“Where is your fiancé tonight?”
“He has gone off to see friends.”
“That is surely most unlike him. I would have thought him a dutiful escort.”
“He usually is.”
“Are you sure you want to go through with this marriage? Don’t you want children?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Daisy told me that you know exactly what I mean. Peter is not interested in your sex.”
“There is no proof of that,” said Rose, her face flaming. “In any case, all I want is an arranged marriage. I would have my own household and I would have freedom. I owe you an apology. I only found out later that you had been the hero of that terrible train crash.”
“On another matter, I found Berrow and Banks outside your house. I warned them off. What are they up to?”
“I don’t know.”
“While we had our pretend engagement, at least I could feel I was protecting you.”
“Fiddlesticks. You were never there.”
“I could change,” he muttered.
“What did you say?” demanded Rose, but the waltz had finished and an elderly partner was waiting for her.
She danced impatiently, wanting to speak to Harry again, wondering if he had really said he could change, and what had he meant by that?
When the dance was over, her eyes searched the ballroom, but there was no sign of Harry.
Peter and Jonathan lay side by side, naked, on a bed in a seedy hotel in Oxford’s Jericho district. Jonathan was smoking a Russian cigarette and blowing smoke rings up to the ceiling.
“That was beautiful,” said Peter in a choked voice.
“I can make it more exciting.” Jonathan stubbed out his cigarette and then fished on the floor on his side of the bed. He brought up a leather mask. “If I put this on, it will titillate you even more.”
“I am in love with you,” said Peter in a stifled voice. “I do not need to play silly games.”
“You’ll love it. See!” Jonathan put the mask on and then wound his arms around Peter. “Indulge me.” Then he raised his voice. “I have the mask on!”
The bedroom door burst open and a magnesium flash blinded Peter. The man behind the flash was holding a camera. He, too, was masked. The cameraman snapped at Jonathan, “You’ve done your work. Now get out of here.”
Jonathan scooped up his clothes and darted from the room. Peter struggled out of bed and ran to the door, which was slammed in his face. He hurriedly dressed and ran downstairs and into the street.
He looked frantically up and down. No one. He went back to the hotel. “Who was that man with the camera?” he demanded.
The man at reception looked at him with flat eyes. “I never saw nobody with a camera.”
“You’re lying,” howled Peter.
The man smiled at him. “Want to go to the police?”
“That is what I am going to do,” said Peter, knowing miserably that that was the very last thing he could do.
He could only assume that whoever took that photo meant to blackmail him. Then he thought of detective Harry Cathcart, who was famous for covering up scandals. But would Harry report him to the police?
It was either that or kill himself.
Harry had gone to visit his father, Baron Derrington, a duty call he had been putting off for ages, and so Peter had to fret and worry all weekend.
When Harry arrived at his office on Monday morning, it was to find Peter waiting for him.
“How can I help you, Sir Peter?” asked Harry.
“May I talk to you in private?” Peter cast a nervous look at the secretary, Ailsa.
“By all means,” said Harry. “Come into my office.” He cast a shrewd look at the trembling and sweating Peter and said to his secretary, “Miss Bridge, would you please go to Fortnum’s and buy me some chocolates? A large box. Take the money out of the petty cash.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Inside his inner office, Harry held up his hand for silence until he heard Ailsa leaving.
“Now, Sir Peter, you may begin.”
“You will despise me!”
“Sir Peter, I know so many shocking things that anything you say will fail to amaze me.”
So, in a trembling voice, Peter told him of Jonathan and of how he had been betrayed. He ended by saying, “Do you think they will blackmail me?”
“Probably. Unless – ”
The telephone rang. “Excuse me,” said Harry. A voice quacked down the receiver from the other end. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Harry.
“I am afraid,” he said to Peter, “that the photograph has gone to Lord Hadfield.”
“I am ruined,” said Peter, beginning to sob.
“I will make sure Lord Hadfield says nothing of this. But I must get that photograph and negative back.”
“But how can you?” wailed Peter. “I don’t know who they are.”
Harry thought of Berrow and Banks lurking in the square outside Rose’s house.
“I want you to go to your home. Speak to no one. Do not answer the door. I will call on you later. I will give three knocks and then two so that you know it is me.”
∨ Sick of Shadows ∧
Seven
The Governor was strong upon
The Regulations Act:
The Doctor said that Death was but
A scientific fact:
And twice a day the Chaplain called,
And left a little tract.
– OSCAR WILDE
Rose wondered what on earth was going on. Her father had put down his newspaper and had stared to look through the morning post. He slit open a square manila envelope. He drew out a photograph. He goggled at it, thrust it back in the envelope and shouted, “Get Cathcart. Now!”
Despite wondering frantically what had been in that photograph, Rose felt a surge of pleasure at the thought she might see Harry again.
“What on earth is going on?” she asked her mother.
“I am sure your father will cope with whatever it is. Eat your breakfast,” said Lady Polly.
“Pervert,” muttered the earl.
“What did you say?” demanded Rose.
“Hey, what? Oh, I said perishing newspapers.”
Rose had never seen her father look so upset. His face was scarlet. At last he said to his wife, “A word with you, dear.”
Rose and Daisy picked at their food. Then Rose heard her mother scream.
They ran to the office. The earl shouted at them, “Get out of here! Go to your rooms and don’t come out until I tell you.”
They went upstairs and stood by the window. At last they saw Harry arriving. Becket was not with him.
“Now what?” asked Rose.
Daisy gave a dismal little shrug. She had been expecting to see Becket.
Harry looked at the photograph. “Nasty,” he said. “Sir Peter was entrapped.”
“You can’t be entrapped unless you’re a… you’re a…”
“Quite,” said Harry. “Will you leave this with me? I think perhaps I might be able to get the negative and any prints. Petrey will go abroad for an extended period and it will all blow over.”
“Rose will need to cancel the engagement!”
“Not yet. I have a feeling that that was just what someone wanted her to do. Leave it to me.”
“Usual fee?” asked the earl glumly.
“No, you may have my researches as a present, for it will be my pleasure to deal with whoever did this.”
“What do we say to Rose?” asked Lady Polly.
“I think you will find out that your daughter knew of Peter’s tastes.”
“What?”
“I do not for a moment think she believed that men actually had sexual intercourse – ”
“Lady present,” growled the earl.