The dressing-room door opened and a pretty chorus girl came in. “Nearly time for the curtain call, darling.” She perched on Roger’s knee and gave him a hearty kiss. Roger threw a sheepish look at Rose.
“Who’re they?” asked the chorus girl.
“Nobody, really,” said Roger.
Rose and Daisy left.
“So much for undying love,” said Rose. “He seems to have found someone new pretty quickly.”
“It’s been months since the murder,” said the ever-pragmatic Daisy. “Life goes on.”
Rose brooded on Harry on the journey back. She had never thought until that moment that Harry might fall in love and get married. The idea depressed her.
Daisy broke into her thoughts. “Going to tell the captain about Roger?”
“No.”
“He might have done it.”
“He hasn’t enough money to pay an assassin. Don’t tell Becket anything.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
♦
Harry had been visiting a house a few doors away from the earl’s town house to report that he had managed to quash a scandal.
As he left, he suddenly stopped on the front stairs. Two men were looking up at the earl’s house. When they saw Harry, they moved away.
Berrow and Banks, thought Harry. Why are they spying on Rose? I don’t like this at all.
They were walking away quickly, but he caught up with them. “Stop!” he shouted. “What were you doing watching Hadfield’s house?”
Cyril stared at him insolently. “We stopped to have a cigar.”
“You were not smoking.”
“See here,” said Berrow, shoving his fat and florid face at Harry, “you’re a cheeky upstart. You’ve betrayed your class. How dare you question me!”
“I’m warning you,” said Harry, “if I catch you here again, I’ll beat the living daylights out of you, and if either of you had anything to do with the murder of Dolly Tremaine, I’ll find out.”
They backed away from him, turned, and walked rapidly out of the square.
“Needs to be taught a lesson,” growled Berrow. “Have you seen that motor of his? He’s making a fortune out of his grubby business. I’d like to punish him. Are you sure Lady Rose really fancies you? I mean, she got engaged to Petrey.”
“And we all know what Petrey is. I tell you, Lady Rose was all over me. Think of her fortune. Think of getting the Ice Queen into bed. But I’ve got to get rid of Petrey and I’ve thought of a way.”
♦
Sir Peter Petrey was leaving The Club two days later. London was in the grip of a particularly nasty thick yellow fog. It was one of those lung-searing fogs of winter blanketing London, blotting out landmarks. He knew if he could even get a hansom, it would take him ages to get home.
It was late afternoon and he realized he would need to walk home if he was to manage to change into his evening clothes and escort Rose to a dinner party.
He bumped into someone in the fog. “I say, I am sorry,” he said.
“It’s all right. Beastly weather,” said a young voice. “Do you know the way to Charles Street?”
“I’m going there myself. Come along.”
They walked on together. As they passed a lighted shop front, the fog swirled for a moment and thinned. Peter looked at his companion and caught his breath. He was looking at the face of an angel. Golden hair like guineas glinted under a silk hat, large deep eyes, a perfect skin, and a mouth like Cupid’s bow.
“Are you visiting London?” he asked.
“No, I live here. I’m going to visit friends. This is awfully good of you, sir.”
“My name is Peter Petrey. And you are…?”
“Jonathan Wilks.”
“I am glad of the company on such a filthy night, Mr. Wilks.”
“Do call me Jonathan, everyone does.”
They talked about plays they had seen and poetry they had read. Peter began not to notice the fog. He felt he was enclosed in a golden bubble with this dazzling youth.
Just before they reached Peter’s house, the young man stopped. “This is where I leave you.”
“Here is my card,” said Peter. “Do call. I’ll wait to see you get in safely.”
Jonathan knocked at the door. Then he came back down the front steps. “They don’t seem to be at home. I must have forgotten the day. This is Friday, is it not?”
“No, it’s Thursday.”
“Oh dear.”
“Look, come in with me and have a sherry while I dress.”
When Peter arrived slightly late and out of breath, Rose noticed he seemed to shine with an inner glow. Oh dear, she thought, I hope I haven’t made a mistake about him. He looks like a man in love.
Peter had never been in better form than during the dinner. He told jokes, he told gossip, and he delighted the company.
Shrewd Daisy watched him with anxious eyes. I hope it’s Rose that has given him this extra sparkle, she thought. I hope it isn’t anyone it shouldn’t be.
Daisy’s concerns grew when, after dinner, she heard Peter tell Rose that he was going away on Friday and would not return until the following Monday.
“Where?” asked Rose. “Anywhere pleasant?”
“Just visiting some friends.”
“You will miss the ball tomorrow.”
“Oh dear. Can you find someone to escort you? Captain Cathcart, perhaps?”
Rose raised her brows in amazement. “Have you forgotten I ended my engagement to the captain and became engaged to you?”
“No, my dearest. It is just that it is very important that I go away this weekend.”
“What is so important?”
Peter manufactured a laugh. “You sound like a wife already. Ah, there is Lady Simpson looking for me.”
He darted off.
Daisy joined Rose. “I heard that.”
“Most odd,” said Rose. “Just a day ago he seemed to delight in my company.”
“Let’s just hope he isn’t delighting in anyone else’s.”
Peter and Jonathan went down to Oxford the following day. The fog had disappeared, but Oxford was shrouded in a hard frost. They walked along by the icy river where the last leaves hung rimed with the frost, which glinted like rubies under a hard red sun. Peter kept glancing at his companion, becoming even more and more besotted. Those large eyes that he had first seen in the fog were green with flecks of gold. His black eyelashes were thick and curled at the ends. He had a wide-brimmed hat perched rakishly on his golden curls.
Peter considered him too perfect for any carnal thoughts. His sexual adventures had been very few and he had avoided that brothel in Westminster which catered to tastes like his own. Discretion was all-important. Discovery meant prison and hard labour.
They had a pleasant dinner that evening at the Rose and Crown. When they had finished, Peter dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Now what shall we do?”
Jonathan leaned forward and fixed him with a glowing look. “I know somewhere in Oxford where we can end the evening… together. It’s not much of a hotel, but it would serve our purpose.”
Peter’s mouth went dry. “Y-you c-can’t mean…” he stuttered. That beautiful mouth smiled at him lazily.
“Oh, but that’s exactly what I mean.”
Rose sat at the ball and watched the dancers. Now that she was engaged to Peter and seemed happy with him, the heiress-hunters of society had decided to leave her alone.
The next dance, a waltz, was announced. She looked at her dance card. Nothing for the next dance and then a few dances with elderly friends of her father.
She looked up and found Harry bowing before her. “Lady Rose, may I have the honour?”
They moved together on the dance floor. “Have you any more news about Dolly’s death?” asked Rose.
“Nothing, I’m afraid. Have you?”
Rose thought of Roger but decided to remain silent. She shook her head.