Richard; in fact, they seemed quite affectionate towards their daughter.
But she sensed an underlying apprehension coming from them; and why, earlier, had Humphrey kept shooting triumphant glances in her direction?
“My dear,” said Lady Polly, to her daughter over the floating island pudding, “I want you to visit an old friend of mine who is poorly. I would like you to go tomorrow morning.”
“Certainly.”
“Humphrey will go with you. Daisy may stay here. I have certain chores I wish her to perform.”
Rose felt so guilty at disappointing her parents that she would have agreed to pretty much anything.
¦
Next morning, Daisy stood at the window and watched Rose and Humphrey being taken away in the earl’s carriage. Lady Polly summoned her.
“I want you to pack up my daughter’s clothes and things. She will be staying with this friend of mine for a couple of months.”
“But she said nothing of it to me!” exclaimed Daisy.
“Your services are no longer required. We will give you a good settlement. You have two days to pack up and leave.”
Daisy opened her mouth to howl a protest. Something very odd was going on here. Rose’s parting words had been: “I suppose I shall be back sometime in the afternoon. I hope this old lady is not a bore.”
So Daisy said meekly, “As you wish, my lady.”
“You are a good girl,” said the countess, relieved that there were no protests. “But you will be more at home with your own kind. You are not one of us and never will be.”
Daisy left and went round to the mews and waited and waited for the earl’s carriage to return.
At last, she saw it turning into the mews.
As the coachman, John Silver, descended, Daisy went up to him and asked, “Where is my lady?”
“Gone into the country.”
“Where?”
“Can’t say.” He turned away.
Daisy turned to the two footmen who were getting down from the backstrap. Charles, the head footman, she knew did not approve of her, but Jim, the second footman, had a soft spot for her.
She walked away, determined to get Jim on his own.
She caught him later as he was carrying logs up to the drawing-room. “Jim,” she hissed, “where’s my lady? What’s going on?”
“Told not to breathe a word to you or anyone or I’ll get the sack.”
“Please, Jim. The countess has sent me packing and my lady would never let that happen. Please, Jim.”
“All right. But I never told you nothing, mind. Wait till I make up the fire.”
Daisy waited in a fever of impatience until he came out again. “In here,” said Jim, opening the door of the library. He closed the door behind them and spoke rapidly in a low voice. “We took her out to a place outside Barnet. It’s called The Grange, about two miles out on the North Road. It was a creepy place, with the windows all barred.
“There was a chap with white hair waiting on the step and Humphrey called him Dr McWhirter.
“He and Humphrey led her inside. After ten minutes or so, Humphrey comes out. She says an odd thing, half to herself. She says, ‘Well, that’s settled madam’s hash.’”
Daisy went to her room and dressed in a warm dress and cloak, a felt hat and boots. She went downstairs and slipped out of the house. She walked through Eaton Square and then through Sloane Square and along the King’s Road to Water Street to Harry’s address. She hoped she would find him at home. She did not want to go to his office, feeling sure that Miss Jubbles would try to stop her from seeing him.
Becket opened the door to her and Daisy fell into his arms and burst into tears. Harry came out of his front parlour. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Don’t know, sir,” said Becket.
“Bring her in here and bring brandy.”
Once she had recovered and taken a gulp of brandy, Daisy told them the little she knew.
Harry listened in grim silence. Then he said, “Let’s see what Kerridge knows about this place.”
He phoned Scotland Yard and was put through to the detective superintendent immediately. Harry told him what had happened to Rose, and then asked, “Do you know anything about this place, The Grange?”
“Do I ever,” sighed Kerridge. “I was out there on a sad case. It’s an asylum for the rich run by a Dr McWhirter. A certain heiress, Miss Penelope Parry, escaped and got as far as Barnet, crying to the townspeople that she was not mad, that her family had put her away there to get their hands on her money. Police were called. I was called out on it. There was nothing I could do. The family had signed the papers to have her committed and the good Dr McWhirter testified that she was mad. Two days later, she hanged herself in her room. Tragic.”
“I’ll see what I can do and let you know,” said Harry.
He put down the receiver and turned to Daisy. “It’s an asylum. What on earth possessed Lady Rose’s parents to send her there?”
“They were furious because she turned down a proposal of marriage from Sir Richard Devizes. I think that maid, Humphrey, had something to do with it. Oh, blimey, Humphrey was visiting some doctor in Harley Street for her bleeding nerves.” In her distress, Daisy’s Cockney accent was coming back.
“I’ll bet,” said Harry, “that this doctor is a charlatan. I think he hopes to drive Lady Rose mad and have her there for life.”
“Like poor Lady Mordaunt,” wailed Daisy.
Lady Mordaunt’s husband had found out that she had been having an affair with the king. So he had taken his pistol, shot all her horses, and had her locked away in a madhouse for life.
“Let me think,” said Harry. “I know. Daisy, I am going to give you a lesson in lock-picking if it takes all night, and I shall give you some thin files to sew into your clothes. In fact, better sew them into your stays in case they take your outer garments away.
“Tomorrow, I will take you out to The Grange. McWhirter doesn’t know me, so I shall use a false name and say you are my mad niece and you must act mad.”
“I’ll do anything to save Rose.”
Daisy proved a quick learner in the art of lock-picking and so was able to return to Eaton Square late that evening. She went up to her room and packed a bag. She took off her stays and removed two of the steels and slipped two files in instead. Harry had told her to return and spend the night at Water Street.
Daisy was carrying her bag down the stairs when she found herself confronted by Humphrey.
“And where do you think you’re going?” said Humphrey.
“Getting out of here.”
“You are supposed to pack up Lady Rose’s things.”
“Pack them yourself, you old trout.”
¦
Rose had never felt so frightened in her life before. She had arrived with Humphrey. Dr McWhirter had met her and said he would take her upstairs to see his ‘patient’.
Rose had felt decidedly uneasy. There was the sound of someone sobbing. The stairs were thickly carpeted and the air smelt of cheap cooking and disinfectant. Her mother had said that a Mrs Prothero was an old friend. Still, better get it over with. She would only stay for a few minutes.
Dr McWhirter was joined on the first landing by a burly man in a white coat. “My assistant, Philips,” he murmured.
He led the way on up and along a corridor at the top of the building and swung open a door. Rose walked into a barely furnished room. There was a narrow bed against one wall. A curtained recess by the window served as a wardrobe. The floor was covered in shiny dark green linoleum.
Rose swung round. Dr McWhirter was standing in the doorway with his powerful-looking assistant.
“Where is Mrs Prothero?” demanded Rose.
“There is no Mrs Prothero. This is an asylum for ladies with fragile nerves. You will be kept here – on instructions from your parents – until we consider you are well again.”
