Rose waited eagerly for Daisy’s return. Daisy was back after only a few minutes. “Let’s wear our plainest clothes,” said Daisy. “We don’t want to attract any attention to ourselves, even though the press have given up watching the house.”
They changed quickly, Rose into a straight skirt, striped blouse and jacket and sailor hat, and Daisy also into a blouse, skirt and jacket but with one of Rose’s old straw hats embellished with flowers on her head.
They crept together down the stairs and quietly let themselves out through the front door and then scampered along the square, giggling and hanging on to each other, thrilled with the combination of sunshine and freedom.
“Where now?” panted Rose.
“Let’s look at the shops and try on hats,” said Daisy, happy that now she and Rose seemed to be friends again instead of mistress and companion.
By mid-afternoon, they realized they were hungry and went to the tea-room at Fortnum and Mason in Piccadilly.
William Fortnum, who founded the famous store, was a footman in the royal household of Queen Anne. His job was to replace the candles every night and he made a tidy profit out of selling the old ones. He also had a sideline as a grocer.
He persuaded his landlord, Hugh Mason, to go into the grocery business with him and Fortnum and Mason was born.
Daisy and Rose had salmon in aspic embellished with prawns and lobster before they got down to the serious cake-eating business.
They chatted happily about this and that and then began to discuss the threatening letter. “I am sure it was some crank,” said Rose. “I am in no danger at all. I think we should sneak into the study and phone the captain. He must persuade Pa to let me go out again.” She blushed suddenly, remembering again the feel of his lips against her forehead.
Rose paid the bill and they walked out into Piccadilly, knowing that they had to return home and beginning to feel depressed.
“Cheer up,” said Daisy. “I’m sure it won’t be long before we’re out and about.” She stopped in front of a milliner’s. “I say, do look at that hat. They must ha’ slaughtered a whole aviary. It’s got more stuffed birds on it than’s decent.”
“My lace has come untied,” said Rose, stooping down.
There was a sharp report. The milliner’s window shattered just as Daisy grabbed hold of Rose and fell back onto the pavement with her. People began screaming. Some man shouted, “He had a gun! He had a gun!”
Rose and Daisy got unsteadily to their feet. Daisy brushed shards of glass off their clothes with a trembling hand. Commotion surrounded them. The milliner came out screaming that they had broken her window. Others were saying someone had fired a shot. Finally, to Rose’s relief, a constable pushed his way to the front, demanding to know what was going on.
“I d-don’t know,” said Rose, on the verge of tears.
“Someone tried to shoot her,” said Daisy. “You should be asking for witnesses. He’ll be miles away by now.”
“You trying to tell me how to do my job, young lady? Let’s be ’aving your name.”
“I’m Miss Daisy Levine, companion to Lady Rose Summer. This is Lady Rose Summer.”
More policemen arrived on the scene. Rose explained that as she bent down to tie her bootlace, a bullet had whizzed over her head and shattered the window. “I assume it was a bullet,” she said, “because I heard someone shouting, ‘He’s got a gun.’ ”
A police inspector joined them just in time to hear Rose’s last words. “Get into that crowd,” he roared, “and get hold of anyone who saw this man.”
At last a small, fussy elderly man was propelled through the crowd to the inspector.
“There was a lot of traffic, officer. I noticed him because he had an odd colour of red hair. He stood in the middle of the traffic behind a hackney carriage and I wondered why he did not cross. Then, as the traffic in front of him cleared, he pulled out a gun and fired.”
“Age? What was he wearing?”
“He was wearing a long black cloak. Oh, and he had pincenez. No hat.”
Another two witness were brought forward. They said they had seen the man with the red hair and black cloak run away in the direction of the Green Park.
The inspector snapped out orders. The park was to be searched immediately and all the streets round about.
Kerridge had been talking to Harry when the phone on his desk rang. When he answered it, Harry, to his dismay, heard Kerridge exclaim, “Lady Rose! Shot! I’ll be down there right away.”
“Is she dead?” asked Harry. “Please don’t tell me she’s dead.”
“No. Someone fired a shot at her in Piccadilly. She bent down to tie her bootlace and that’s what saved her. Lady Rose is being escorted home. We’d better go there.”
Lord and Lady Hadfield were heading back to London, a local policeman having been sent to tell them about the attack on their daughter.
“I’ve had enough,” said the earl. “The only thing is to send her out of the country where she’ll be safe. I must say Cathcart’s been a fat lot of good at protecting her.”
“It’s Rose’s fault,” moaned the countess. “Always wilful. And what were the servants about to let her leave the house?”
“If Brum thinks he’s getting any sort of raise in pay after this, he can forget it,” raged her husband.
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Lady Polly uneasily. “He might talk to the press.”
Rose was beginning to feel exhausted as she told her story over and over again to Harry and the superintendent. Matthew had told her that her parents were on their way back and she felt sure that nothing now would stop them from packing her off to India. Inspector Judd had been placed on guard outside the drawing-room to make sure none of the servants was listening outside the door.
“I think the fellow was probably wearing a wig,” said Harry. “I mean the wig, the pince-nez and the black cloak are really all that anyone can remember. I think, Lady Rose, that it would be a good idea to get you out of London for a bit, but not to Stacey Court. You would not even be safe in your country home. I wish we could lock you up in a police station.”
“Wait!” Kerridge held up a hand for silence. “I’ve got an idea.”
Rose and Harry waited patiently while the superintendent sat lost in thought. He was a grey man with grey hair and bushy grey eyebrows. “I correspond still with a policeman in a village called Drifton, near Scarborough in Yorkshire. I met him once when I was up there on a case. Regular chap with a delightful family. Lovely village which no outsider visits. What if Lady Rose and Miss Levine here were billeted with him for a bit? He could do with a bit of extra money.”
“I cannot see my parents’ accepting that idea,” said Rose stiffly. “Furthermore, I have no desire to live with a policeman in some Yorkshire village.”
There was a commotion downstairs. The earl and countess had arrived home. They could hear the earl shouting, “Where is she? And get those damned reporters off my front step.”
He entered the drawing-room, shrugging off his sealskin coat and dropping it to the floor. A footman picked it up and handed it to the earl’s valet.
Kerridge thought it odd that Lady Polly did not hug her daughter. She simply sat down, unpinning her hat and handing it to her maid, before haranguing Rose for having dared to leave the house.
“I have an idea, my lady,” said Kerridge. He told them about his policeman friend in the Yorkshire village.
The earl and countess stared at him in silence. Rose waited for her parents to tell the superintendent he was talking rubbish.
To her dismay, her mother said slowly, “How long would Lady Rose be away?”