They both rose to their feet. “We’ll send her to you,” said the earl.
Harry waited, pacing up and down much as Rose had done in the garden.
Rose came quietly into the room. She was wearing a white lace gown with a high, boned lace collar. Her brown hair was piled up on top of her head and her blue eyes looked larger than ever.
This is it, thought Rose. What am I to do? What am I to say?
Harry took one of her hands in his. “My darling Rose,” he said. “Would you—
Brum gave a loud cough. “What is it?” demanded Harry.
“There is a police inspector has called and insists on seeing you urgently.”
“Tell him to wait.”
“I fear he has come to arrest you, sir.”
“What nonsense. Wait here, Rose. I won’t be long.”
Harry followed the butler down the stairs.
“I have put the person in the study,” said Brum in lugubrious tones.
Harry opened the study door and walked in. A police inspector rose to meet him, flanked by two police officers.
“Captain Cathcart,” he said, “we must ask you to accompany us to the police station for questioning.”
“What is this about?”
“At the police station, sir. Come along. We don’t want to put the cuffs on you.”
Harry was taken to the market town of Hidwell and ushered into an interview room.
Daisy was sitting in the housekeeper, Mrs. Henry’s, parlour, having a cup of tea. She was privately hoping Rose would be successful in persuading Harry to talk to Becket and get permission to work. The news of Harry’s departure had not yet filtered below stairs.
“Must have been awful losing your baby,” said Mrs. Henry, a woman as fat and comfortable as a well-worn sofa.
“You know, I don’t want babies,” said Daisy. “Is that unnatural?”
“Not after all you’ve been through.”
“It’s all right for the men,” complained Daisy. “If they don’t want babies, they can wear a condom.”
The condom had been around since the time of the Egyptian pharaohs. Some say it was named after Dr. Condom, who supplied Charles II with animal-tissue sheaths.
“There is a country way for women,” said Mrs. Henry.
“What’s that?”
“You get a piece of green elm and stick it up your whatsit. The wood expands and blocks everything.”
“I wouldn’t know green elm. Can you get me some?”
“If you’re sure, m’dear. Seems bit hard on your man.”
“I would only use it for a little.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I am Inspector Robinson,” said the inspector, facing Harry across a table scarred with cigarette burns and tea stains. “You visited Miss Thomson, the woman accused of the murders, last evening, did you not?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“I was curious about her state of mind. I had begun to consider writing a book on the criminal mind.”
“And she was well when you saw her?”
“Spitting venom, but otherwise fairly well. What is this about?”
“Half an hour after you left her bedside, she was found stabbed to death.”
“Good heavens, man, that had nothing to do with me!”
“We checked with the prison hospital and you, sir, were the last to see her.”
The questioning went on and on and then finally Harry was told they would be holding him overnight. He was formally charged with the murder of Thomson. Before he was led off to the cells he called his lawyer, who promised to be there first thing in the morning.
One of the policemen told his wife that evening of the arrest and the gossip swirled out of the town and reached Stacey Court.
The earl and countess were alarmed. Rose was strictly forbidden to visit Harry.
“We must get her away from here,” said the earl, “or Rose will decide to elope with a jailbird.”
“She can’t elope with him if he’s locked up.”
“Superintendent Kerridge is a friend of Cathcart’s and will probably get him released. We must get her away. Let’s take her up to Tarrach as fast as possible.” Tarrach was the earl’s hunting lodge in Perthshire. “I’ll get Matthew to make all the arrangements.”
Daisy tried not to feel too selfishly upset when Rose told her that there had been no time to speak to Harry about Becket. “And you are going away tomorrow,” mourned Daisy.
She looked hopefully at Rose. “We could run away again.”
“I’m afraid I can’t face running away any more. The stay in Scotland will help me to make up my mind about Harry.”
Becket called early in the morning at the police station with a change of clothes for Harry.
“This is ridiculous,” raged Harry. “I am being moved to London. My lawyer couldn’t get hold of Kerridge. I thought Lady Rose might have tried to see me.”
“Lady Rose was refused permission and the family are leaving for Scotland today.”
Harry fretted all the way to London and when he found himself locked up in a police cell in Pentonville Prison, he felt he was moving through a nightmare.
In the evening, a guard told him he was wanted in the governor’s office. Harry followed him along the bleak corridors and down the iron staircase to the governor’s office.
When he walked in, Kerridge was waiting. “My dear fellow,” said Kerridge, “this has all been a terrible mistake. We’ve caught the culprit, a hospital porter. It turns out he has a history of insanity. A nurse who was off duty when you were arrested saw him go into Thomson’s room. We found the knife that stabbed her on the floor and it had his fingerprints on it.”
“Wasn’t there a policeman on guard outside her door?” asked Harry.
“I’m afraid he had fallen asleep. We are so sorry.”
“You don’t begin to know what you have done,” said Harry. “Now get me out of here!”
Becket was waiting for him in the car outside. “Home, sir?”
“No, back to Stacey Court as soon as possible.”
“I am afraid it is too late. The family left for Scotland this morning.”
Harry felt bitter. He knew that Rose could be courageous and resourceful. She could have escaped from the house somehow and she could have come to see him.
It was finished. She did not care for him.
It was a mellow summer in Perthshire. Rose went with her parents to various parties and exercised by walking on the moors. She knew she should feel relieved, and yet she felt dull and empty. She had read about the false arrest of Harry in the newspapers. She had also read about the successful opening of Miss Friendly’s salon, which had been delayed for a few weeks because a supply of brocade had not arrived in time, and experienced a pang of guilt that she had forgotten all about the opening.
She tried to tell herself that she was better off—and safer—without him, but she felt like a coward. She knew she should have escaped from Stacey Court and gone to see him.
One evening, she attended a grand ball given at the home of the Duke of Perthshire. As she whirled about the ballroom floor, Rose began to wish irrationally that Harry would walk in. She had wanted a peaceful social life and now she had it. Then she saw a man with his back to the ballroom standing at the entrance. He was tall and dark. Then he turned round and her heart sank. She had thought it was Harry.
Rose began to feel as if she had lost something very valuable.
“This is a handsome sideboard, is it not?” demanded Becket.
“Yes,” said Daisy, looking up from the romance she was reading.
Becket ran a finger across the surface and held it up accusingly. “See? Dust! You’ve got nothing else to do all day. The least you could do is to keep the place clean.”
“Oh, clean it yourself. I’m bored being stuck here.”
Becket bent over her. “You are my wife and you will do what I say. When I return this evening,
I want this place to be spotless. Do you hear me?”
“Stop shouting. They can probably hear you over at Tower Bridge.”
Becket crammed on his bowler hat and stormed out.
Daisy sighed. She looked thoughtfully at the phone.
On impulse, she picked it up and asked to be connected to Harry’s office. She asked the secretary if she could speak to Mr. King.
“Who is calling?”
“Mrs. Aymes.”
“One moment.”
Bernie’s voice came on the line. “It’s me, Daisy,” she whispered. “Care to meet me in Lyons for a cup of tea?”
“Hour’s time, Mrs. Aymes,” said Bernie.
“Who was that?” asked Harry, who had just walked into the office.
“A Mrs. Aymes,” said Bernie. “Friend of my mother’s. I’m taking her for a cup of tea at the Lyon’s in Victoria in an hour’s time, if that’s all right with you, sir.”
“Yes, I can’t see why not.”
Daisy was just about to leave when there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, it was to find Becket there accompanied by a squat woman. Becket was carrying a large bunch of red roses.
“What’s this?” asked Daisy.
“This is Mrs. Blodge, who will do the cleaning.”
“I’ll start in the kitchen,” said Mrs. Blodge cheerfully. “I alius starts in the kitchen.”
Becket handed Daisy the bouquet. “I’ll show you the kitchen. Wait there, Daisy. I see you’re dressed to go out. But I need to talk to you.”
Daisy waited nervously. She put the roses down on a side table. Becket came back.
“I’ve given Mrs. Blodge a spare set of keys,” he said. “She can let herself out.” He took Daisy’s hands in his. “When I was walking away from here, I heard my own voice and the things I said to you, and I was that ashamed of myself. We used to have fun, Daisy, and it’s a long time since I’ve heard you laugh. I phoned the captain and I’ve got the day off. We’re going out for a slap-up lunch, champagne—the lot. Can you forgive me?”
He hung his head.
Daisy felt a great wave of relief sweeping through her. She leaned forward and kissed Becket on the cheek and said, “Come on, love. We’ll let bygones be bygones.”
Harry was walking past the Lyon’s tea shop in Victoria an hour later and glanced in at the window. Bernie was sitting there alone, looking at his watch.
Harry walked into the tea shop. “She didn’t arrive?”
“No,” said Bernie gloomily. “I’d better get back to the office.”
Once back at his desk, Harry sat with his head in his hands. In that moment, he hated Rose for the way she kept haunting him, the way he could not get her out of his head.
Bernie knocked and came in. “There’s a lady to see you, captain.”
“I’m busy …,” Harry was beginning to say when Bernie stood aside and Rose walked in.
“Why have you come?” demanded Harry harshly. “I thought you had run away to Scotland to avoid me.”
“I did,” said Rose quietly, “and now I have run back again. My parents will be furious. I must send them a telegram.”
“Why have you come?” demanded Harry again.
Rose was dressed in a tailored blue velvet walking dress and on her shiny brown curls was a jaunty little hat tilted to one side.
She regarded him steadily and then said in a voice that shook slightly, “I have come to ask you to marry me.”
He walked quickly round the desk and took her hands in his. “Do you know what you are saying? Why do you want to marry me? Are they threatening to send you to India again?”
“No,” said Rose. “I-I l-love you.”
He swept her into his arms and kissed her, and all the passion that he had suspected before was in Rose surged up to meet his own.
“Have another glass of champagne,” Becket was saying.
“I’m tiddly already,” said Daisy. “Oh, well. Why not?”
“You know, Daisy. I’ve tried and tried. But I don’t think I’m ever going to be a gentleman.”
“Amen to that!” said Daisy. “Bottoms up!”
OUR LADY OF PAIN. Copyright © 2004 by M.C. Beaton. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2003069546
ISBN: 978-1-4299-0276-2
Our Lady of Pain Page 19