Sick of Shadows - M. C. Beaton [6]
Although hailed as a beauty, Rose, since her engagement, was no longer in such demand, and to her fury she had to sit out a whole three dances while watching her fiancé prowling around the place. She did not know he was working and assumed he was deliberately snubbing her. Her anger was so great that when Peter came up for his second dance she flirted outrageously, and the shrewd Peter, who knew exactly why she was doing it, played up to her.
Harry was furious. How dare she show him up like this? Mrs. Barrington-Bruce approached him. “I think you should dance with your fiancée,” she said severely. “People do not know you are working for me and it looks as if you are deliberately cutting her dead.”
He had not seen things from this angle but by the time he approached Rose, her flirtatious display on the dance floor had attracted many admirers and her dance card was full. He bowed instead before Daisy. “Miss Levine, will you do me the honour?”
Rose started to protest. “Miss Levine does not dance . . .” But her new partner had come to claim her and Harry was already leading Daisy onto the dance floor.
Daisy’s little face, which still held a bit of her old pinched Cockney look, turned up to the captain’s brooding one. “You asked for it,” she whispered as they circulated in a waltz.
“I’m working,” he hissed. “I’m supposed to be watching Mrs. Barrington-Bruce at all times in case someone steals her jewels.”
“But she’s wearing ’em. Looks like a Christmas tree.”
“Mrs. Barrington-Bruce fears some villain will rush across the ballroom and assault her.”
“She’s so corseted tonight in whalebone, it must be like armour,” giggled Daisy. “But you are causing a lot of gossip, sir.”
“I feel like asking Lady Rose to end this stupid farce of an engagement.”
“You can’t do that!” exclaimed Daisy. “She’ll be shipped off to India and I’ll have to go with her. Oh, do make a push to behave like a gentleman.”
Her rather prominent green eyes were filled with worry. Harry gave a reluctant laugh. “I’ll try.”
But Rose’s thoughts had been distracted from Harry. Dolly had slipped a note into her hand. Rose read it at the first opportunity. It said: “You are my only Frend. I am Running Away. Meet me at the Serpent at six tomorrow and I will tell all. Come Alone. Yr. Loveing Dolly.”
“You’re not really going, are you?” asked Peter on the road home. “Six o’clock! It’s nearly two in the morning now.”
“Dolly needs my help,” said Rose firmly. “I will go.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Daisy.
“No, she said to come alone and that’s what I’m going to do. Ma won’t miss me. She won’t expect me to rise until one in the afternoon.”
Rose let herself out of the family’s town house at quarter to six in the morning and hurried in the direction of Hyde Park, unaware that Daisy was following her at a distance.
She assumed that Dolly would be waiting for her on the bridge over the Serpentine, where she had met her before. Rose shivered a little as she stood on the bridge. The weather had turned chilly. A duck squawked on the water below and Rose leaned on the bridge and looked over.
Then she let out a scream of fright, and Daisy, who had been hiding behind a nearby tree, scampered up to join her. Too upset to ask Daisy why she had followed her, Rose pointed downwards.
A rowing-boat was moored in the water by the bridge. In it lay Dolly dressed like the Lady of Shalott in the pre-Raphaelite illustration to Tennyson’s famous poem by John Atkinson Grimshaw. Her filmy draperies floated out from the boat and trailed in the water. Flowers were woven in her hair. Her hands were crossed on her breast. Her beautiful face was clay-white.
“Is it a joke?” asked Daisy.
“No, look, there’s