salesman, or said he was, talked loudly to the couple; a spinster-looking lady and a sort of youngish man.”
“What was he like? The young man?”
“I didn’t notice him much. Only a quick glance. He was seated at the table behind us. How would anyone recognize us with our disguises?”
“Someone who was watching the house and followed us from London. We’ll need to find somewhere else,” said Rose frantically. “And what do we do with these letters? If he can find us, the police can find us.”
“Burn them,” said Daisy, looking at the fire.
“They’re evidence!”
“They’re evidence against you!”
The door burst open and Rose let out a scream of terror. Harry Cathcart, tired and furious, having set out before dawn after a restless night, strode into the room. “What the blazes are you doing? Don’t you know you made yourself look even guiltier by fleeing? What’s that you’re holding?” He snatched the letters from Rose. “Where did you get those?”
“I found them this morning,” said Rose. “I was going to unpack and there they were in the bottom of my trunk.”
“So someone followed you. Wait here.”
Harry rushed out again.
Rose was beginning to feel irrationally angry. He should have said something like, “Thank God, you are safe.” Not berated her as if she were a guilty schoolgirl.
“Listen,” said Daisy. “The wind has dropped suddenly.”
“I’m nervous waiting here. Don’t you see, Daisy, that whoever tried to make me look guilty did the murder himself? So there is a murderer in this hotel.”
“If he’d wanted to kill us, he would have done so already,” said Daisy. “All he wanted to do was make you look guilty.”
Harry came back. “I’ve checked the hotel register. One man called Mr Terence Cramley left this morning. The others all seem respectable. I’ll go out and search the town for him. I’ve got a description. I’ll call at the station and see if he’s taken a train. Kerridge gave me only two days to find you. Pack up your things. We’ve got to get out of here.”
¦
Kerridge was summoned that morning by Sir Ian Wetherby. “I have just sustained a visit from His Majesty’s equerry, Lord Herring,” began Wetherby. “His Majesty wishes all inquiries into the death of Dolores Duval to continue quietly. I believe the editors of the newspapers have all been informed. His Majesty is distressed that Lady Rose should even be considered guilty.” The earl’s been busy, thought Kerridge cynically. “I also received a telephone call from the prime minister,” Wetherby went on. “He suggests that as Miss Duval was no better than she should be, to quote his words, then it stands to reason that some low life got rid of her.”
“What about the so-called freedom of the press?” asked Kerridge.
“These editors have probably all been told that a knighthood may be in the offing if they behave themselves. A statement is to be issued tomorrow in all the newspapers to say the police have found Lady Rose to be innocent of any crime.”
“It is lucky that I believe that to be true. What if it turns out that our royal personage was involved in some way?”
“Piffle. Absolute piffle. I prefer to forget you even said that, Kerridge. Now go about your business.”
¦
Harry found no trace of the mysterious Mr Cramley in Thurby-on-Sea. He returned to the hotel and told Rose and Daisy to be ready to leave.
Rose hesitated on the steps of the hotel. A watery sunlight was shining on the choppy sea and the wind had died down. She wished in that moment that Harry had not found her so quickly. Oh, for just a few days away from the press and the gossip of society!
“Come along,” barked Harry.
“Yes, sir,” said Rose and gave him a mock salute. Harry glared at her. She should be ashamed, contrite, over all the trouble she had caused him.
¦
Rose, wrapped up in a bearskin rug and with her veil tied down over her hat, sat in the passenger seat of Harry’s Rolls-Royce as they cruised along the streets of London. Harry was driving and Becket and Daisy were in the back.
A thin mist was swirling among the narrow sooty streets. Women, wearing the enormous hats which were so fashionable, hurried along like so many animated mushrooms. Moisture from the mist made the sooty buildings on either side glisten like jet. The air smelt of horse manure, bad drains, patchouli and baking bread.
Harry, who had maintained an angry silence during the journey, broke it to ask, “What were your parents about, to come to London during such an unfashionable period?”
“My mother gets bored in the country. They would not let me work for you unless they were in London as well. Where are you going? This is not the way home.”
“We are going straight to Scotland Yard. Kerridge will want to see you. Once you are home, he will not have a chance. You will no doubt have to begin preparations to go to India.”
“But I am engaged to you!”
“Your father was just terminating the engagement when the news came that you had been found standing over a dead body with a gun in your hand.”
“I can’t go!”
“It might be best for all of us. You can no longer work for me. The press will follow your every move.”
Rose realized for the first time that before, she had always had a certain hold on him, and she sensed miserably that that hold had gone.
¦
Kerridge greeted them with relief. “I had better telephone your parents to say you are safe and well.”
“Before you do that,” said Harry, “let’s discuss this.” He took out the bundle of threatening letters and explained to Kerridge how they had been found.
“So we can put a face to this man. What did he look like?”
“Unfortunately, the staff at the hotel could only give a scrappy description. Possibly in his mid-thirties, slight Cockney accent, white face, pinched features, thin brown hair, and wearing a dark blue coat and trousers. I searched Thurby and checked the station. There was no sign of him. He had checked into the hotel for only one night.”
“Why didn’t you telephone so that I could have alerted the local police?”
“There had been gales and the telephone lines had come down.”
“Wait here. I’ll get on to it right away.”
Rose sat wrapped in miserable thoughts. She remembered talking to a certain Mrs Dursley at an afternoon tea party. Mrs Dursley had been an unsuccessful debutante who had been packed off to India. She had married Colonel Dursley, a man old enough to be her father. “The colonel was due to return to England,” she had said, “and it was the only way I could think of to get home again.”
“Was India so bad?” Rose had asked.
“We were in Delhi. It was so hot and dusty. It was a suffocating world of malicious gossip and long hot days of boredom.” She had lowered her voice to a whisper. “My dear, I would have married
“Are the Indians so bad?” Rose had asked curiously.
“Oh,
Harry was thinking about India as well. Why should I not let this infuriating girl get sent to India? he thought. Rose has been nothing but trouble. She could find herself some army officer, have lots of children and settle down.
Kerridge came back. “I’ve alerted the Essex police. I have also telephoned Lord Hadshire to say his daughter is safe. His lordship wishes you to return immediately.”
