Rose felt sick. Angela’s eyes were glittering with a mad light, but the hand holding the gun never wavered. Rose tried to think coolly and calmly but jumbled thoughts raced through her brain. That famous line from adventure stories she had read – ‘With one bound he was free’ – tumbled into her brain. Would Daisy bring the photograph or would she find Captain Cathcart and get help? Her mother had insisted she go back to wearing ‘proper stays’ and a steel had edged itself loose and was cutting into her. The whalebone stiffening in the high collar of her gown was digging into her neck. If she had accepted Tristram’s proposal and settled for an uneventful married life, she would never have landed in this mess. “If you shoot me,” said Rose, finding her voice, “how do you expect to get away with it?”
“I will leave the country and hide abroad. They will never find me.”
“If you have to leave the country, Mrs Stockton, what is the point of wanting the photograph? Your reputation will be ruined by this mad action of yours.”
“
Rose was aware of the bell-rope next to her chair. If only she could tug it, a servant would appear, and surely this whole household of servants wasn’t party to the murders.
“What happened to Murphy? What happened to Mr Pomfret’s manservant? Did you kill him, too?”
“I paid him to leave for Ireland. He was glad to accept. He didn’t know I’d killed Pomfret but I didn’t want him in that flat in case he found that photograph. I said I was looking after him out of kindness and to honour Pomfret’s memory.”
Rose put her hand to her forehead and swayed in her chair. “I feel faint,” she said.
“Then faint,” snapped Angela.
Rose swayed in her chair nearer the bell-rope. Then, as if about to lose her balance, she seized the bell- rope.
The double doors of the drawing-room opened and a footman stared at the tableau and then retreated. Rose could hear him running down the stairs.
To her amazement, Angela, in her fixed concentration, had not even noticed.
But suddenly a voice shouted from downstairs, “We’ve got to get the police!”
Angela’s eyes widened and her finger tightened on the trigger.
Rose threw herself to one side, tipping her chair over onto the floor, just as the gun went off with a deafening report. The recoil jerked Angela backwards and she gave a howl of pain and dropped the gun.
Rose sprang up from the floor. She fell on Angela, screaming and clawing and biting, dragging her out of her chair while Angela fought to get the gun. Angela was wiry and strong. She rolled Rose under her and her bony hands encrusted with rings fastened around Rose’s throat.
And then Harry erupted into the room, followed by Becket and Daisy. They had met Daisy in the street as she was running to get help.
Harry seized Angela by her thin shoulders and jerked her off Rose. He turned and addressed the gawping servants clustered in the doorway. “Fetch something to tie her up!”
“No,” gasped Angela. “I am calm now. I will go quietly.”
Two policemen came into the room. “Arrest this woman for murder and phone Detective Superintendent Kerridge. We will follow you to the police station and make statements,” ordered Harry.
Angela stood up and with a quaint dignity said, “I must take my medicine with me. I have a bad heart.”
“Send a servant.”
“No, I have it here, over in that desk.”
She went to the desk and took out a small bottle. She squared her shoulders. “Now, I am ready.”
Rose looked wildly at Harry but he stared back at her, his face a mask. The two policemen moved forward. “If you will come with us…” one started to say. Angela twisted the cork off the bottle and tipped the contents down her throat.
“In a moment,” she gasped. Her face contorted and she clutched her neck. Then she held her stomach and moaned as she sank to the floor.
“She’s taken poison,” said Harry. He turned to the servants. “Send for a doctor. Miss Levine, take Lady Rose into another room, for God’s sake. Lady Rose, there is blood on your dress. Are you wounded?”
“One of the steels in my stays came loose,” said Rose with a hysterical laugh. “You knew she was going to poison herself, didn’t you?”
“You are upset and don’t know what you are saying. We will talk later.”
By the time Kerridge lumbered up the stairs, Angela Stockton was dead. He had taken half an hour to arrive, and in that half-hour Harry, Becket, Rose and Daisy had a hurried consultation to get their stories right.
“I want to know what you have all been up to,” said Kerridge. The four had retreated to a morning-room on the same floor.
“Lady Rose is still shocked,” began Harry. “Mrs Stockton held a gun on her and was going to shoot her. Miss Levine managed to escape and came to look for me. Fortunately we saw her on the street and came here immediately.”
Kerridge turned his grey gaze on Rose. “Why was Mrs Stockton trying to kill you?”
“I had been thinking and thinking about the murders,” said Rose in a low voice. “I thought she might have committed them. I always thought she was mad. I came with Miss Levine and challenged her. She pulled out a gun and said she was going to shoot me. She confessed to both murders. She said she shot Mr Pomfret because he was blackmailing her. He had a photograph of her eating roast beef.”
Kerridge’s bushy eyebrows nearly vanished into his hairline. “Do you mean she killed twice over a plate of roast beef?”
“She said she had built up a world-wide reputation as a vegetarian. She said Mrs Jerry was going to the police. She said Mr Pomfret had a picture of her in a compromising position with a young footman. Although she did not have the evidence, Mrs Jerry thought she had.”
“And what was Lord Alfred being blackmailed about?”
“I believe it was because he had got a servant girl pregnant and she died in childbirth,” said Harry smoothly. “We only have what Mrs Stockton told Lady Rose. There is no proof of that.”
“The press are going to have a field day with this,” said Kerridge.
“I think it would be better,” said Harry, “if we stick to the roast beef blackmail. We cannot mention the other two because there is no evidence.”
“At least Mrs Stockton saved us a court case. Did you not guess she was going to poison herself?”
“How could I?” said Harry. “She said it was heart medicine.”
“I don’t believe you. There’s a lot in your statements I don’t believe. But I’m very glad to have two murders solved.”
“May we please leave further questioning until tomorrow?” asked Harry. “Lady Rose has been through the most terrible ordeal.”
“Very well. But Lady Rose, you did a mad and foolish thing. If you had any suspicions that the killer was Mrs Stockton, then you should have come to me. Never do anything like that again. Go back to your society life. Get married. Have children. That’s what a woman is supposed to do.”
“You are just an old-fashioned fuddy-duddy, Mr Kerridge,” said Rose. “Women should be independent and have the vote.”
“Those trouble-making suffragettes should all be locked up. I want you all at Scotland Yard first thing in the morning.”
¦
Rose, Harry, Becket and Daisy emerged from Angela’s house. The day had turned dark and they were nearly blinded by the magnesium flashes of the press on the doorstep going off in their faces.
“This is bad,” said Rose as they drove off. “My parents are never going to forgive me. Why did you not tell Kerridge the truth about why Lord Alfred was being blackmailed?”
Harry shrugged. “He did not murder anyone. It would extend the inquiry and I am heartily tired of the whole thing.”
¦
The Roast Beef Murders hit the papers the following morning. Photographs of Rose, looking beautiful, stared out wide-eyed from every newspaper. She was hailed as a heroine, as the New Woman of this new century.
