“What kind of lady was Miss Gore-Desmond?”
“I didn’t really get to know her. She seemed – well, prickly, as if she despised us all.”
“Did she favour any gentleman in particular?”
“Not that I noticed. She sewed a lot. Petit point. She did not converse much, or if she did, I did not notice. Will that be all?”
“Just one other thing. Do you know a certain Captain Harry Cathcart?”
High colour stained Rose’s cheeks. “I believe he is an acquaintance of my father.”
“The bridge and the station at Stacey Magna were blown up.”
“Yes, but what has that to do with the death of Miss Gore-Desmond?”
“Just curious. Have you any idea who was responsible?”
“The Bolsheviks, of course. Everyone knows that.”
Rose thought she heard him mutter, “Except me,” but could not be sure.
“That will be all for now. Shall I ring for a footman?”
“I can find my own way back, thank you.”
He consulted a list. “Would you be so kind as to ask the Misses Harriet and Deborah Peterson to step along?”
“Certainly.”
“Why did you ask her about that business at Stacey Magna?” asked Inspector Judd.
“Because I have a nagging feeling that it had more to do with stopping the king visiting than any plot by Bolsheviks. But we’d better stick to this business here. What’s worrying you, Judd? You’ve a face like a fiddle.”
“You say this Lord Hedley is rich.”
“Yes, very.”
“And yet you say those suits of armour are fake? Why didn’t he have real ones?”
“No feel for history. I was reading up on this place. There used to be a beautiful house here and Lord Hedley’s father tore it down and took out all the Adam furniture and burnt it all. He built this about thirty years ago, when everyone wanted everything to look like something out of the Knights of the Round Table.”
The American sisters entered the room and Kerridge began to question them. After they had left he worked his way through all the guests, ending up with the Marchioness of Hedley.
“Are you going to be long?” she asked.
“No, my lady,” said Kerridge soothingly. “Just a few questions.”
“No. Meant are you going to be long
“This may be a case of murder,” said Kerridge severely.
“Tish, tosh! Silly girl used the stuff as a cosmetic. That’s all.”
“Did she have any enemies?” pursued Kerridge doggedly.
“Well, nobody liked her. I didn’t.”
“Why, my lady?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you not like her?”
“No grace. No manners. Ferrety little thing.”
“Why did you invite her?”
“Hedley’s idea. “We’ll have a season’s-failures party.” That’s what he said.”
“But the Misses Peterson, the Americans, have not yet had a season?”
“Them? They’re foreigners. Need all the help they can get.”
“Was Miss Gore-Desmond romantically involved with any of the gentleman?”
“Not that I noticed. My husband will speak to your superiors. And the –”
“Prime Minister,” Kerridge finished for her.
“Him, too. Now bustle along. Silly doctor. Not one of us.”
¦
After she had left, Kerridge heaved a sigh. “Better start on the servants. I hear someone arriving.” He walked to the window and looked down into the courtyard. A smart new motor car had just pulled up. Getting out of it was a tall man accompanied by a servant.
Kerridge rang the bell and waited until a footman appeared. “Who is the new arrival?” he asked.
“I believe a Captain Harry Cathcart has arrived, sir.”
“Indeed,” said the superintendent thoughtfully. “Now I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“Where are you to be lodged?” the captain asked his manservant.
“With all the valets and lady’s maids, accommodation is limited. I am to share a room with Freddy Pomfret’s valet.”
“Find out what the servants are saying about this mysterious death.”
“Of course.”
“I’m uneasy about this one,” said Harry. “Hedley wants me to fix things so that it will appear as an accidental death. But I don’t see myself covering up for a murder.”
“I will find out what I can, sir. The dressing bell has just gone. We have our new tailored suit.”
“We, Becket?”
“I understand that is the way menservants talk, sir.”
“Don’t do it. It reminds me of the nursery.”
“Very good, sir.”
¦
At the dinner table, Harry covertly studied the other guests. Rose was looking beautiful in a creamy-white evening dress trimmed with spotted net frills and baby ribbon. She caught him looking at her and gave him a hard stare before turning to Freddy Pomfret on her right.
Harry gave a mental shrug and addressed Mrs. Jerry Trum-pington, seated on his left.
“Bad business,” he began.
“Oh, it’ll be over soon,” said Mrs. Trumpington indistinctly through a mouthful of quail. “Fuss about nothing.”
“So you think it was an accident?”
“Of course. Parents are abroad but heading back fast. Pity for them. Still, it couldn’t be anything else. Unless you can be murdered for being a dismal failure at your first season. Which is exactly what all these girls were – except the Americans. Great dowries. They’ll go fast. And Hedley will have made a bit of money out of it.”
“Money? How?”
“Yes, but more, more.” Mrs. Trumpington broke off to address a footman serving fish.
“Ah, where was I? Ah, yes, the men are paying for a chance at the Americans and the gels’ parents are paying in the hope that their daughters will make a match.”
“I would not have thought our host needed the money.”
“Greedy. That’s what he is.” Mrs. Trumpington filled her mouth with fish.
Harry turned to Miss Maisie Chatterton on his other side. “Are you bearing up,” he asked her.
“Yeth,” whispered Maisie. “I telephoned Mama and told her to come and get me and she wouldn’t ‘cos she thaid that a drama like this would bring out the knight errant in the gentlemen and get me a proposal.”
“And has it?”
“No, they’re all after the Americans. ‘Snot fair. They’re not Bwitish.”
“Did you know Miss Gore-Desmond well?”
“No.”
“Was she hoping for a husband?”
“Odd. She said she didn’t need to look. Was already spoken for.”
“By whom?”
“Don’t know. You’re as bad as the police. All these questions.” Maisie giggled and rapped him on the arm with her fan.
Dinner was a shorter affair than usual. The men spent very little time over their port and cigars before joining the ladies in the drawing-room.
Harry found himself drawn to Rose’s side. “Captain Cath-cart,” she said coldly, “why are you here?”
