♦
Kerridge was summoned that morning by Sir Ian Wetherby. “I have just sustained a visit from His Majesty’s equerry, Lord Herring,” began Wetherby. “His Majesty wishes all inquiries into the death of Dolores Duval to continue quietly. I believe the editors of the newspapers have all been informed. His Majesty is distressed that Lady Rose should even be considered guilty.” The earl’s been busy, thought Kerridge cynically. “I also received a telephone call from the prime minister,” Wetherby went on. “He suggests that as Miss Duval was no better than she should be, to quote his words, then it stands to reason that some low life got rid of her.”
“What about the so-called freedom of the press?” asked Kerridge.
“These editors have probably all been told that a knighthood may be in the offing if they behave themselves. A statement is to be issued tomorrow in all the newspapers to say the police have found Lady Rose to be innocent of any crime.”
“It is lucky that I believe that to be true. What if it turns out that our royal personage was involved in some way?”
“Piffle. Absolute piffle. I prefer to forget you even said that, Kerridge. Now go about your business.”
♦
Harry found no trace of the mysterious Mr Cramley in Thurby-on-Sea. He returned to the hotel and told Rose and Daisy to be ready to leave.
Rose hesitated on the steps of the hotel. A watery sunlight was shining on the choppy sea and the wind had died down. She wished in that moment that Harry had not found her so quickly. Oh, for just a few days away from the press and the gossip of society!
“Come along,” barked Harry.
“Yes, sir,” said Rose and gave him a mock salute. Harry glared at her. She should be ashamed, contrite, over all the trouble she had caused him.
♦
Rose, wrapped up in a bearskin rug and with her veil tied down over her hat, sat in the passenger seat of Harry’s Rolls-Royce as they cruised along the streets of London. Harry was driving and Becket and Daisy were in the back.
A thin mist was swirling among the narrow sooty streets. Women, wearing the enormous hats which were so fashionable, hurried along like so many animated mushrooms. Moisture from the mist made the sooty buildings on either side glisten like jet. The air smelt of horse manure, bad drains, patchouli and baking bread.
Harry, who had maintained an angry silence during the journey, broke it to ask, “What were your parents about, to come to London during such an unfashionable period?”
“My mother gets bored in the country. They would not let me work for you unless they were in London as well. Where are you going? This is not the way home.”
“We are going straight to Scotland Yard. Kerridge will want to see you. Once you are home, he will not have a chance. You will no doubt have to begin preparations to go to India.”
“But I am engaged to you!”
“Your father was just terminating the engagement when the news came that you had been found standing over a dead body with a gun in your hand.”
“I can’t go!”
“It might be best for all of us. You can no longer work for me. The press will follow your every move.”
Rose realized for the first time that before, she had always had a certain hold on him, and she sensed miserably that that hold had gone.
♦
Kerridge greeted them with relief. “I had better telephone your parents to say you are safe and well.”
“Before you do that,” said Harry, “let’s discuss this.” He took out the bundle of threatening letters and explained to Kerridge how they had been found.
“So we can put a face to this man. What did he look like?”
“Unfortunately, the staff at the hotel could only give a scrappy description. Possibly in his mid-thirties, slight Cockney accent, white face, pinched features, thin brown hair, and wearing a dark blue coat and trousers. I searched Thurby and checked the station. There was no sign of him. He had checked into the hotel for only one night.”
“Why didn’t you telephone so that I could have alerted the local police?”
“There had been gales and the telephone lines had come down.”
“Wait here. I’ll get on to it right away.”
Rose sat wrapped in miserable thoughts. She remembered talking to a certain Mrs Dursley at an afternoon tea party. Mrs Dursley had been an unsuccessful debutante who had been packed off to India. She had married Colonel Dursley, a man old enough to be her father. “The colonel was due to return to England,” she had said, “and it was the only way I could think of to get home again.”
“Was India so bad?” Rose had asked.
“We were in Delhi. It was so hot and dusty. It was a suffocating world of malicious gossip and long hot days of boredom.” She had lowered her voice to a whisper. “My dear, I would have married anyone just to get home again.”
“Are the Indians so bad?” Rose had asked curiously.
“Oh, they’re all right. It’s the English community that I could not stand. If there’s ever another mutiny, it will be because of the memsahibs treating them like dirt.”
Harry was thinking about India as well. Why should I not let this infuriating girl get sent to India? he thought. Rose has been nothing but trouble. She could find herself some army officer, have lots of children and settle down.
Kerridge came back. “I’ve alerted the Essex police. I have also telephoned Lord Hadshire to say his daughter is safe. His lordship wishes you to return immediately.”
“I will escort Lady Rose,” said Harry.
“Come back here when you’ve finished,” said Kerridge. “I want a word with you in private.”
Although he had not believed Rose guilty, Kerridge was shaken by the discovery of those letters. What if Rose really had the letters all along and, when Harry burst in on her, she had made up a story about just finding them?
♦
As they approached the earl’s town house, Harry said to Rose, “Ignore the press. Just walk past them with your head down.”
But there was not even one reporter outside. “That’s odd,” said Harry. “Let’s go in and face your parents.”
Rose suddenly clutched his arm and looked pleadingly up into his face. He patted her hand. “It will be all right,” he said.
♦
But it was worse than Rose could have imagined. Her father did not shout or bluster. His voice was quiet and decisive. “I have instructed my secretary to send a notice of the termination of your engagement to the newspapers. As for you, miss–”
“I am not going to India.”
“No, India will be spared a visit from you. You and Miss Levine are to leave tomorrow for Saint Mary’s Convent in Oxford. It is an Anglican convent and the mother superior, Lady Janus, has kindly agreed to take you both for a year and school you in humility and obedience.”
Rose looked desperately at Harry. He looked away. He thought that Rose would at least be safe until he solved this murder.
“What if I don’t go?” demanded Rose.
“You will obey me, your father, for once in your life.”
♦
Daisy slipped out of the room and ran downstairs and out to where Becket was sitting in the motor car. “The earl is sending me and Rose into a convent for a year,” said Daisy. “You’ve got to help me!”
“I didn’t know they were Catholics.”
“It’s an Anglican convent. Look, let’s just get married.”
“On what? I’m not ready yet, Daisy.”
Daisy turned on her heel and said over her shoulder, “I’ll never forgive you for this.”
♦