“Never mind,” said Daisy in a dull voice. “I want to go to sleep now.”
? Our Lady of Pain ?
Twelve
– Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Roger had found out from Lady Polly that Rose planned to go to the ball as a Roman lady and delighted her when he arrived to escort her attired as a Roman soldier.
She could not help noticing that he had very fine legs.
Rose knew she would be the envy of every debutante there and was human enough to look forward to it after having been regarded as one of society’s failures.
She decided to forget all about Harry and enjoy the evening. Rose called on Aunt Elizabeth before she left, as that lady was leaving for Scotland on the following day.
“You look much happier than I have ever seen you,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “Go off with your young man and have a splendid time.”
¦
Harry was furious. Always anxious to help those in need, he had employed a retired detective, Tom Barnard, as his gentleman’s gentleman. In pressing his evening coat, Tom had left a glazed iron mark on the back.
“What am I to do now?” raged Harry.
Tom was fat and round and his face never betrayed any emotion. His wife, Martha, who now worked as Harry’s housekeeper, was built along the same lines and she had the same sort of impassive face.
“Why did you not leave the job to your wife?” he raged.
“I thought valeting was to be my duty, sir,” said Tom.
The door opened and Martha came in carrying a black velvet evening cloak. She curtsied and said, “I found this in your wardrobe, sir. If you put it about your shoulders and wear your black mask, it will look very dashing and I will have your evening jacket restored tomorrow.”
“Oh, very well,” snapped Harry. Then he relented. “I know you are new to all this. I will get Becket to spend a day with you, Tom, and he will instruct you as to what to do. Now, help me on with my clothes!”
¦
Roger swung Rose round in the steps of a waltz. He was feeling elated. He had received permission from Rose’s parents to pay his addresses to her. Nestling in a little pouch attached to his belt was an engagement ring.
After the waltz had finished and the guests were beginning to move towards the supper room, he whispered, “Come out onto the terrace with me. I have a present for you.”
Rose hesitated. But he had said nothing about a proposal. “Very well,” she said, “but just for a few moments. I am quite hungry. An unfashionable thing to say.”
They walked to the long French windows at the end of the ballroom and he ushered her out onto the terrace.
To Rose’s alarm, Roger got down on one knee and took her hand. “Rose,” he said earnestly, gazing up into her eyes. “I –”
The terrace windows opened and a masked devil stepped out. Roger looked round in irritation. To Roger’s horror, a gun appeared in the devil’s hand and a female voice said. “Get up, you, and the pair of you walk down into the garden.”
Roger got to his feet and stared in terror at the masked woman. “Is this a joke?”
“No joke. Move.”
For a moment Roger stood paralysed with fear and then his bladder gave.
“Move,” ordered the woman.
They walked down the steps into the darkness of the garden.
When they were deep in the darkness, the woman removed her mask. In the dim moonlight filtering through the trees, Rose recognized the maid who had been dragged out of the tea party.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” jeered Thomson. “Well, I’ll tell you. You and that captain of yours have ruined all my plans. I kill you, he suffers. You flounce around London society without a care in the world. Now you know what it is like to be frightened.”
“I’ve got nothing to do with this,” gasped Roger. “This is between you and Rose.”
“What a coward you are! What do you think of your precious beau now, Lady Rose? Cringing and pissing himself. Well, he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Thomson,” said Rose. “You were Dolores Duval’s lady’s maid. You murdered her.”
“Why not? The trollop would have come to a bad end anyway.”
¦
Harry had been scouring the supper room for Rose. At last, a debutante said with a giggle, “If you are looking for Lady Rose, she went out on the terrace with Mr Sinclair.”
Harry ran to the French windows and let himself out. He stared around.
Then, from down in the garden, he heard a man’s voice pleading, “Please let me go.”
Harry seized his stick and moved silently and quickly down into the garden.
“It’s no use begging,” he heard a cold female voice say. “You’re first.”
Roger fell to his knees and burst into tears.
Rose gazed coldly at Thomson. If she had to die, then she would do so with dignity.
Thomson raised the gun. Then an arm brandishing a stick with a gold knob came out of the darkness and struck her a vicious blow on the head. Thomson collapsed on the ground.
Harry gathered Rose in his arms. “There now, my sweet,” he said. “It’s all over now.”
“She confessed to the murder,” said Rose. “I heard her. Roger heard her.”
“You!” Harry barked at Roger. “Get up off the ground and go into the house and telephone the police.”
“I can’t,” wailed Roger. “I… I’ve wet myself.”
Harry looked at him in disgust. “Come, Rose. You will need to do it while I guard this creature. You, Mr Sinclair, will need to wait for questioning. Here, take my cloak.”
Rose hurried off into the house. She drew aside her hostess and told her the police were to be called immediately. There was a murderer in the garden. The alarmed hostess ordered footmen to go into the garden and then called the police.
“There is no need to alarm your guests,” said Rose. “If you could find us a quiet room.”
She was led to a study to await Harry.
Rose sank down into a chair and began to cry. She was crying not only over the fear of having nearly been killed but also because the dream of Roger had been exploded.
When she heard footsteps approaching the study, she hurriedly dried her eyes. Roger came in wearing Harry’s cloak. He slumped down in another chair and buried his head in his hands. Then Harry came in followed by footmen carrying the unconscious Thomson. Harry ordered them to lay her on the floor and then knelt down beside her.
He raised her head and looked at Rose. “She’s still alive. I would not have liked the complications if I had killed her.” He turned to one of the footmen. “Fetch brandy.”
He pulled a chair up next to Rose and held her hand. “Why did you go out on the terrace?”
“Roger said he had a present for me. He said it would only take a few minutes.”
“And what was the present?”
“I don’t know. That awful Thomson creature appeared with a gun and ordered us down into the garden.”
Harry surveyed Roger with contempt. “You may as well give it to her now.”
“I must have lost it,” mumbled Roger, wondering whether it might be possible to die of shame. During his
