From under the shadow of his top hat, the earl surveyed his daughter as she sat in the carriage opposite him, flanked by her mother and Daisy. Her face was smooth and expressionless. That’s what puts the fellows off, he thought. Cold as ice. No wonder she’s got herself the nickname of the Ice Queen.
♦
Another hot and crowded ballroom resounding with the latest slang that the uppers cultivated to exclude the lowers. A man-man was a royal personage. Expensive was expie. A teagown was a teagie, so of course it followed that a nightgown became a nightie. Deevie meant delightful, and if you admired the cut of a friend’s gown, you cried, “Fittums!”. Diskie meant disgusting, and if you were one of the many fashionable ladies who borrowed money and had no intention of paying it back, you talked about lootin’. In fact, Gs were dropped all around and words such as saw were pronounced sawr. Although the Season was still a good way off, these early returns to London were anxious to be first in the marriage market.
Rose felt uncomfortable that voices were whispering behind fans as they looked at her saying, “She’s here without her fiancé again!”
Her dance card was only half full. Although she had a large dowry, the adventurers had given up trying: the eligible young men of good family were not interested because she was engaged, and a good number of the dances had been booked by friends of her parents.
Jimmy was a good dancer, but her parents’ friends were often clumsy and boring. Resentment against the absent Harry began to build up in her and reached boiling point, when, sitting out one dance with Daisy, her companion said, “I’ve found out all about Miss Duval. She’s a famous Parisian courtesan. It’s said that one man was killed in a duel over her and she left for England because she was so upset. All the men are crazy about her.”
“And who is her current protector?”
“Nobody knows,” said Daisy. “Becket might know.” Becket was Harry’s gentleman’s gentleman and Daisy hoped to marry him. “Has the captain said any more about letting Becket and me marry?”
“No. You should ask him.”
“I did. But he keeps saying, ‘In a little while’. I thought I might see a bit of Becket now that we’re working for the captain, but Becket drives him to work and then just drives off.”
Both fell silent. Rose was planning to confront Harry about Dolores the next day and Daisy was going to tackle him about her marriage prospects.
♦
The arrangement they had with Harry was that if they had been at a ball or party the night before, then they need not report for duty until midday. But both were anxious to get their problems solved and were at their desks, tired and sleepy, at nine in the morning.
No Harry.
The minutes dragged by and then the hours. They went out for a quick meal and returned at one o’clock to find Harry’s office still empty.
Daisy phoned Becket but there was no reply. She put her head down on her desk and fell asleep.
Harry had suffered a leg injury during the Boer War. It was three in the afternoon before Rose heard his limping step on the stairs. She nudged Daisy awake and got to her feet as he entered.
“Any clients?” asked Harry.
“Not so far,” said Rose. “I want a word with you.”
He ushered her into his office. Rose confronted him. “What is your business with Miss Duval?”
“It is of a confidential nature.”
“You said as part of the deal that I could help you with some of the detective work.”
“Not in this case. I have been sworn to secrecy.”
“It caused a fair amount of comment last night that I was once more unescorted by you.”
“I’ll do my best next time. Please go home. You look tired.”
“Can you assure me that your dealings with Miss Duval are not of a personal nature?”
“They are strictly business, and if they were not, what is it to you? May I remind you that this so-called engagement was all your idea? Do you want to end it?”
Rose bit her lip. If she ended it with no other suitor in sight, then her parents would fulfil their threat and send her off to India.
“Not for now,” she said stiffly.
“Then go home.”
“Daisy wishes to speak to you.”
“Very well. Send her in.”
As Daisy entered the office, Harry looked at her uneasily. He knew she was going to broach the question of her possible marriage to Becket, but Becket had confided in him that he did not feel ready for marriage. Harry had rescued a man called Phil Marshall from poverty and had employed him as well as Becket. He sometimes wondered if Becket was jealous of Phil and did not want to leave and let Phil take over.
He eyed Daisy as she came in. Daisy was expensively dressed, but her green eyes held that Cockney street awareness still. She had once been a chorus girl, and despite her usually cultivated vowels he always felt that inside was a bold, raffish Daisy suppressed by gentility and the cramping confines of an Empire corset.
“What are you doing about me marrying Becket?” asked Daisy.
Harry suppressed a sigh. He decided that Becket would just have to handle this himself. “I think you should speak to Becket yourself,” he said.
Daisy’s eyes widened in alarm. “What’s up?”
“I really think Becket should tell you himself.” Harry rang his home in Chelsea and ordered Becket to come to the office immediately. He put down the phone and said, “He’ll be here soon. You may use my office. I am going out now.”
Rose, when she heard the news, said she would wait for Daisy.
She watched sadly as Harry nodded to her before going out. She remembered the way he had kissed her and how everything had seemed wonderful. But ever since that kiss, he had retreated into his usual cold shell.
Becket arrived and Daisy took him into Harry’s office. “Why’s nothing been said about us getting married?” demanded Daisy.
Becket was a neat, precise man with pale regular features and neatly cut and greased hair.
“I don’t think the captain’s ready to release me,” he said.
Daisy studied him for a long moment. “So why didn’t the captain tell me? It’s not like him to leave you to speak to me.” Servants, however high up, were used to their employers behaving like parents.
Becket studied the floor. There was a long silence. The gaslight hissed and popped in its bracket. A coal shifted in the fireplace. The yellow-faced clock on the wall ticked busily.
“Fact is,” said Becket at last, “I don’t feel quite ready for marriage.”
Daisy’s face flamed. “Then you can make a noise like a hoop and bowl off. Be damned to you, you stupid lying bastard!”
She flew out of the office. “Come on,” she said to Rose. “Let’s get out of here.”
Rose put on her coat and hat. “We’ll go across the road for some tea and you can tell me all about it.”
Becket walked out past them, his head down.
They locked the door and went out. When they were settled in the café across the road, Daisy blurted out that Becket no longer wanted to marry her and then burst into noisy tears. Rose patted her back and made comforting noises. At last, Daisy blew her nose and then scrubbed her eyes dry with a clean handkerchief handed to her by Rose.
Then she realized Rose was staring across the road.
A carriage had arrived. Rose recognized that carriage. “Wait here!” she ordered Daisy. She went out and crossed the street. She considered hiding in a doorway until she realized that the couple descending from the carriage were unaware of her existence.
Harry helped Dolores to alight. She smiled up at him from under the brim of a hat trimmed with pink silk roses. Harry smiled back. Then he offered her his arm and led her towards his office.