“If they do that, I will run away.”
“We could do that anyway, my lady.”
“No, they would put advertisements in all the newspapers and I would be hunted down. Oh, what on earth are they talking about?”
♦
“It’s all very simple,” said Harry when the earl had finished.
“How?” The earl goggled. “I’m not having her put in an insane asylum. I know that’s the thing, but she’d never get married and I want grandchildren. A boy. Who’s going to inherit, hey?”
“I am sure Lady Rose would be competent to run your estates.”
“A woman? Never!”
“Very well. What I suggest is this. I have a friend, Mr Peter Drevey, a merchant banker. I can persuade him to employ both Lady Rose and Daisy as typists. You will have to pay him a fee to cover wages for both, and for his discretion.”
“If the fellow’s a gentleman, he won’t want to be paid.”
“If he is paid, then I can get him to sign a confidentiality document. I am sorry, my lord, but I have outstanding accounts because I was naïve enough to take the word of a few gentlemen. Then both ladies may move to a business women’s hostel. I suggest you do not pay Lady Rose an allowance and her clothes must be limited to those of a woman in her adopted station. By the time you return from Nice – two months, you said – you will find her more than eager to come home. I will keep a discreet eye on both of them for you. You will forgive me for asking for my usual fee in advance, I am sure.”
“A thousand pounds? Oh, very well. But I want you to put the matter to Rose yourself. I’ve had enough of her tantrums.”
“Very well.”
♦
Rose was summoned to the drawing-room. She stood in the doorway and surveyed the captain. Lady Polly thought for one moment that the very air seemed to crackle between them, but put it down to the cold working on her imagination.
“The captain has something to say to you,” said the earl. “He has my blessing.”
A faint blush suffused Rose’s beautiful face. So Harry had asked for her hand in marriage! Well, she wouldn’t accept, but still…
Her parents left the room. “Pray be seated,” said Harry.
Rose sank down gracefully into an armchair by the fire. He sat down opposite and a little frown creased her brow. Shouldn’t he be getting down on one knee?
“I have come up with a solution to your problem,” began Harry.
“I do not wish to marry,” said Rose, but she gave him a little smile and her long eyelashes fluttered.
“Of course you don’t,” said Harry cheerfully. “You want to be a working woman and I am here to help you.”
Rose’s face hardened with disappointment. “What is your plan?” she asked.
Harry outlined his idea but without saying that the merchant banker would be paid to employ her, merely saying he knew of two typing vacancies at the bank.
“And my parents agreed to this?” asked Rose faintly.
“Yes, they are anxious to leave for Nice.”
“I suppose I must thank you,” said Rose, feeling depressed. It was one thing to dream, another to face going out in the cold winter to work.
“Very well. If you come across any difficulties, please let me know. My card.”
Rose felt an odd impulse to burst into tears as she took his card.
“Remember, you must be sure not to betray your real rank. You must wear ordinary clothes and be known simply as Miss Summer. And modify your accent. I am sure Daisy will tell you how. I suggest you buy cheap clothes. I am sure that even your oldest ones will betray your rank. No furs.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you will be a good daughter and go with your parents to Nice, and then, I suppose, to India, which is the destination these days of all failed débutantes. Your parents do not seem too anxious to pay for another season.”
“You are blunt, too blunt.”
“I call a spade a spade.”
“Indeed! Are you usually so cliché-ridden?”
“Good day to you, Lady Rose.”
♦
“Infuriating woman!” said Harry to his manservant, Becket, when he returned to his Chelsea home that evening.
“Do you think Lady Rose will actually go ahead with it, sir?” asked Becket, placing a decanter of sherry and a glass on the table next to Harry.
“Oh, I’m sure she will. Stubborn as a mule!”
♦
Daisy chewed her thumbnail and glanced nervously at her mistress. If the weather hadn’t been so cold! Also, she had become used to lavish meals and pretty clothes. And to think that she had almost persuaded Rose to go to Nice after she had learned that Captain Cathcart intended to holiday there. But the captain had cancelled his plans for a vacation, becoming embroiled in setting up his new business. Daisy thought the captain would make Rose a very suitable husband, and she herself was fond of the captain’s servant, Becket. Her face lit up as an idea struck her.
“I saw the captain’s advertisement in The Tatler the other day. He’s just started that detective agency. Maybe he needs a secretary. Be more exciting than working in a bank.”
“What a good idea!” exclaimed Rose. “And I could help him to detect like I did last year. We will go out tomorrow to say we are looking for working clothes and we will go there instead.”
♦
On the following day, Miss Jubbles looked up from her typewriter at the beautiful creature facing her flanked by her maid. “May I help you?” she asked.
“I am Lady Rose Summer. I wish to speak to Captain Cathcart.”
“I am afraid Captain Cathcart is not here. What is it about, my lady? I can take notes.”
“That will not be necessary. I am here to offer my services as a secretary.”
Miss Jubbles looked at her in horror. Then her sheeplike face hardened and the two hairs sticking out of a large mole on her chin bristled.
“But he does not need a secretary. I am his secretary.”
“But the captain and I are friends,” said Rose.
Miss Jubbles rose to her feet. This spoilt beauty was trying to take her job away from her.
“I work here,” she said, “because I need to work for money, not on a whim. You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to take the bread out of my mouth. Get out before I throw you out!”
Daisy moved forward, her eyes blazing. “You and who else?”
Rose strove for some dignity. She put a restraining hand on Daisy’s arm. “I made a mistake,” she said. “Come, Daisy.”
♦
Half an hour later, Harry came back. “Fog’s coming down, Miss Jubbles. Anyone call?”
Miss Jubbles gave him an adoring smile. “No one at all, sir.”
“Right.” Harry went into his office.
Miss Jubbles looked possessively around her little empire: her meticulous files, her kettle with the bone-china cups arranged beside it, the tall grimy windows, the battered leather sofa and the presence of the adored boss behind the frosted-glass inner door. All hers. And no one was going to take it away from her.
♦
Rose would not admit to Daisy or even to herself that she was frightened. Pride would not let her back down. After the disastrous visit to Harry’s office, of which she was now thoroughly ashamed, they went to Bourne & Hollingsworth in Lower Oxford Street and Rose began to choose suitable ready-to-wear clothes for both of them. Rose had never worn ready-to-wear clothes in all her young life. Ladies did not.
Daisy advised her that they should limit their wardrobes to two tweed costumes for winter and two serviceable lightweight dresses for summer. “Well, we don’t need to buy new underwear,” said Rose. “We can wear what we’ve got. No one’s going to see that!”
“Unless whoever runs the business women’s hostel decides to snoop in our rooms,” pointed out Daisy.