‘Whose window was it under, lad?’ asked Kerridge.

‘It was under the window on the first-floor landing.’

Kerridge sighed. ‘So any one of them could have thrown it out as they went up or down the stairs. Blast! Are you sure, Captain Cathcart, that neither Mrs Stockton nor Lord Alfred have been
particularly friendly?’

‘Not that I have seen. None of them are particularly what I would call friendly, except perhaps Tristram Baker-Willis, who has proposed to Lady Rose. Probably after her title and
money.’

Kerridge looked amused. ‘Why do you jump to that conclusion? Lady Rose is very beautiful.’

‘Lady Rose is irritating and unfeminine.’

‘I would have said you both had a lot in common.’

‘Tommy-rot!’

The fact that they were all told they could leave on the following morning had lightened spirits considerably and an air of relief pervaded the dining-table.

Only Rose felt unhappy because Harry would not look at her and Tristram kept breathing compliments in her ear.

She was glad when Lady Glensheil finally rose to lead the ladies to the drawing-room. Maisie and Frederica spoke of the coming season. Maisie said that if she did not ‘take’ at this,
her second season, she would be sent to India. Frederica said roundly that she had half a mind not to get married at all. There weren’t any decent chaps on offer. Lady Glensheil said loftily
it was the duty of every young miss to marry. There was no other future for a lady.

Rose protested and said that a number of ladies these days were earning their living.

‘Not
ladies,’
said Lady Glensheil dismissively.

When they were joined by the gentlemen, the card tables were set up. Harry sat down with Lady Glensheil, Tristram and Sir Gerald and did not once look in Rose’s direction.

Rose excused herself and followed by Daisy went up to her room. ‘The captain is angry with me,’ she said.

‘You should maybe have told him,’ ventured Daisy.

‘I don’t care what he thinks,’ said Rose angrily.

Harry and the rest of them left for London the following morning. Harry went straight to his office and looked at the pile of mail waiting for him. He decided to employ another
secretary. He drafted out an advertisement to appear in
The Lady
magazine and sent Becket off with it.

He felt guilty about Miss Jubbles. He should have noticed she had fallen in love with him. And he had told her all about Lady Rose working at the bank!

T
wo weeks had passed since the return from Farthings, and Rose felt she had entered again into a type of luxurious convent. Once more she had to
change at least six times a day and make calls with her mother or various ladies of society. She had to remember all the trivial things not to do, such as never opening a door herself, never
looking round when she sat down – one had to assume a footman would be there to place the chair – and never to sit down on a chair still warm from a gentleman’s bottom.

Daisy, too, was bored and restless. She tried to console herself by remembering the hard times in the business women’s hostel. Now that it seemed as if Captain Harry was determined never
to see Rose again, Daisy knew that meant she would not get a chance to see Becket.

The only freedom the pair had was when they were allowed go out on their bicycles in the park, and that was because the earl had taken the precaution of furnishing two of the footmen with
bicycles and making sure they accompanied Rose and Daisy when they cycled.

And then, to make life really horrible, Tristram called and asked the earl’s permission to pay his addresses and that permission was granted. Rose refused him again and was in deep
disgrace.

Perhaps her parents would not have been so angry had they known that Rose had actually refused with a certain amount of reluctance this time. She was beginning to realize that the only hope of
freedom for a lady of her class was to marry a complacent husband. She would have her own household. Her husband would presumably spend most of his time at his club or in the country killing
things.

Daisy had told her about Harry’s advertisement for a secretary and she wished he had asked her. He never called and he never attended any of the long, boring society events where she sat
and fretted and counted the hours until she could return home to the sanctuary of books and privacy.

Harry was finding it hard to engage a suitable secretary. He did not want to make another mistake.

But at last he settled on a Miss Ailsa Bridge, daughter of Scottish missionaries. She was tall and thin with a long nose and pale hooded eyes. She was in her late thirties and had travelled
extensively to the Far East with her parents to convert the heathen. Ailsa had excellent shorthand and typing. She came with a reference from Brigadier Bill Handy, who said that while she had been
abroad she had provided the British government with useful intelligence about various situations in Burma.

She proved to be neat, efficient, and, above all, impersonal.

What he did not know because Ailsa did not consider it important enough to tell him was that two days after she had started work and while Harry was out of the office, she had sustained a visit
from Miss Jubbles.