“Who gave him the money?”
“Lord Alfred Curtis, Mrs Angela Stockton, and Mrs Jerry Trumpington. I think,” said Rose triumphantly, “that they were being blackmailed.”
“People lose a lot of money at cards,” Harry pointed out.
“Not for the same amount of money.”
“Lady Rose has a good point there,” said Kerridge, and Rose flashed Harry a triumphant look. “His flat had been turned over, papers thrown everywhere, but his jewellery was left and fifty pounds in a desk drawer. So what do you know of those three?”
“I met Mrs Jerry last year, Mr Kerridge,” said Rose, “and so did you. Large, gross sort of woman.”
“I remember.”
“I do not know Mrs Stockton or Lord Alfred.”
“I do,” said Harry. “Mrs Stockton is a widow. She married an American millionaire who died soon after they were wed. Lord Alfred Curtis is a willowy young man. One of the lilies of the field.”
“The whole lot of them are lilies of the field,” grumbled Kerridge. “A hard day’s work would kill ‘em.”
“Now, now, Mr Kerridge. You have before you three representatives of the working class and we are very much alive.”
“Sorry. I’ll follow this up, Lady Rose. We shall ask all three why they paid him that particular sum of money.”
“You know,” said Harry, “I bet all three say that Freddy was on his uppers and asked for that specific amount to clear his debts. If you like, I can start asking a few questions.”
“And I,” said Rose eagerly.
They were interrupted by the arrival of the tea-tray. Harry watched as Rose and Daisy enthusiastically munched their way through cakes and biscuits. “You
“We ate very well last night,” said Rose, “but today we have had neither breakfast nor lunch because of the difficulty in getting to work through the snow and then in getting here. As I was saying, I can help further with the investigation.”
Harry suddenly saw a way of restoring Rose to her parents. “You cannot do anything while you work at the bank – anything further, I mean. But were you to go back to your rightful position, you would be able to move freely in society again.”
“Good idea,” put in Daisy fervently, thinking of a blissful end to days of typewriting and evenings of cheap food.
“Yes, I suppose that would be a good idea,” said Rose, struck by a sudden vision of long hot baths and clean clothes.
“You have no objection, Mr Kerridge?”
“No, I shall be glad of any help. But do remember, Lady Rose, someone murdered Freddy Pomfret and will be prepared, no doubt, to murder again.”
“Then, Daisy, we will return to Eaton Square and tell the servants to collect our belongings, and Captain Cathcart can inform the bank that we will not be returning there.”
“I will certainly inform the bank on your behalf,” said Harry, “but to send an earl’s liveried servants to the hostel in Bloomsbury would occasion unwelcome comment. In the role as your brother, I will go back with you and find some form of transport to take you and your goods home.”
“What about your car?”
“Possible. They were spreading salt on the roads when I walked here. If I may use your telephone, I will ask Becket.”
Becket said that he thought he would be able to drive to Scotland Yard.
Harry could not help noticing that a sparkle had returned to Rose’s blue eyes and correctly guessed that she was thrilled to have a suitable excuse to leave her working life and sordid hostel.
At the hostel, Miss Harringey began to complain that there would be no refund on the advance rent. Rose was about to declare haughtily that she could keep the money, but Harry sent her upstairs with Daisy to pack and then began to haggle. He did not want Miss Harringey to wonder too much about working women who could so easily forgo a refund.
At last he had to admit that he was defeated. Miss Harringey pointed out that she had no immediate hope of finding a new tenant for the room and therefore would be losing money.
Satisfied with her victory, she treated the captain to a glass of very inferior sherry.
Rose had wanted to leave all their clothes behind, but Daisy counselled her that such profligate behaviour would cause talk.
The carried their suitcases downstairs and Becket went up to collect the travelling trunk.
Outside, the sun had begun to shine and the snow was beginning to melt from the roofs.
Harry’s car, with Becket at the wheel, conveyed them through the slippery melting roads to Eaton Square.
The hall-boy had seen them arrive and shouted the news. Two liveried footmen came down the front steps to carry in the luggage.
Then Brum, the butler, greeted them and said, “I will inform my lord and my lady of your arrival.”
Rose had hoped to escape to her rooms, have a hot bath and a hair-wash and a change of clothes before either of her parents saw her, but as she and Daisy mounted the stairs, Rose’s mother, Lady Polly, came out of the sitting-room on the first landing.
“Rose!” she exclaimed. “Come in here immediately.”
The earl was asleep in front of the fire, a newspaper over his face.
“Wake up!” shouted Lady Polly. “Rose is home!”
“Eh, what? By Jove, girl, you do look a mess. Sit down.”
Rose sank into a chair. Daisy remained standing, very much aware that she was a servant once again.
“What have you to say for yourself?” demanded Lady Polly.
“I am very grateful to you both for having allowed me to conduct the experiment of being a working woman,” said Rose. “I feel I am now ready to return to society.”
“And what caused this sudden change of heart?”
“Daisy persuaded me it would be the proper thing to do.”
“Indeed!” Lady Polly smiled at Daisy for the first time. “Well, well. I always said she was a sensible girl.”
“Yes, I am indebted to her.” Daisy wondered what had prompted Rose to give her credit for something she had not done.
“Are you sure nobody apart from Cathcart and Drevey knows of your escapade?” asked her father.
“No one else, Pa.”
“Very well,” said Lady Polly. “Go of to your rooms and change. We will talk about your future later.”
¦
At that moment, old Mrs Jubbles was talking about Rose to Mr Jones, the baker, who was seated in her drawing-room, balancing a cup of tea on one chubby knee.
“You see,” Mrs Jubbles was saying, “it doesn’t seem right she should get away with it. People like Lady Rose have no right to go out and work and take bread out of the mouths of those that need it. Also, I believe that Captain Cathcart may propose to my Dora and this Lady Rose is getting in the way. I would like to get rid of her.”
The teacup rattled nervously on the baker’s knee. “You don’t mean…”
“No, silly. I mean I’ve a good mind to phone the
Mr Jones was a round-shouldered greying man with small black eyes almost hidden in creases of fat. The delicate chair he was sitting on creaked alarmingly under his weight as he leaned forward. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said, his sing-song voice betraying his Welsh origins.
“Why?”
“Because this captain ain’t in top society. I mean, he’s put himself in trade. As it stands, Lady Rose’s parents would never give their blessing. But if she was socially ruined, why then, she would be on a par with him.”
“I never thought of that. It’s so good to have a man around to advise me. I do worry about Dora. I would like
