Hasty Death

they want me to solve the case but without upsetting the nobs. And this old place has so many nooks and crannies.’

Come the revolution, thought Kerridge, this would make a good orphanage and this lot would be out there working in the kitchens and gardens. He had a vision of Lady Glensheil scrubbing the pots in the kitchen with a piece of sackcloth as an apron tied round her waist.

‘Mr Kerridge,’ said Harry sharply.

‘Eh, what? Oh, yes, I don’t suppose there will be prints on that syringe.’

A policeman entered. ‘Whose window was it under, lad?’ asked Kerridge.

‘It was under the window on the first-floor landing.’

Kerridge sighed. ‘So any one of them could have thrown it out as they went up or down the stairs. Blast! Are you sure, Captain Cathcart, that neither Mrs Stockton nor Lord Alfred have been particularly friendly?’

‘Not that I have seen. None of them are particularly what I would call friendly, except perhaps Tristram Baker-Willis, who has proposed to Lady Rose. Probably after her title and money.’

Kerridge looked amused. ‘Why do you jump to that conclusion? Lady Rose is very beautiful.’

‘Lady Rose is irritating and unfeminine.’

‘I would have said you both had a lot in common.’

‘Tommy-rot!’

The fact that they were all told they could leave on the following morning had lightened spirits considerably and an air of relief pervaded the dining-table.

Only Rose felt unhappy because Harry would not look at her and Tristram kept breathing compliments in her ear.

She was glad when Lady Glensheil finally rose to lead the ladies to the drawing-room. Maisie and Frederica spoke of the coming season. Maisie said that if she did not ‘take’ at this, her second season, she would be sent to India. Frederica said roundly that she had half a mind not to get married at all. There weren’t any decent chaps on offer. Lady Glensheil said loftily it was the duty of every young miss to marry. There was no other future for a lady.

Rose protested and said that a number of ladies these days were earning their living.

‘Not ladies,’ said Lady Glensheil dismissively.

When they were joined by the gentlemen, the card tables were set up. Harry sat down with Lady Glensheil, Tristram and Sir Gerald and did not once look in Rose’s direction.

Rose excused herself and followed by Daisy went up to her room. ‘The captain is angry with me,’ she said.

‘You should maybe have told him,’ ventured Daisy.

‘I don’t care what he thinks,’ said Rose angrily.

Harry and the rest of them left for London the following morning. Harry went straight to his office and looked at the pile of mail waiting for him. He decided to employ another secretary. He drafted out an advertisement to appear in The Lady magazine and sent Becket off with it.

He felt guilty about Miss Jubbles. He should have noticed she had fallen in love with him. And he had told her all about Lady Rose working at the bank!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,

He shouts to scare the monster who will often turn aside.

But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Rudyard Kipling

Two weeks had passed since the return from Farthings, and Rose felt she had entered again into a type of luxurious convent. Once more she had to change at least six times a day and make calls with her mother or various ladies of society. She had to remember all the trivial things not to do, such as never opening a door herself, never looking round when she sat down – one had to assume a footman would be there to place the chair – and never to sit down on a chair still warm from a gentleman’s bottom.

Daisy, too, was bored and restless. She tried to console herself by remembering the hard times in the business women’s hostel. Now that it seemed as if Captain Harry was determined never to see Rose again, Daisy knew that meant she would not get a chance to see Becket.

The only freedom the pair had was when they were allowed go out on their bicycles in the park, and that was because the earl had taken the precaution of furnishing two of the footmen with bicycles and making sure they accompanied Rose and Daisy when they cycled.

And then, to make life really horrible, Tristram called and asked the earl’s permission to pay his addresses and that permission was granted. Rose refused him again and was in deep disgrace.

Perhaps her parents would not have been so angry had they known that Rose had actually refused with a certain amount of reluctance this time. She was beginning to realize that the only hope of freedom for a lady of her class was to marry a complacent husband. She would have her own household. Her husband would presumably spend most of his time at his club or in the country killing things.

Daisy had told her about Harry’s advertisement for a secretary and she wished he had asked her. He never called and he never attended any of the long, boring society events where she sat and fretted and counted the hours until she could return home to the sanctuary of books and privacy.

Harry was finding it hard to engage a suitable secretary. He did not want to make another mistake.

But at last he settled on a Miss Ailsa Bridge, daughter of Scottish missionaries. She was tall and thin with a long nose and pale hooded eyes. She was in her late thirties and had travelled extensively to the Far East with her parents to convert the heathen. Ailsa had excellent shorthand and typing. She came with a reference from Brigadier Bill Handy, who said that while she had been abroad she had provided the British government with useful intelligence about various situations in Burma.

She proved to be neat, efficient, and, above all, impersonal.

What he did not know because Ailsa did not consider it important enough to tell him was that two days after she had started work and while Harry was out of the office, she had sustained a visit from Miss Jubbles.

Miss Jubbles announced that she was the captain’s former secretary and said that the china in the cupboard was her property. Armed in her new status of affianced lady, Miss Jubbles was ready to do battle, but Ailsa said mildly that she should go ahead and take her china.

‘Very kind of you,’ said Miss Jubbles gruffly. She had brought a box and tissue paper with her and she packed the china lovingly, glancing around occasionally at what she had considered to be her ‘sanctum’ for signs of change. There were new box files in different colours. The windows had been cleaned and sparkled in the late-spring sunlight. Other than that, it all looked heart-breakingly the same.

While she packed, Ailsa continued to type at great speed, keys rattling like a Gatling gun.

‘Thank you,’ said Miss Jubbles when she had finished. Ailsa raised her hands from the keys and put them in her lap. ‘I’ll be going, then.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Ailsa politely.

Miss Jubbles hefted up the box and paused in the doorway. ‘Is the captain still running after that horrible creature, Lady Rose Summer?’

Ailsa’s nose turned pink at the tip with annoyance. ‘I do not know anything of Captain Cathcart’s personal life, nor do I wish to do so.’

‘Then you should. She’s always in trouble and she’ll get him killed one day.’

‘If you are quite finished . . .’ Ailsa’s tone was frosty.

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Miss Jubbles.

When she had gone, Ailsa rose and went back to her room in a business women’s hostel in South Kensington