Our Lady of Pain (4 page)

Lady Polly said, “Oh, Rose, if only you hadn’t threatened to kill the woman yourself.”

“What’s this?” asked Kerridge sharply.

“You need not answer any more questions,” said Briggs quickly.

“I may as well tell him,” said Rose sadly. “There were so many witnesses. My fiancé escorted Miss Duval to the opera. I was incensed. I felt he was tarnishing our relationship by consorting publicly with a doxy. I went up to her in the crush bar at the interval and I said something like, ‘Leave my fiancé alone, you bitch, or I’ll kill you.’ ”

“Oh, why on earth did you say such a thing?” mourned Harry.

She looked at him for the first time. “I should not have said it. Neither you nor she were worth the effort.”

“I think we’re finished here,” said Briggs.

“Yes, go to your room,” said Lady Polly.

Harry watched her go. He would never have dreamed that anything he did could rouse Rose to a jealous fury. Perhaps she loved him after all. But she would never forgive him for having taken Dolores to the opera. He should never have let Dolores talk him into it.

“Looks right bad for Lady Rose,” said Kerridge as Becket drove them to Scotland Yard. “The earl was a fool to stop us searching her rooms. If she hasn’t got that jewellery, then it’s a good step towards getting her in the clear.”

“You can get a search warrant.”

“For an earl’s town house? I’ll be blocked at every turn.”

“I’ll need to persuade them to send Lady Rose away somewhere. Once the newspapers come out tomorrow, she will be damned as a murderess and there’ll be a mob at her door.”

“She will certainly be featured largely in the papers but not damned. I don’t think so in this case.”

“Why?”

“If Lady Rose had killed a respectable lady, it would be another matter. But her fiancé has been seen squiring around a French tart. It will be regarded as a crime of passion. You may find yourself, and not Lady Rose, the villain on the piece.”

Daisy returned home. She sensed something was up as soon as Brum, the butler, answered the door to her. Daisy had the front door key but was not expected to use it except in an emergency. She had been reprimanded for using the key on one occasion by Lady Polly, who had said, “Why open doors when servants are paid to do so?”

“Hullo, Brum,” said Daisy. “Why the long face?”

He shook his head and said portentously, “Bad times.”

Daisy threw him an alarmed look and darted up the stairs to Rose’s private sitting room.

Rose was sitting in an armchair in front of a smouldering fire, a book lying open on her lap. Daisy saw immediately that Rose had been crying. She knelt down beside her. “What’s the matter? Tell Daisy.”

In a tired flat voice, Rose told her about the murder and about her involvement in finding the body.

She finished by saying, “I am really ruined now. It will be in all the newspapers tomorrow. My engagement to the captain is over. If I don’t find someone quickly to marry me, we will be sent off to India. That is, if I don’t end up in prison.”

“We could run away,” said Daisy. “You’ve got loads of jewels. We could sell them and go to Scotland or Ireland or somewhere like that. I know, we could go back to the Shufflebottoms in Yorkshire.” Rose and Daisy had been sent to stay with Bert Shufflebottom, a village policeman, the year before, when Rose’s life had been in danger.

Rose shook her head. “Mr. Shufflebottom is a policeman. If it was found out he was harbouring us, he would lose his job.”

“We could ask Miss Friendly for suggestions. She told me that before her father ran through all the money, they used to travel.”

“We cannot involve her.” Rose had rescued Miss Friendly from a life of genteel poverty and had employed her as a seamstress almost around the same time as Harry had rescued Phil Marshall from destitution. She remembered thinking their similar actions had formed a bond between them, and felt like crying again.

“I cannot face tomorrow,” said Rose, “but where can we go?”

“Perhaps some seaside town. We could stay in a quiet hotel. It’s out of season. There won’t be many folks around.”

“I do have a certain amount of money at the bank,” said Rose slowly. “I could draw it out tomorrow. It would occasion too much comment if I tried to sell my jewels. The jeweller might feel obliged to contact my father. A reputable jeweller would be sure to ask how I had come by them and a disreputable one would not give us value. If you remember, my Aunt Matilda died a few months ago and left me a tidy sum. But how will we get out of the house tomorrow with all the press on the doorstep and the servants watching my every move?”

Daisy frowned in thought. Then she said, “They’ll assume I have gone to work. I’ll get into your bed and pretend to be you and say I’m not feeling well and wish to be left alone.”

“But if I go to the bank with stories about me all over the newspapers and draw out money, the manager may well phone my father.”

Daisy sat back on her heels. “I’ve got it,” she said. “There’s quite a bit of money in the safe in the office.”

“Pa’s money! No, we couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could. I’ll rob it and leave a note saying we’ll pay back everything when the fuss has died down. That way, it wouldn’t
really
be stealing.”

“But luggage! How do we get it out of the house?”

“We’ll pack up tonight and when everyone’s asleep, I’ll leave it behind the shed in the garden and put a ladder against the garden wall.”

“How will you get into the safe?”

“Easy. Matthew Jarvis has the key in a desk in his office. It isn’t one of the newfangled ones with a dial.”

“And where will we go?”

“We’ll go to Paddington and take a train somewhere. You’ll need to be heavily veiled so that no one recognizes you.”

“I’m such a coward,” said Rose. “But I cannot face the captain. I cannot face seeing the press outside the door.”

“So we’ll do it,” said Daisy, hoping privately that Becket would be so alarmed at her disappearance that he might come to his senses.

 As dawn was breaking, Rose and Daisy sat in a first-class carriage as the train to a small seaside resort called Thurby-on-Sea pulled out of Paddington station. Rose could only be glad that they had the compartment to themselves because the heavy veil she was wearing was stifling her. Daisy lowered the blinds on the corridor windows. “I brought a packed lunch,” she said. “We daren’t go into the dining room because you’d need to raise your veil to eat.”

The train roared south, Rose lowering her veil every time it stopped at a station in case someone joined them in the compartment, but they were left alone until they reached Thurby-on-Sea.

“Why Thurby-on-Sea?” asked Rose wearily as they finally stood on a small windswept platform.

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Daisy cheerfully, “so I suppose most people haven’t either. Porter!”

Once settled in a cab, they asked the driver to take them to a good hotel. He drove to the Thurby Palace, which was smaller than its grand name suggested. It was situated on a promenade along which a gale whipped with increasing ferocity.

Daisy checked them in under the names of the Misses Callendar. “Why Callendar?” whispered Rose.

“It just came to me,” Daisy whispered back. “I used to dance with a Scotch girl who came from there.” Daisy had once been a chorus girl.

They were ushered into two bedchambers with a sitting room in between.

Rose walked to the window of the sitting room and looked out at the plunging waves, which were now sending spray up over the promenade.

“It’s cold in here,” complained Daisy. She pulled the bell rope beside the fireplace, and when the porter answered the summons asked him to light the fires.

He looked curiously at the heavily veiled figure of Rose standing by the window.

“Get on with it,” snapped Daisy.

They waited until he had left. Rose unpinned her hat and veil and sat down by the sitting room fire, stretching her hands out to the blaze.

“I brought some stuff from the masquerade box,” said Daisy. “I’ll disguise you so that we can go down to the dining room and get something to eat. It’s just noon.”

Rose stifled a yawn. The train had taken four hours, stopping at innumerable tiny stations before creaking into Thurby-on-Sea on the Essex coast.

Daisy was unlocking their luggage. “Here!” she said triumphantly. She held up a grey wig and a pair of spectacles. “Put these on. No one will recognize you from your photo in the newspapers.”

“Is my photo in the newspapers?”

“Bound to be, but I thought it would be best if you didn’t know what they were writing about you. I’ve got a wig for meself,” said Daisy. “The minute we’re found missing, the police’ll be looking for me as well.”

What have I done? thought Rose, suddenly appalled. We have robbed my father and run away. I am a coward. What will Captain Cathcart think of me?

She suddenly remembered Dolores Duval’s dead body and burst into overwrought tears.

“There, there, I’m here,” cooed Daisy.

“I-I am s-such a weakling,” sobbed Rose.

“Now, then, it’s only for a few days, until those dreadful press people have given up.”

Rose dried her eyes and turned a white face up to Daisy. “But I have just realized that in running away, I will now make Mr. Kerridge sure that I am guilty.”

Daisy looked at her uneasily. Then she said bracingly, “Food is what we need. We didn’t have any breakfast. Let’s put on our disguises and go downstairs. Have you ever seen such an oldfashioned set of rooms? I don’t think they’ve been changed for half a century.”

The sitting room was overfurnished. The mantel was draped with cloth and the chairs were also draped with long cloth covers to hide their embarrassing legs. The Victorians of the last century had even found the sight of naked chair legs slightly disreputable. A badly executed oil painting of Queen Victoria glared down at them accusingly.

Rose went through to one of the bedrooms and sat down at the dressing table. She arranged the grey wig over her hair and put on the glasses, which had unmagnified lenses. Daisy came in carrying two hats. “I packed us two of the most dowdy ones. Don’t want to occasion comment by looking too smart.”

They waited until they heard the luncheon gong sound and then went down the stairs and into the dining room. Rose heaved a sigh of relief. The only other diners were an elderly couple.

Daisy shook out her napkin. “I hope the food’s not too bad,” she said. “I really don’t think a dump in a backwater like this can afford a good cook.”

The meal came as a pleasant surprise. They started with a good vegetable broth followed by poached haddock and then tucked into a large dish of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. The dessert was spotted dick with custard.

“Goodness,” said Daisy when they had finished. “Can’t wait to get upstairs and take me stays off.”

The elderly lady and her husband exchanged shocked glances.

“Do be quiet, Daisy,” hissed Rose. “You’re drawing attention to us.”

But it was a relief to be back in their rooms again and to be able to undress and climb into their respective beds.

Rose’s last thought before she fell asleep was of Harry. He would be so angry with her.

So, naturalists observe, a flea
Hath smaller fleas that on him prey;
And these have smaller fleas to bite ’em,
And so proceed
ad infinitum.

  —
JONATHAN SWIFT

“You what?”

Kerridge shifted uneasily but stared defiantly at the head of Scotland Yard, Sir Ian Wetherby.

“The lady’s maid, Thomson, thought that Miss Duval might have been expecting a visit from a royal personage.”

“Drop that line of investigation immediately, do you hear?”

“Yes, sir. But this is murder.”

“Leave it alone. Why are you fiddling about with this? Lady Rose Summer is found standing over a body with a gun in her hand. Arrest her.”

“Her lawyer is Sir Crispin Briggs. He would point out we hadn’t a case. Jewellery was stolen. The fingerprints on the gun are those of Lady Rose, but also there are other fingerprints as well.”

“I am surprised Hadshire let you fingerprint his precious daughter.”

“We lifted her fingerprints from her office desk and typewriter.”

“I still think she’s done it. Probably had an accomplice. Go and interview her again. I still think we have a good case against her but I will leave it to your discretion.”

Meaning, thought Kerridge, that if I make a mistake, it’s all my fault.

So on the morning of Rose’s flight, Kerridge fought his way through the questioning press to the earl’s front door and knocked loudly. He had taken the precaution of telephoning to say he was coming. The door opened a crack and then wider as Brum recognized the visitor. A babble of questions shouted by the press followed Kerridge indoors.

“Pray inform his lordship that I wish to speak to Lady Rose again.”

Brum went off up the stairs. Kerridge waited a long time. Brum finally came back down and said, “His lordship is now prepared to see you.”