Sick of Shadows - M. C. Beaton [32]
“We are not making calls, Daisy. You will need to find something informal.” Rose rang for the maid and soon a rather sulky Daisy was attired in a simple skirt and white blouse. She protested volubly against wearing a straw boater like Rose, and only because she was told the captain was waiting for her did Rose allow Daisy to get away with wearing a cart-wheel of a straw hat covered in so many flowers that from above she looked like a neatly tended garden bed.
Rose was nervous at seeing Harry again. He should not have taken such liberties with her.
But Harry looked as cool and distant as he usually did. He helped Rose into the passenger seat of his Rolls and Daisy and Becket got into the back.
“I thought we might find somewhere pleasant on the upper reaches of the river,” said Harry. He meant the Thames. To a Londoner, there was only one river.
Rose gave a curt nod and settled back against the red leather seat. The car purred off. Daisy began to chatter to Becket, and Rose envied her free and easy manner.
I know nothing of men, she thought bleakly. I do not understand them. I wish I had brothers.
At last Harry spoke. “You haven’t seen anyone suspicious hanging about, I hope?”
“No one at all,” said Rose, “although we have hardly been out of doors except for our journey to Apton Magna.”
“Do not go anywhere like that without letting me know about it first.”
“It is rather hard, since you are always busy.”
“As I told you, I am not going to take on any more work until this case is finished. Has your Miss Friendly come up with any more gems of information?”
“No, but she says she is trying to remember every little thing. Any news of Mr. Cyril Banks?”
“He is in Scotland at the moment. Shooting party.”
“Do you think he might be the murderer?”
“I do not know. He is incredibly vain. There are some unsavoury stories about him.”
“Such as?”
“When he was staying with Lord Berrow in the country, he was accused of molesting a servant girl. He denied the whole thing. Despite the fact that Berrow’s servants claimed that he had indeed forced his way into the girl’s bedchamber, Berrow backed Cyril, saying the girl was a slut. He dismissed her. Her parents complained to the church and to the lord lieutenant, but nothing came of it.”
“Why?”
“Because there is one law for the rich and one for the poor. Just be grateful for your privileged position, Lady Rose. The unconventional risks you take might end in disaster if you were of a lower class.”
“So Berrow and Cyril Banks are friends? And both wished to marry Dolly. Don’t you find that odd?”
“Yes, I do rather, and quite sinister.”
“What is sinister about it?”
Harry bit his lip. He knew Berrow, like Cyril, had a foul reputation. It had crossed his mind that perhaps Berrow, had he managed to woo and marry Dolly, might have allowed his friend access to her.
“Just that they are both unsavoury characters.”
They drove on down leafy roads, the trees heavy with the weight of summer, the leaves a dark and dusty green.
“You should have worn a veil,” said Harry as a cloud of dust rose up about the car from an unmetalled country road.
“I’ll hold a handkerchief over my face.”
As they cruised along beside the river, the usual picnic argument started up. Every time Harry looked like stopping, either Rose or Daisy would cry out, “No, not there! Try a little farther on.”
At last Harry rebelled and came to a stop by an area of green grass surrounded by willow trees. “Here and no argument,” he said, “or it will be midnight before we eat.”
Becket lifted a large hamper out of the boot and then began to pump up a small spirit stove.
Harry spread rugs on the grass and Rose and Daisy helped Becket lift out dishes, glasses and food from the hamper.
They drank champagne and ate delicacies from Fortnum and Mason such as grouse in aspic while the river chuckled past over the willow trees and the moving leaves of the other trees around their green oasis on the river bank sent flickering shadows over their faces.
When the meal was finished, Harry said to Rose,