Harry welcomed the superintendent and then sat staring at him vacantly.
“I have come about the bombing of Stacey Magna,” began Kerridge.
“Frightful, what,” commented Harry. He took out a monocle, fixed it in one eye and stared at the detective.
“Yes, it was indeed frightful. Now –”
“Caught any of these Bolshevik chappies yet?”
“No, sir, but we will…provided it turns out to be the work of the Bolsheviks. Have you known the Earl of Hadshire for long?”
“Don’t know. People come and go.” Harry let the monocle drop and fixed the detective with a vacuous stare.
“His Majesty was supposed to visit Lord Hadshire, but the visit had to be cancelled.”
“Pity.”
“Have you any reason to suppose the earl did not wish this visit?”
Harry laughed, an insolent braying laugh. Then he said, “I say, you think old Hadshire crept out during the night and blew up things to keep kingie away?”
“It is a flight of fancy, I admit,” said Kerridge. “Let’s take it further. The earl employed someone to blow up the bridge and the station.”
Harry grinned. “Go on. I’m enjoying this.”
“It is not a laughing matter, sir,” said Kerridge severely. “It was just fortunate that there was no one on the bridge at the time or in the station.”
“True, true,” said Harry. “Ask me some more questions.”
“During your stay at Stacey Court, did you see any suspicious people lurking around?”
“Only that cousin of Lady Polly’s. What a bore! I nearly fainted in my soup.”
“So you can tell me nothing to help me?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What was the reason for your visit?”
Harry glared at him. “My dear sir, one goes into the country on many visits to many households. It’s what one does.”
“I forgot, sir. Of course it is what one does when one does not have to work for a living.”
“Oh, we aren’t all lilies of the field, y’know. Viscount Hinton has been wheeling a piano-organette around the streets these many years.”
“But he doesn’t have to. He’s eccentric.”
“What about the House of Lords?”
“What about it?” jeered Kerridge. “Waste of time, if you ask me. Half the house is absent and the other half’s nearly dead.”
“Dear me, Super, you’re quite the little Bolshevik yourself.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Kerridge was shocked at his own behaviour. If his injudicious remarks got back to Scotland Yard, he would lose his job. He plodded on with the questioning, reflecting as he did so that the captain was one of the most empty-headed men he had met.
But when he got back to his desk at Scotland Yard, he turned over his conversation with the captain. He had an obscure feeling that he had somehow been irritated and manipulated into betraying his radical views. And then, there had been that odd business of the earl winking at his secretary.
That evening, before going home, he dropped in at the pub in the hope that Posh Cyril might be around, but there was no sign of the footman. He took his leave and bumped into Posh Cyril in the street outside.
“I want a word with you,” muttered the superintendent.
“Walk away and into the alley along there. Be with you in a mo’,” whispered the footman. “Got a friend in the pub and don’t want to be seen with you.”
Kerridge stood impatiently in the alley amongst the dustbins until the footman appeared.
“I need some information,” said Kerridge. “I want to know about a certain Captain Harry Cathcart. Lives in War Street, Chelsea.”
“I’ll find out what I can. Cost you.”
“Always does,” said Kerridge gloomily.
¦
Shortly before Rose was due to visit the Marquess of Hedley, her maid, Yardley, gave notice. Lady’s maids prided themselves on the appearance of their employers. Yardley felt her position in life had diminished through Rose’s disgrace. Rose did dress for dinner, but during the day went around in skirts and shirt blouses, or in riding dress.
Lady Polly felt her daughter was going too far when Rose calmly announced that Daisy would be her new lady’s maid.
“That girl is out of the gutter,” raged Lady Polly.
“Daisy is bright and intelligent and a quick learner,” said Rose. “You never talk to her. I will fetch her and you can see for yourself.”
Lady Polly was taken aback when Daisy entered the room. The blonde hair was beginning to grow out and Daisy was dressed neatly and becomingly.
“So you think you can be a lady’s maid?” demanded the countess.
“Yes, my lady. I have learned a great deal, thanks to Lady Rose’s kindness.”
Her voice was soft, with only the slightest Cockney edge.
“I do not like to think of a girl of your background chaperoning my daughter,” said Lady Polly, who had the staccato speech of her class, an icy stare put into words.
“A girl of my background is wise to the ways of men, my lady. I would have protected Lady Rose better had I been with her in London.”
“And do you know how to sew?”
“Yes, my lady. I worked as a seamstress in Whitechapel when I wasn’t on the boards.”
The countess’s own lady’s maid, Humphrey, stood behind her mistress’s chair, darting jealous looks at Daisy. She gave a little cough. “May I suggest a test, my lady? Your blonde straw hat needs retrimming. I suggest it is given to this person to see how she can work.”
“Excellent. Fetch it here and give it to the girl.”
¦
Two days later, the refurbished hat was presented to the countess. It was decorated by beautifully made scarlet silk roses. The countess was immensely pleased with it. But Humphrey snorted and said dresses were another thing. What about my lady’s ballgown, which had a torn hem, and that my lady had said was old- fashioned?
The dress was returned in another two days. The neckline had been slightly lowered and the shoulders decorated with white silk bows. The train had gone and it was now ankle-length.
“I always have a train,” complained the countess.
“Trains are going out of fashion, my lady,” said Daisy demurely. “I could not help noticing that you have very fine ankles, and if you adopt the new style, you will not need to throw the train over your arm when you are dancing or risk it being torn when you are walking about.”
The countess poked her ankles out from beneath the gown and studied them complacently. “Very good, Daisy. But you cannot be called Daisy and you cannot be called Levine because it sounds foreign. You will be called Baxter.”
“That means you can go,” said Rose when Daisy told her. “But I shall not call you Baxter.”
“I have made an enemy of Humphrey,” said Daisy. “What if she finds out you did all the sewing yourself?”
“There is no need for her to find out. We have been spending too much time over our books and typing lessons, Daisy. Now you must learn the ways of the lady’s maid. When we get to Hedley’s, you will dine with the housekeeper. Your behaviour must be precise. I allow you too much laxity. While we are at the Hedleys’, you never sit down in my presence or wear a hat in the house. You do not venture an opinion, unless asked for it. And you never even say ‘Good morning’ or ‘Good night.” We have a little time to bring you up to the mark.
