‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Mr Jones. ‘See here, they’ll print the story all right . . . Then what happens? Never get on the wrong side of the aristocracy or you’ll be finished.’
‘But they’ll never know it was me.’
‘That captain’s a detective. He’ll find out. He’ll remember telling you. What’ll he think of you? Now – here, forget the tea, have some more brandy to strengthen you – did he ever, and think carefully, show any signs of being attracted to you in any way?’
‘He was very kind.’
‘Kind doesn’t amount to anything. I was kind to your ma and do you know what happened? She thought I was keen on her and became all twisted and bitter when she found I wasn’t.’
Miss Jubbles blinked. ‘She said nothing of it to me.’
‘Well, she wouldn’t. So let’s think about this here captain, now. Did he ever press your hand, gaze into your eyes, anything like that?’
A slow blush crept up Miss Jubbles’s checks. ‘Do you mean I imagined the whole thing?’
‘Easy done. See here, know why your ma was so furious?’
Miss Jubbles shook her head.
‘I told her I was keen on you. Look, see, I imagined you felt warm towards me because that’s what I wanted to think. We all get carried away some time or another.’
Miss Jubbles stared at him. Something warmer than the brandy began to course through her veins. She could feel her self-worth gradually being rebuilt in that cosy little parlour, brick by brick.
‘Why, Mr Jones! I never dreamt, never imagined . . .’
He took her hand in his. ‘You’re quite the little heart-breaker . . . Dora.’
A few days later, Lady Glensheil sent out invitations to a house party at her Surrey residence, Farthings.
Her invitation was received gratefully by Lady Polly. ‘It’s just what we need,’ she said to her husband. ‘Get Rose down to the country, fresh air, and away from the fear of that terrible doctor. We shall accept, of course. She has sent me a note with her invitation to say it will be a small party.’
‘Still, I wonder who else is going,’ said her husband.
‘What’s in the post?’ demanded Mrs Jerry Trumpington across the breakfast table.
Her husband lowered his morning newspaper and looked at her. ‘Haven’t opened it yet.’
‘You’re impossible. Give it to me. I don’t know why I put up with you.’
He signalled to a footman and handed him the post, which the footman placed next to Mrs Jerry.
Mr Jerry Trumpington surveyed his wife and began to indulge in one of his favourite fantasies. She was a greedy woman. In his mind’s eye, she choked on a lump of food. He would sit there calmly, watching her slowly choke to death. That gross body of hers would writhe about and then crash onto the floor like some great diseased tree. He would wait until she gasped her last. A simple funeral. No point in wasting money on the dead. No flowers. What about hymns?
‘Here’s one!’ called his wife down the table. He blinked the dream away and looked at her with something like shock in his eyes because in his mind he was already following the coffin to the graveside.
‘What?’
‘Lady Glensheil wants us to go to her house party. We must go. She’s got a French chef.’
‘When is it?’
‘Two weeks’ time.’
‘Bless me. Such short notice. Bit autocratic of her. I’ve got work in the City anyway.’
Mr Trumpington was director of a tea company. Although tea and beer were not considered trade, Mrs Jerry felt it was rather demeaning of her husband to work at all.
‘It’ll sound so common, me having to say my husband’s working.’
‘You spend so much money, I have to keep working. By the way, that gentleman’s watch you bought from Asprey’s.’
‘I told you and told you. That was for nephew Giles.’
‘But I saw Giles the other day and he said he had never received such a watch.’
‘It must be one of the other nephews. Stop prosing on. It’s only a watch.’
‘A gold half-hunter is not just an ordinary watch.’
‘Oh, shut up about the watch!’ she roared.
Her husband bowed his head and went back to arranging her funeral.
Lord Alfred turned Lady Glensheil’s invitation over and over in his long fingers. What was an old battleaxe like Lady Glensheil doing sending him an invitation? Still, it would mean getting out of London and away from his creditors. He had lost heavily at the gaming tables and needed to rusticate. Also, if that superintendent from Scotland Yard came calling again, he would find him gone.
‘The stage is set,’ said Harry a week later. ‘The three have accepted.’
‘I’ve looked up Farthings,’ said Kerridge. ‘There’s an inn nearby called The Feathers. I’ll book in there the first weekend. Slip out and give me a report. Lady Rose has accepted?’
‘Yes, and her parents as well, so I don’t suppose she’ll be able to be of much help. Lady Rose telephoned me the other day.’
‘Aha! You pair getting friendly.’
‘I have no interest in a young female who specializes in getting into trouble.’
‘If you say so.’
Three days before the house party, Lady Polly contracted a feverish cold. ‘I will need to tell Lady Glensheil that we cannot go,’ she said.
‘Mama, I can go with Daisy. Then there’s my new maid, Turner. She will be with us as well. You would not want me to stay in London without your protection while that wicked doctor is still at large.’
‘I suppose not. Lady Glensheil is a stickler for etiquette, so don’t disgrace yourself. And do try to un- Cockneyfy Daisy. She looked at an artichoke at dinner last night and said, “Am I supposed to eat them bleeding leaves?”’
‘If it had not been for Daisy . . .’
‘Oh, don’t start again. You may go. But behave yourself!’
It was lilac time when Rose, Daisy and Rose’s new maid set out for Farthings. More motor cars than ever before were appearing on the streets of London. Rose had originally thought them nasty, smelly, noisy things, but now she looked on them with a jealous eye. She did wish her father would buy one, but he had even refused to buy her a bicycle.
The weather was unusually warm and sunny. The trees and hedgerows were bright green with new leaves forming arches over the road as they drove deeper into the countryside.
Daisy twisted her head round and looked through the window at the back of the carriage. ‘There’s a car following us. It’s been there all the way from London.’
‘Probably Captain Cathcart.’
‘No, it’s not his car.’
‘Then it might be one of the other guests.’
‘I keep worrying about that doctor.’
‘He wouldn’t dare come near me. Besides, Captain Cathcart will be there.’
Daisy sometimes felt impatient with Rose. Couldn’t she see what a suitable match the captain would make? And then she, Daisy, and Becket could maybe be together.
Harry and Becket, with Becket driving, headed towards Farthings. Two ladies’ bicycles were strapped on the back of their car. ‘Don’t you think, sir, that the earl and countess will consider a bicycle too expensive a present to give an unmarried young lady?’
‘I bought one for Daisy as well.’
‘Still . . .’
‘Lady Rose did tell me on the telephone that she had changed her mind about motor cars but said that her father would not even buy her a bicycle. Stop worrying about it, man. I shall discuss the matter with her, and if she considers the present out of order, she can leave it behind.’
‘We’ll need to teach them to ride the things,’ said Becket.
