A large burly nun emerged. “Daisy is in disgrace and refuses to kiss the ground. She must take her penance.”
Daisy found herself grabbed by strong arms and her face was thrust down towards the floor. She fought and kicked and struggled but her face was pressed down on the wooden landing.
“Hold her there for an hour,” said Sister Agnes calmly.
Daisy wriggled and fought but Sister Monica appeared to be as strong as a stevedore. At last all the fight went out of Daisy and she lay on the floor sobbing. After an hour, she was marched down to the chapel and ordered to pray.
When she was finally allowed to go back to her cell, she found Rose darning socks. Rose listened in horror as Daisy described her punishment.
The usually cocky Daisy looked broken. “Let’s try to get out of here,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment,” said Rose. “They will be watching our every move. I think we should behave like model ladies until their fears are laid to rest. Then, when they feel secure, we shall find a way to leave here.”
Daisy began to cry. “Hush,” said Rose, hugging her. “We’ll find a way.”
¦
As the end of March approached, Harry’s relief at having Rose somewhere he knew she was safe began to ebb. His brief infatuation for Dolores seemed like a bad dream. He felt guilty at having paraded her at the opera. He had employed a new secretary with impeccable credentials. Her name was Miss Fleming. She was in her forties and worked like a machine. He called on Kerridge periodically, but the man who had followed Rose to Thurby-on-Sea appeared to have disappeared into thin air.
Kerridge said he had contacted the French police but they had been of no help whatsoever. Dolores Duval’s lovers had been very powerful men. But they did volunteer the information that Dolores Duval had left a will, leaving everything to a certain Madame de Peurey.
He wondered more and more how Rose was getting on. He thought she must be furious with him because he had neither received a letter nor a telephone call.
Harry had successfully and profitably wound up several cases. To stop himself from brooding about Rose, he decided to travel to Paris and interrogate this Madame de Peurey.
“Excuse me, sir, are we leaving without seeing Lady Rose? Anglican convents allow visitors,” said Becket. “Good idea,” said Harry. “We’ll go there tomorrow.”
¦
Rose and Daisy had entered into the work routine of the convent. There were to be no more visits to fallen women for them. They worked in the bakery, in the garden and scrubbed and hung out the sheets on washing day.
Conversation was allowed in the bakery, and Rose enjoyed the chatter and the warmth as they helped bake batches of loaves and parcelled them up, as the loaves were destined for various schools owned by the convent, along with the homes for fallen women. Rose was worried about Daisy. She was too quiet and subdued.
The hard work and the routine soothed them and yet they waited for what they thought would be the right time to escape. They both had keys to the earl’s town house and planned to slip in and collect Rose’s jewels, which she had not been able to take with her.
Daisy had suggested they should go out of London to sell them to some jeweller who would not ask questions, even if it meant they would not get a very good price.
They were working in the garden, hanging out sheets, when they heard the sound of a motor car’s engine. The sound stopped and then they heard the clang on the entry bell.
They both looked at each other in sudden hope. Usually arrivals came by horse and carriage.
Then, after a few moments, they heard the motor car drive off.
“Not them,” said Daisy miserably.
“Silence!” commanded Sister Agnes.
How they had talked and talked about escaping, thought Rose, and how each day merged into the next without them doing anything.
¦
The following morning when they were working in the bakery, Sister Agnes came in looking flustered. “Rose! Daisy! You have a very important visitor. Please present yourself in the Mother Superior’s parlour. No, no, take off your aprons.”
They followed Sister Agnes to the parlour. She held open the door for them and then left.
Lady Janus, the Mother Superior, smiled benignly on them. “Your old friend and a great benefactor of this convent, the Duchess of Warnford, has graciously called.” A little lady rose to greet them. She was wrapped in various shawls and scarves. Under her large brimmed hat was a wrinkled, heavily rouged face.
“My dear.” She rushed forward and embraced Rose and whispered, “Do as you are told.”
Raising her voice, the duchess said, “I heard you were here and I have asked Lady Janus to permit me to take you to my home for a short stay.”
“You are too kind,” said Rose.
“Your companion, Miss Levine, will be my guest as well. Now do bustle along and pack your trunks. My footmen will carry them for you when you are ready.”
Rose curtsied and left. “What’s it all about?” whispered Daisy.
“I neither know nor care,” said Rose. “This is our way out of here!”
It seemed to take an age to pack their clothes and then return to the parlour so that the duchess could instruct the footmen to go down to the cellars and bring up their remaining luggage.
At last they were ready. “I wish to have a little word in private with the ladies,” said the Mother Superior.
“I’ll wait for you in the motor,” said the little duchess cheerfully.
She left and Sister Agnes walked in and stood beside the Mother Superior. “Rose and Daisy, I have been pleased by your recent behaviour. You must tell Her Grace how well we have looked after you.”
A nasty retort trembled on Daisy’s lips. As if sensing it, Rose pinched her arm.
She waited but neither Rose nor Daisy said a word.
“You may go,” said the Mother Superior after a long silence.
They hurried out, across the hall and through the open door. It was a mild spring day and birds were singing in the trees.
A highly polished motor car was waiting. A uniformed chauffeur saluted as they approached.
Daisy took a deep breath of fresh air.
“Wait!” They stopped beside the motor as Sister Agnes hurried up to them.
“It was most rude of you not to reply to the Mother Superior. You will both be disciplined when you return.”
“Look, you old crow,” snarled Daisy, “buy yourself a razor and shave off your moustache.”
As Sister Agnes spluttered in outrage, Rose thrust Daisy into the car, followed her and sat down as the chauffeur shut the door.
They moved off through the iron gates of the convent.
“Now we can be comfortable,” said the duchess. “Pooh, you both smell of carbolic.”
“It was the only kind of soap in the convent,” said Rose. “We weren’t allowed to wear scent. We are deeply grateful to you for this invitation. What prompted it?”
“Oh, a friend. No more questions. I must sleep. The sisters do very good work but I find these calls at the convent fatiguing.” With that she closed her eyes.
The car purred on out of Oxford. Hot baths with scented soap, thought Rose. No getting up at five in the morning. No more having to sleep in the same room as Daisy. She does snore.
They each sat in silence, not wanting to wake the duchess.
Oxford fell behind as they bowled out into the countryside. They were both warmly wrapped in carriage rugs, and soon Rose and Daisy were asleep as well.
Rose awoke to find the carriage entering a drive through tall iron gates which had been opened by a lodge keeper. They drove slowly under trees. Thick woodland was on either side. Then they passed another lodge and
