Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [10]
Here it comes, thought Kerridge.
“... that the Prime Minister is known to me.”
“How did Lady Rose get that sheet from the betting book of a gentleman’s club?”
“I have no idea.”
“Perhaps Lady Rose could tell me?”
The earl rang the bell. “You have overstepped the mark. We have nothing to do with the assault on Blandon, and if you insist on pursuing this, I shall have a word with your superiors, not to mention ...”
“The Prime Minister,” said Kerridge.
The butler appeared. “Show Mr. Kerridge out,” ordered the earl.
It was just as he expected, thought Kerridge, but perhaps his visit might persuade the earl that he was not above the law. Then he realized dismally that the earl had just persuaded him that he was.
The earl had never regarded himself a gossip and despised those whom he considered indiscreet. But when he arrived at his club an hour later and saw Brigadier Bill Handy sitting by the fire, the temptation was too much.
“Well, well,” said the brigadier. “I hear you’re leaving town. Bad business. Cathcart do his job?”
The earl sat down and leaned forward. “He did more than his job. Worth every penny of that thousand pounds he charged. He thrashed that bounder, Blandon, and told him to leave the country. But don’t tell anyone. Most grateful to you.”
“What about your daughter? There was no reason for such a scene. How could she behave so disgracefully?”
“To tell the truth,” said the earl miserably, “I don’t know my own daughter. She had what seemed an excellent governess. Rose wanted a good education. I should have known how dangerous that is. Men hate a woman with a brain. Not me, but then, I’m highly intelligent and sensitive.”
“Quite,” said the brigadier, looking with amusement at the earl’s guileless face.
“When Rose took off for that demonstration, we thought she had gone off to visit the vicar. Fact was, she took a train to London. Couldn’t blame the governess. She’d already left.”
“What about India? Send her out there. Lots of officers. By the way, did you just say that Cathcart charged you a thousand pounds?”
“I know. I was shocked. Didn’t expect the fellow to behave like a tradesman, but he did the job all right. As far as India is concerned, we’ll think about that. But don’t say a word about the Cathcart business.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The next day, the brigadier was strolling along Piccadilly. He stopped to look in the window of Hatchard’s bookshop. A tall, stately figure emerged. “Lady Giensheil!” said the brigadier, doffing his silk hat. Lady Giensheil was the daughter of one of his oldest friends. “How d’ye do?”
“Very well, I thank you. And you?”
“Splendid. Splendid. Oh, I say!” For a large tear had escaped from one of Lady Glensheil’s eyes to cut a wet furrow through the thick powder on her cheeks.
“It’s nothing,” she said. Her maid stepped forward and handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed her face.
“It must be something,” insisted the brigadier. “Walk a little with me and tell me about it.”
He proffered his arm. She put the tips of her fingertips on it and they walked slowly along Piccadilly.
“I am ruined,” said Lady Giensheil.
“Money?”
“Good heavens, no!” Lady Giensheil was shocked at the very idea that a lady would even mention such a sordid subject.
“I am here to help you,” said the brigadier gallantly.
“I must talk to someone or I’ll go mad,” she said. “But not here.” With her eyes she indicated her maid and footman following behind.
“We’ll go into the Green Park,” said the brigadier. “Send your servants off when we get there.”
She nodded. The brigadier cast anxious little glances at her as they proceeded on their way. Lady Giensheil in his estimation was a fine figure of a woman. Others might think she had a hatchet-face but the brigadier considered it truly aristocratic. Her heavy silk gown was liberally decorated with fine lace. Her straw hat contained a whole garden of artificial flowers.
Once they reached the park, Lady Glensheil ordered her servants to walk a distance away and