“Every inquiry came to a dead end,” said Harry. “I am going to Paris. There is only one other lead. A French lawyer volunteered the information to the police that Miss Duval had left everything to a Madame de Peurey.”
“And who is Madame de Peurey?”
“I can tell you that,” said the duchess. “Famous grande coquette at one time. Men falling over her. Must be about sixty now.”
“She must need the money badly,” said Daisy. “I mean, we went once to a home for fallen women run by the convent. Those poor girls!”
“It’s not the same for a grande coquette,” said the duchess. “She was top of the tree in her profession. Before starting any liaison, her lawyers would meet with the prospective lover’s lawyers and a deal would be hammered out. It usually involved a house, servants, carriages and jewels. A clever woman could end up rich.”
“At least they can’t have children to worry about like those poor fallen women,” said Daisy, eyeing the cake stand and wondering if it would be considered greedy if she had yet another.
“But they do. They form a sort of demi-monde dynasty and their children marry the wealthy children of other courtesans.”
“I don’t know what she can tell us, but Miss Duval must have been fond of her and she may be able to tell us more about everyone Miss Duval knew,” said Harry.
“Do take us with you,” said Rose. “I’ve never been to Paris.”
“Out of the question. We are not even engaged any more. It would create a scandal.”
“Not if I were to take them,” said the duchess. “I haven’t been in Paris in years. It would amuse me. We shall all go.” She rang the bell.
When the butler entered, the duchess said, “Kemp, take a telegram.”
The butler went to a writing desk and sat down, pulling a sheet of paper in front of him.
“Let me see; where is Lady Polly?”
“The Palace Hotel in Monte Carlo,” said Rose.
“Very good. The telegram is to go to the Countess of Hadshire. Begin. ‘Dear Polly, I am taking your daughter, Rose, on an extended vacation as the effects of the convent’s discipline have left her with nasty red hands and a spotty face and I do not think you would like to see her looks ruined or her spirits broken besides which she has been consorting with unsuitable company like Fallen Women but do not thank me as it is a pleasure, Yours ever, Effie.’”
The butler scribbled away busily and then said, “If I may be so bold, Your Grace.”
“Bold away.”
“There is no need to send a long telegram. Telegrams should be brief.”
“Indeed. What would you suggest?”
“I am taking your daughter, Rose, on extended vacation. Stop. Convent life ruining looks. Stop. Yours, Effie.”
“Nonsense. Too curt. Send mine.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
“Am I spotty?” asked Rose.
“No, my dear. But your hands are red. Quite disgraceful. The captain here has been telling me the whole story of the murder of that tart. Fascinating. Quite like a Sherlock Holmes story. It will do me good to be active again. Warnford is driving me mad with his improvements. I have been covered in plaster dust and awakened at dawn by builders erecting scaffolding. Now, do have some more tea. Captain, your man may take tea in the housekeeper’s room.” Becket rose silently and left. Daisy miserably watched him go. He had not looked at her once.
Holding a thin, fragile china cup and surveying the company with amused eyes, the duchess said, “We shall leave in two days’ time. It would be best if we travel to Claridge’s and then go on from there.” Claridge’s Hotel in London was called the home of the motorocracy, the travelling aristocrats, and also used by society ladies who were tired of the strain of catering for a household of guests and preferred to let the famous hotel cater for them.
“Once we get to Paris,” said the duchess, raising her lorgnette and surveying Rose’s outfit of blouse and skirt, “we must get you some fashionable clothes.”
“I would not like to burden you with the expense,” said Rose. “We were only allowed to wear our plainest clothes at the convent. We do have plenty of fashionable items in our luggage.”
“Nothing is more fashionable than a Paris gown,” retorted the duchess. “Besides, I shall charge anything we buy to your father. My dear Captain Cathcart, do say something. You have been sitting scowling and brooding ever since the ladies arrived. Are you in love with Lady Rose?”
“We are no longer engaged,” said Harry.
“That was not the question. Never mind. I must retire for a nap. Come, Lady Rose, you must be chaperoned at all times.”
♦
Rose and Daisy retired to Rose’s sitting room. “Did you see Becket!” demanded Daisy. “He wouldn’t even look at me!”
“You will see plenty of him when we go to Paris,” said Rose, “but it is all very uncomfortable, I must admit. The captain went on as if he barely knew me.”
“Let’s go outside for a walk,” urged Daisy. “I want to enjoy this feeling of freedom.”
They put on their coats and gloves, pinned hats on their heads and made their way out to the front of the house. “Nothing but trees, lawn and drive,” said Rose. “There’s probably some sort of garden at the back.”
“You know what I think?” asked Daisy.
“No, how can I?”
“I think it’s a bit shocking that this here grand house is merely a hunting box. It could house a whole street of people from the East End of London.”
“True. But keep such views to yourself or our hostess will think you a Bolshevik. Ah, here are the gardens in front of the terrace.”
“And there’s the captain,” whispered Daisy, “sitting on that bench down by the sundial.”
“We should go back,” said Rose, suddenly nervous.
As if aware of them, Harry turned round, saw them, and stood up. Rose walked towards him, feeling her heart beginning to thud.
“Lady Rose,” he said, “pray join me.”
Rose looked over her shoulder but Daisy had disappeared.
Rose and Harry sat down together on the bench. “We are supposed to be chaperoned, Captain Cathcart,” said Rose.
“We are in full view of the house and in the open air. The conventions do not apply to the gardens, society obviously never having heard of love in the bushes. Please sit down.”
They both sat down on the bench. Rose was wearing one of the huge cartwheel hats which were so fashionable. The crown was decorated with curled grouse feathers. She had her head bent forwards and Harry could not read her expression. He wondered if his remark about love in the bushes had been too crude. What did she think? Was there any passion there, or when he had kissed her, had he been mistaken in what he had considered her enthusiastic response?
At last Rose began to speak. “Captain Harry…”
“I think you should just call me Harry. We have known each other for some time.”
“Well, Harry, then. I am deeply grateful to you for having rescued us from that convent. How did you manage to persuade the duchess?”
“I had done some work for her. A precious diamond brooch was missing and her household was in an uproar, with one servant accusing the other. I eventually found it caught inside a corset.”
“How did you know where to look?”
“I thought it might have fallen down inside her clothes, and the corset, which is not as regularly washed as the other garments, seemed like a good idea. After the convent would not let me see you, Becket informed me that he had read in the local newspaper while he was waiting for me that the duchess was resident at this hunting box. Was life at the convent really so bad?”
“I suppose it would have been all right if I had really wanted to become a nun. The nuns were in the main very pleasant. Sister Agnes was another matter.”