Snobbery with Violence (24 page)

‘That was just luck on Lady’s Rose’s part. And just think! Had you not told me to keep guard on Lady Rose, she would be dead.’

Harry brightened slightly. ‘That’s true.’

‘I could look for suitable premises tomorrow,’ suggested Becket.

‘Let me think about it.’

Just before Christmas, Rose finally agreed to attend a ball at the Cummings’ with her mother. Lady Polly was worried about her daughter. Ever since they had arrived in London from the castle, Rose had appeared tired and listless.

‘Cheer up,’ said Daisy as she arranged silk flowers in Rose’s hair. ‘Captain Cathcart might be there and you can talk about old times.’

‘Those times are not yet old enough for my comfort. I would like to forget about the whole thing. Do you think this yellow is unflattering?’

Rose was wearing a yellow sateen evening gown embroidered with tiny yellow primroses and with inserts of white lace.

‘It’s a pretty gown but you are a bit pale,’ said Daisy. ‘Maybe a touch of rouge?’

‘No.’

‘What about this idea of us being businesswomen? I read the advertisements every day.’

‘Oh, that was a silly idea, Daisy. I would never be allowed to do it. This is my life from now on. I may as well settle for some amiable man and then at least I would have my own establishment.’

Daisy bit back a sigh. She thought it would be wonderful to have a life filled with nothing but balls and parties and pretty dresses. She opened the curtains and looked down into the square. ‘Fog’s coming down. Going to be nasty. I’d better have that dress shut away when we get back. When it’s a bad one, the fog gets in everywhere.’

By the time Lady Polly had fussed over her daughter’s appearance and made her change her evening bag and gloves several times, they were late leaving, and what Dickens had called a London particular had settled down on the city.

‘Thank goodness we haven’t got far to go,’ said Lady Polly as the carriage rolled the short distance to Belgrave Square. ‘I can hardly see a thing out of the windows.’

‘I hate knee-breeches,’ grumbled the earl. ‘Silly things. Ought to be confined to court appearances. With my figure, I feel I look like Humpty Dumpty.’

‘You look very fine, my dear,’ said Lady Polly.

Surely her parents had married for love, thought Rose. Lady Polly never found any fault with her husband. Rose had seen photographs of their wedding day. Her father had been a slim, handsome man then, and she was sure that was how her mother still saw him.

The coach lurched to a stop. Extra footmen hired for the evening lined the entrance. ‘I wonder how you clean all that gold braid after the fog,’ wondered Daisy. ‘Must ask Becket.’ Then she remembered there was no Becket to ask and felt quite low.

In an ante-room reserved for the ladies, Daisy removed Rose’s fur coat and checked that her hair was still in order and that none of the little silk primroses in it had come loose. Bands of fog lay across the ante-room.

Rose mounted the staircase to the ballroom where their hosts appeared at the top through thickening layers of fog.

‘So kind of you to come out on such a dreadful night,’ murmured Mrs Cummings.

To Lady Polly’s relief, her daughter’s dance card was soon filled up. The scandal appeared to have been forgotten.

Rose had given up the idea of trying to engage any of her partners in intelligent conversation and so was a great success.

Harry had decided to attend the ball. He would not admit to himself that he hoped Rose would be there. His white shirt-front well protected against the choking fog, he motored alone to Belgrave Square, having told Becket there was no need to accompany him and failing to notice the look of disappointment on Becket’s face.

He mounted the steps to the ballroom with an unusual feeling of anticipation. As he was late, his hosts had joined their guests. He surveyed the room where the dancers twirled in a waltz and sent the wreaths of fog spiralling about them.

‘Captain Cathcart!’

He looked down and found Lady Polly beside him.

‘Good evening,’ said Harry happily. ‘I trust your daughter is well.’

‘Very well and engaged for every dance. It would be better if you did not approach her. She has not been well in spirit since the dreadful events at the castle. I beg you to leave her alone.’

‘Certainly,’ said Harry coldly.

Rose danced past in the arms of a handsome guardsman. She saw him and her eyes widened.

Harry turned on his heel and walked back down the stairs. He should never have come. His leg was hurting. It looked as if it was going to be a bad winter. He would go somewhere warm and decide what to do with his life.

A footman was helping him into his fur coat when Daisy appeared at his side. ‘Why, Daisy,’ said Harry, ‘how are you?’

‘I’m all right,’ said Daisy, ‘but my mistress is not the same. She’s so sad and quiet. Where’s Becket?’ she asked eagerly, looking around.

‘Becket is in Chelsea. I will tell him I saw you.’

‘Are you doing any more detective work, sir?’

‘No. In fact I have just decided I have had enough of London weather. I crave some sunshine. I think I will take myself off to Nice.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘The south of France, Daisy.’

‘And will you take Becket with you?’

‘Of course. We could both do with some good weather.’

‘Tell Mr Becket I wish him well,’ said Daisy and trailed off.

The ball finished early because of the dreadful weather. As Rose and her parents stood on the steps waiting for the carriage to be brought round, snow began to fall through the filthy fog, great lacy flakes.

The earl let out a rattling cough. ‘My dear, your chest!’ exclaimed Lady Polly. ‘Pull your scarf up round your throat. Thank goodness. Here’s our carriage.’

Rose sat silently in her corner of the carriage. Why hadn’t Harry spoken to her? It would have only been polite. They had been through so much together. She felt jaded and weary and a large tear rolled down her cheek.

Lady Polly saw that tear in the dim light of the carriage lamp and let out a squawk of dismay. ‘You are never crying, Rose. You were such a success.’

‘I am not feeling very well,’ lied Rose.

Lady Polly fussed over her daughter while Daisy prepared her for bed. Then she told the maid to come with her.

Daisy followed Lady Polly’s sturdy little figure to the countess’s sitting-room.

‘Is my daughter really ill?’ demanded Lady Polly. ‘Should we send for the doctor?’

‘I think Lady Rose is suffering from delayed shock,’ said Daisy. A bright idea dawned in her head.

‘I think what Lady Rose, and, if I may be so bold, the master need is some sunshine.’

‘We are due to leave for Stacey next week,’ said Lady Polly impatiently, ‘and there isn’t any sunshine there.’

‘I was thinking of Nice, my lady. That’s in the south of France.’

‘I know where it is. My old friend, Gertie Robbald, lives permanently in the Imperial Hotel.’

‘Sea air and sunshine’, cooed Daisy, ‘would do Lady Rose the world of good.’

‘You may be right. But we always have Christmas at Stacey.’

The earl came in at that moment, coughing and wheezing. ‘It’s too bad,’ he said. ‘Brum tells me the factor phoned and two of the pipes have burst at Stacey and the drawing-room is flooded.’

‘Run along,’ Lady Polly ordered Daisy.

Daisy went outside the door and pressed her ear to the panels.

‘I have had an idea,’ said Lady Polly. ‘We don’t want to go back to a freezing, flooded house. I am worried about your chest and about poor Rose being so frail. Why don’t we go to Nice? Genie’s there, at the Imperial. We could get some sunshine and sea air.’

‘Be funny not celebrating Christmas in England,’ said the earl.

‘It would be awful celebrating Christmas in this filthy weather. Oh, do say yes. Only think of poor Rose.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm. I’ll get my secretary to make the arrangements.’

Daisy darted back up the stairs to Rose’s bedchamber. Rose was lying in bed, reading a book.

‘We’re going to Nice!’ said Daisy, pirouetting around the room.

‘What? When?’

‘As soon as possible. Just think! Sunshine and adventures.’

Rose smiled at her maid’s enthusiasm. ‘I’m glad you’re happy. Why should they decide on Nice?’

Daisy looked at her. If she told Rose about Captain Cathcart, Rose might tell her mother and then they wouldn’t go.

‘Dunno,’ she said.