looks as if she was expecting a lover.”
“Madam fretted at the restriction of stays. She went around clad only in her undress most mornings. I tried to persuade her to wear something more seemly, but she laughed at me and called me a fuddy-duddy.” Thomson sat down as if her legs had suddenly given way. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
“Jewels!” said Harry sharply. “Has anything been taken?”
Thomson went to a large jewel box. “The key is in the lock,” she said. “That’s odd. It is always kept locked. I have one key and madam had the other.”
She threw open the lid. Inside were a series of trays with rings and earrings. She lifted them out. In the well of the box were piles of necklaces. “Madam kept her diamonds at the bank,” said Thomson. “But there is a sapphire necklace, a ruby necklace and a necklace of black pearls missing.”
“You are sure?” asked Kerridge.
“I check the inventory every evening. Also I made a daily inventory of the lace box.” Lace was in vogue for trimmings and some of it was priceless.
“Why is there dust over everything?” asked Thomson.
“Men from the Fingerprint Bureau dusted everything for prints before we began our search.”
Kerridge hated to ask the next question, but he knew where his duty lay. “Why did you assume this visitor might be a royal personage?”
“It was something madam said. We had been shopping at Fortnum’s. There was a particular tea they sell that madam liked. His Majesty visited the store while we were there. He seemed much taken with my mistress. He drew her aside and whispered something to her. Madam blushed and laughed and for the rest of that day was very elated.”
“But she didn’t say anything specific?”
Thomson shook her head.
“Friends? Did she have a particular friend she may have confided in?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Gentlemen friends?”
“Only Captain Cathcart.”
“Very well, Miss Thomson. You may retire. We will wait for the rest of the staff to arrive.”
When she had gone, Kerridge eyed Harry suspiciously. “Were your relations with Miss Duval strictly business?”
“Yes. I was protecting her and trying to find out who had sent the letters.”
“I tell you what’s odd,” said Kerridge heavily. “Here’s a famous French tart whose business it is to find herself a wealthy protector. But the only person around is you.”
“Miss Duval told me she did not wish to… er… return to business until whoever had written those letters had been found.”
“What was she like?”
“I would estimate she was at the top of her profession. You see, it’s not just what they do in bed, it is how they can charm and entertain out of it. She was warm-hearted, witty and funny.I liked her immensely.”
“Liked? That was all?”
“Yes.”
Kerridge took out a large pocket watch. “We had better go and interview Lady Rose.”
Harry felt low during the drive to the earl’s. He had not been quite honest with Kerridge. He had been charmed and fascinated by Dolores. Apart from her charm and her undoubted sexual attraction, she had exuded an almost maternal warmth. He felt guilty when he thought about Rose. Yes, he had kissed Rose passionately and she had responded, but when he had seen her again, she had seemed cold and remote. It had not dawned on Harry that the normally courageous Rose was shy. The newspapers tomorrow were going to crucify her. He was sure the neighbours who had found her with the revolver had already talked, not to mention the cleaning woman.
No one had thought to tell Daisy of the day’s events. She had interviewed a gentleman who wanted proof of his wife’s adultery and two ladies who were distressed over their missing pets.
Feeling very much in charge, Daisy decided to tackle the cases herself, setting out in pursuit of the missing pets and resolving to start a watch on the gentleman’s wife the next day.
¦
Accompanied by the barrister, Briggs, Rose was taken through her story again. She was white and shaken. Harry longed to comfort her, but she did not look at him once. Instead, he said to the earl, “Someone was sending Miss Duval threatening letters. They have disappeared. I am sure that person is the one who murdered her.”
Lady Polly said, “Oh, Rose, if only you hadn’t threatened to kill the woman yourself.”
“What’s this?” asked Kerridge sharply.
“You need not answer any more questions,” said Briggs quickly.
“I may as well tell him,” said Rose sadly. “There were so many witnesses. My fiance escorted Miss Duval to the opera. I was incensed. I felt he was tarnishing our relationship by consorting publicly with a doxy. I went up to her in the crush bar at the interval and I said something like, ‘Leave my fiance alone, you bitch, or I’ll kill you’.’
“Oh, why on earth did you say such a thing?” mourned Harry.
She looked at him for the first time. “I should not have said it. Neither you nor she were worth the effort.”
“I think we’re finished here,” said Briggs.
“Yes, go to your room,” said Lady Polly.
Harry watched her go. He would never have dreamed that anything he did could rouse Rose to a jealous fury. Perhaps she loved him after all. But she would never forgive him for having taken Dolores to the opera. He should never have let Dolores talk him into it.
¦
“Looks right bad for Lady Rose,” said Kerridge as Becket drove them to Scotland Yard. “The earl was a fool to stop us searching her rooms. If she hasn’t got that jewellery, then it’s a good step towards getting her in the clear.”
“You can get a search warrant.”
“For an earl’s town house? I’ll be blocked at every turn.”
“I’ll need to persuade them to send Lady Rose away somewhere. Once the newspapers come out tomorrow, she will be damned as a murderess and there’ll be a mob at her door.”
“She will certainly be featured largely in the papers but not damned. I don’t think so in this case.”
“Why?”
“If Lady Rose had killed a respectable lady, it would be another matter. But her fiance has been seen squiring around a French tart. It will be regarded as a crime of passion. You may find yourself, and not Lady Rose, the villain on the piece.”
¦
Daisy returned home. She sensed something was up as soon as Brum, the butler, answered the door to her. Daisy had the front door key but was not expected to use it except in an emergency. She had been reprimanded for using the key on one occasion by Lady Polly, who had said, “Why open doors when servants are paid to do so?”
“Hullo, Brum,” said Daisy. “Why the long face?”
He shook his head and said portentously, “Bad times.”
Daisy threw him an alarmed look and darted up the stairs to Rose’s private sitting room.
Rose was sitting in an armchair in front of a smouldering fire, a book lying open on her lap. Daisy saw immediately that Rose had been crying. She knelt down beside her. “What’s the matter? Tell Daisy.”
In a tired flat voice, Rose told her about the murder and about her involvement in finding the body.
She finished by saying, “I am really ruined now. It will be in all the newspapers tomorrow. My engagement to the captain is over. If I don’t find someone quickly to marry me, we will be sent off to India. That is, if I don’t end up in prison.”
“We could run away,” said Daisy. “You’ve got loads of jewels. We could sell them and go to Scotland or Ireland or somewhere like that. I know, we could go back to the Shufflebottoms in Yorkshire.” Rose and Daisy had been sent to stay with Bert Shufflebottom, a village policeman, the year before, when Rose’s life had been in
