Sick of Shadows - M. C. Beaton [5]
“Petrey? He has no interest in women.”
“You know that, I know that, Rose knows that, but look at it from her point of view. She could marry him and have her own household and not have to worry about producing children. Why should she stick with you?”
“Daisy—Miss Levine—you know very well that our engagement is merely an arrangement. I have been very busy. Well, I suppose I have been remiss. Where does she go this evening?”
“Another ball. The Barrington-Bruces.”
“Tell her I will escort her.”
“Tell her yourself. She don’t know I’m here and she would be furious if she found out. May I see Becket?”
“He has a bad cold and you should not be visiting gentlemen in their bedchambers.”
“Just a quick word,” pleaded Daisy.
She expected Becket’s room to be in the basement, but the captain led her up the stairs to a door on the second landing. “Visitor for you, Becket,” he said and ushered Daisy into the room.
His manservant struggled up against the pillows. “Why, Daisy! You shouldn’t be seeing me like this.”
Harry retreated but left the door open. Becket’s brown hair, which was normally neatly plastered down on his head above his thin white face, was sticking up all over his head. Daisy sat down beside the bed. “Has the doctor seen you?”
“Yes, but he says it’s a feverish cold. I’ll be right as rain in a few days.”
“Captain does you proud,” said Daisy, looking around the sunny room. The walls were lined with bookshelves. There was a leather armchair in front of the fireplace, and by the window, a handsome desk.
“Why did you come?” asked Becket.
Daisy told him about the captain’s neglect and Rose’s anger. “I think my master’s really in love with her,” said Becket, “and that’s why he keeps clear of her because she can hurt him and he doesn’t like being hurt.”
“I think they love each other,” said Daisy. “I think that’s why she’s so unhappy. She’s treating me more like a servant than she’s done in ages. But he said he’d take her to the ball tonight.”
Becket sighed. “Let’s just hope they see sense.”
An hour later, Harry went to his office in Buckingham Palace Road. His secretary, Ailsa Bridge, was typing busily. The window behind her was wide open, but the air still smelt of peppermints. Harry believed his secretary was fond of peppermints, not realizing that Ailsa was fond of gin and drank peppermint cordial to disguise the smell.
“How are things?” he asked.
“Various cases have come in. The most immediate is from Mrs. Barrington-Bruce. She will be wearing her diamonds tonight and fears jewel thieves and wants you to be on duty at her ball.”
“I’ll cancel that one. I’m escorting my fiancée and I do not think she would be pleased if I were there in the capacity of policeman. I will phone Mrs. Barrington-Bruce shortly.” Harry went into his inner office and phoned Rose, only to be told that she was taking tea at Mrs. Barrington-Bruce’s. He phoned Mrs. Barrington-Bruce’s residence and asked the butler if he might speak to Lady Rose Summer.
Rose’s heart gave a jolt when she heard his voice on the phone. “I just wanted to let you know that I shall be escorting you this evening,” said Harry.
Her voice sounded cool and distant. “Alas, you are too late. I have already asked Sir Peter Petrey to escort me. How was I to know that you might remember at the last minute to honour our arrangement?”
“Look here—”
“Goodbye.”
Harry glared at the phone. How dare she? He phoned again and this time asked for Mrs. Barrington-Bruce and said he would be there to guard her jewels.
Mrs. Barrington-Bruce was an indefatigable hostess. Because her entertainments were always lavish, she could attract the cream of society, people who would not normally take the trouble to travel as far as Kensington.
Daisy was becoming increasingly depressed. On the journey there, Rose had confided her worries about Dolly, saying that she thought the girl had some deep sorrow and was not just worried about the rules of society.