so wide it seemed to split his face in half.
She ran to meet him and Frankie set up a wail at being jogged about on her hip.
Bert bowed and handed her the roses. “I’ve got a raise,” he said. He fished in his pocket and brought out a paper bag of aniseed balls and handed them round. “We’ll even be able to go to Scarborough this year for a holiday.”
Sally began to cry with relief. When she could speak, she asked, “What about Lady Blenkinsop?”
“The lord lieutenant’s dealing with her. This is Rose’s doing. I know it is. She didn’t use the phone, did she?”
“No, but Dr. Linley said that he saw them on Farmer Jones’s cart heading towards Plomley today and then they came back in a hired carriage.”
Rose was sewing at the machine in the parlour when they came in and she smiled with relief when she saw all the happy faces.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
Sally rushed forward and hugged her. “I don’t know how you did it, but Bert’s got a raise and Lady Blenkinsop won’t be troubling us. I’ll get tea on.”
The children were so excited about their new frocks and about going to the fair that Rose decided to dress up for the occasion, never thinking for a moment that by doing so she was putting her life at risk.
Rose had given Sally one of her best hats, a leghorn straw embellished with little yellow silk flowers.
“You do look a picture,” said Bert to his wife, his face beaming with love. Rose felt a pang. This policeman saw his thin, hard-faced wife as beautiful. That was real love. Would any man ever look at her like that?
The day of the fair dawned sunny and warm. Rose was wearing a white lace gown embroidered with blue forget-menots. On her head she wore a straw hat covered in silk forget-me-nots. A fine cashmere shawl was thrown round her shoulders and she carried a white lace parasol. Daisy was wearing a green silk gown with a little rakish green hat perched on her curled hair.
The fair lasted two weeks. They decided to visit on the second week, after the horse fair was over, because the gypsies raced each other up and down the main street and there were always accidents.
They wandered around the dozens of stalls. The children clamoured for brandy snaps filled with cream and then walked around to look at the gypsy caravans where the women sat outside making pretty little pincushions stuffed with bran to sell at the fair.
Bert was on duty, so Sally kept near him, pushing the baby in a pram made out of an orange box and an old set of wheels.
The children dragged Rose and Daisy to the steam roundabouts and Rose good-naturedly helped Daisy lift the smallest child up onto the brightly painted horses before climbing on herself. How wonderful it was to ride round and round while the barrel organ churned out music-hall songs. The current favourite was: “Oh! Oh! Antonio, he’s gone away – left me on my own e-o, all on my own e-o, I’d like to meet him and his new sweetheart, then up will go Antonio – and his ice cream cart.”
Dr. Linley stopped to watch them. He was a keen amateur photographer. He raised his new Kodak camera just as the carousel slowed to a halt and snapped a photograph of Rose sitting side-saddle on the painted horse.
In the evening, he developed the photographs in his darkroom. He stared at the photograph of Rose. It was perfect. She was holding on to her hat and her lips were curved in a smile.
There was a new magazine for amateur photographers and they offered a prize every year for the best photograph. The next day, Dr. Linley entitled the photograph “A Summer’s Day at the Fair,” and posted it off.
The year moved into high summer, and in July Bert took two weeks’ leave and they all went on holiday to Scarborough on the Yorkshire coast.
Daisy reflected that she had never seen Rose so happy. She took the children swimming and never once did she complain about the rather seedy lodging-house where they stayed.
Sally’s face was filling out now that, thanks to the payment from Rose’s family, they could afford good food at every meal, and she was not so careworn looking after the children, as Rose and Daisy took the burden of that duty off her hands. For the first time in years, she and Bert were able to spend time alone together.
When they returned to the village they were all glowing with good health. Rose started to organize a concert to raise funds to repair the school roof. Daisy was to be the star performer, but Rose had promised to sing one song.
The village hall was packed when Rose, accompanied by Daisy, walked onto the stage and began to sing:
Rose sang with a depth of feeling Daisy had never heard in her voice before. She thought of Becket and wondered whether Rose had been thinking of the captain.
There was a great roar of applause.
Rose took Daisy’s hand and led her forward. Then they both bowed, and just as they bowed, a shot rang out.
Women screamed, Bert blew his whistle, Daisy dragged a trembling Rose from the stage. “He’s here! He’s found us,” whispered Rose.
? Sick of Shadows ?
Four
– SIR JOHN DAVIES
Two days had passed since the attempted murder of Lady Rose Summer. The countryside round about had been scoured for the would-be assassin. All railway stations were watched. Bert had a description of the man. He had called in at the village pub, The Feathers, with a magazine and had shown a photograph in it to the landlord. The photograph had won the annual prize and the story with it said it had been taken by a Dr. Linley of Drifton in Yorkshire.
“I didn’t know any better,” protested the landlord. “You didn’t say to tell no one about her. I told him, ‘Oh, that’s Rose what lives with our policeman.’ ”
He described the man as being of medium height, stockily built, with a large red face, a brown moustache and wearing a dark suit and a bowler hat.
Kerridge had travelled to the village accompanied by Harry and Inspector Judd. Rose and Daisy were confined to the cottage and told not to venture out of doors.
Kerridge said to Bert, “It’s no use you fretting, Shuffle-bottom. It’s not your fault. How were we to guess that wretched doctor would take a photograph of her? From the description, it’s no one we know. The Honourable Cyril isn’t at all like the description of this stranger in the village.”
“What about Dolly’s brother, Jeremy?” asked Harry.
Kerridge shook his head. “No, Jeremy Tremaine is thin and tall. What are you getting at? That her own family would kill her? Rubbish.”
“It did cross my mind,” said Harry. “They were so blatantly ambitious.”
“What I can’t understand,” said Kerridge, “is why he’s still after Lady Rose? As I said before, he must surely know that she would have told the police everything.”
“Cyril could have hired someone,” said Harry. “I mean, he might blame Rose for his rejection.”
