up the chimneys and the news would go around like wildfire. I know, at dinner tonight I’ll suddenly say I feel faint. You help me out of the room.”
“I’ll help you make up to look pale,” said Daisy eagerly.
“Not white lead. I do not know why women will still use that cosmetic. So many of them die of lead poisoning.”
¦
Harry fretted over the soup at dinner. He kept stealing glances at Rose. She was so very white and there were blue shadows under her eyes.
Then he heard Rose mutter an excuse and rise from the table. She left the room, supported by Daisy. Harry, being neither relative nor husband, had to remain where he was and resist the impulse to run out of the dining- room to find out what was wrong with her.
“Now,” whispered Rose as they made their way up the stairs. “Mrs Stockton’s room first.”
There was no electricity laid on at Farthings, nor gaslight, and so they had taken one of the bed candles from the hall table to enable them to read the names on the cards on each door.
“Here we are,” said Rose at last. “Let’s hope her maid is in the servants’ hall.”
Rose had a stab of worry that the door might prove to be locked, particularly after all the petty thefts, but to her relief it opened. Oil lamps were burning in the little sitting-room, so she blew out the candle.
“I’ll look,” said Daisy. “If anything’s hidden, it’ll be on the little ledge above the hearth.”
“These are Tudor chimneys,” Rose pointed out. “They probably go straight up. Don’t take off your evening gloves, Daisy. If there’s anything there, we don’t want to leave fingerprints.”
Daisy crouched down on the hearth and reached up into the chimney. She felt around. “Nothing,” she declared, sitting back on her heels. She tried the bedroom chimney, but there was nothing there either.
“Let’s hurry and try Lord Alfred’s chimney.”
Another search along the old twisting corridors until they found Lord Alfred’s room.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” said Daisy. “I don’t want that manservant of his returning and finding us. He frightens me.”
Again, she knelt down to search up a chimney.
“Nothing here either.” She then searched the bedroom chimney. Nothing but soot.
“It was a mad idea anyway,” said Rose. “I know, let’s try Mr Jerry’s room, or rather, his wife’s bedroom. If the killer was in a hurry, he might have hidden it there.”
“Hurry, hurry,” urged Daisy. “Don’t want to get caught.”
Rose felt a frisson of fear as she opened the late Mrs Jerry’s bedroom door. Of course the body had been removed, but somehow the air still smelt of the patchouli that Mrs Jerry liked to spray on herself.
Daisy went quickly to the chimney. Again, her searching fingers couldn’t find anything. “Let’s get out of here,” she urged.
Back in their sitting-room, Daisy stripped off her sooty gloves. “Turner will wonder what I’ve been up to.”
“Just tell her you dropped a brooch in the grate and you were looking for it.”
“She’ll wonder why I didn’t just unbutton them at the wrist and peel them back like we do in the dining- room.”
“Forget Turner. Let me think. Of course. The killer would hardly stand in front of her and inject whatever drug it was into the champagne bottle. He, or she, would take the bottle to their room. People don’t normally carry syringes around with them. So whoever it was must have come prepared. But why? Did Mrs Jerry threaten the murderer in London?”
She went to the window and looked out. “If he – let’s assume it’s a he – threw the syringe out of the window it would land in one of the flower-beds below. But I’m not thinking clearly. Whoever it was would not need to get rid of the syringe right away. He would only do it later after Captain Cathcart made his announcement in the dining- room about the champagne bottle. Unless it was actually in his pocket – no, it wouldn’t be there. A servant might find it. So he goes up to his room as soon as he can. He must have had it hidden somewhere very clever because the police had already searched the rooms.”
“He might not have thrown it out of the window,” said Daisy. “If he leaned out, he could hide it in that thick wisteria.”
“Well, we can’t start climbing up ladders to look for it without occasioning comment,” said Rose. “If we got up at dawn, the sun strikes full on the front of the house and we might see the rays shining on the glass of the syringe. I’ll tell Turner that we are leaving for a walk very early and we can dress ourselves.”
There was a knock at the door. Daisy opened it. Harry stood there with Becket.
“I came to see how you were feeling, Lady Rose,” he said.
“Oh, I’m fine now,” said Rose airily. “It was the heat in the dining-room.”
Daisy was disappointed. Rose was obviously not going to tell them about the search for the syringe, so they would not be joining the early-morning hunt.
“As long as you are well,” said Harry. His eyes moved to the sooty pair of gloves Daisy had left on a side table. “Someone been cleaning out the fireplace with evening gloves on?” he asked.
“Silly of me,” said Daisy, not meeting his eye. “I dropped a brooch in the grate and scrabbled about for it.”
Harry’s eyes moved to the grate. Because of the warm weather, the fireplace had been cleaned and was now decorated with leaves and pine cones.
“I found it,” Daisy went on hurriedly.
¦
“They’re up to something,” said Harry as he and Becket walked down the stairs. “Why would Daisy’s gloves be covered in soot?”
“Miss Levine may have been searching up the chimneys looking for the blackmail material. I had forgotten, people sometimes hide things up chimneys when the fires are not being lit.”
“I’ll suggest that to Kerridge tomorrow. But why did she not tell me? Lady Rose will put herself in danger if she decides to detect on her own.”
¦
Rose had a restless night. She was frightened of oversleeping. But as soon as they pale grey light of dawn filtered in through the curtains, she got up and roused Daisy.
They dressed and made their way down the stairs. “I hope there is sun this morning,” whispered Rose. “It was overcast yesterday.”
They stood together on the lawn and waited. The sky was clear, with only a few wisps of cloud, which turned pink in the rays of the rising sun.
Their eyes swept along the thick wisteria which covered the front of the house.
“There!” whispered Rose, clutching Daisy’s arm in excitement. “There’s something sparkling amongst the leaves half-way up. Let’s tell Kerridge.”
“He’s at The Feathers and the policeman at the gate won’t let us past,” said Daisy. “The press are probably still lurking about. He usually comes here at eight in the morning. Not long to wait.”
Daisy suddenly grasped Rose’s arm. “I think someone was watching us, I saw a curtain twitch.”
“Let’s get back inside and wait for Kerridge,” said Rose, looking uneasily up at the windows. “I can’t see anything.”
¦
Harry went in to see Kerridge just after eight o’clock and found Rose and Daisy already there. “These young ladies,” said Kerridge, “had the idea that our murderer may have dropped the syringe into the wisteria. You were right about the drugging. The preliminary autopsy confirms that she was drugged with a powerful sleeping-potion. I’ve sent my men to get ladders. Come with me, Lady Rose, and point out exactly where you think you saw something shining in the leaves.”
Harry was furious. Rose had lied to him. He followed them out, angrily reminding himself that he had never really liked her anyway.
As Harry stood apart from her, his hands behind his back, and his brows down, Rose felt ashamed of herself. She went up to him. “I would have told you the truth but I thought you would think my idea silly.”
