Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [18]
Harry bowed and walked off. He felt angry. Ungrateful little minx!
A telegram was sent off the next morning mforming the king of the servant’s illness. Daisy was confined to a servant’s room in the west wing.
Despite her distaste for the whole business, Rose found herself becoming curious about the girl. In the first place, to be a Gibson girl at the Gaiety Theatre meant beauty and elegance. Rose had seen postcards of the Gibson girls on sale in the village shop.
Her curiosity got the better of her and one morning she called on Daisy. The chorus girl was lying listlessly in bed, staring at the ceiling.
“I brought you some books and magazines,” said Rose. “You must get very bored.”
Daisy yawned and stretched. Without her make-up, she seemed little more than a child. She made an effort to get out of bed, but Rose held up one hand. “As we are all in this deception, there is no need to rise for me. Have a look at these books. I do not read much fiction, but there are a few novels there.”
Daisy sat up in bed and took up one of the novels. “Looks all right,” she said, after apparently scanning a page.
“You are holding the book upside down,” said Rose quietly. “You cannot read or write, can you?”
“No, my lady,” said Daisy, hanging her head.
“And you are not a Gibson girl either, are you?”
Daisy mournfully shook her head from side to side. “I asked the captain to let me say I was, this place being so grand. He got me from Butler’s.” Rose looked puzzled. “It’s a vaudeville place down the East End. Ever so rough, it is.”
Rose drew up a chair to the side of the bed, the light of a crusader in her eyes. “If you wish, I can teach you to read and write. You could better yourself. Come along. Think of it. It would pass the days. There is no need for you to lie here. We could use my old schoolroom.”
“Anythink’s better than this, my lady.”
“I will wait outside the door until you are dressed,” said Rose firmly.
King Edward was unusual in that he enjoyed being king. He was not given to either introspection or abstract ideas. Perhaps for that reason, he became easily bored. He was seated at the Duchess of Freemount’s dinner table and the duchess recognized with alarm the danger signals coming from the king. His heavy eyelids were falling, his voice was deepening and slowing up and his podgy ringers were drumming on the arm of his chair.
“I believe you are not going to the Hadshires’ after all,” said the duchess.
“Some servant girl’s got typhoid. Whole place in quarantine.”
“Indeed! Poor Lady Rose must be feeling very bored. Banished from society and then quarantined. Ifour visit would have restored her. Such a beauty. I am surprised they did not rush the wretched servant to some hospital, fumigate the place, and then go ahead and entertain you.”
A spark of interest lit the king’s eyes. He studied the duchess for a long moment and then said, “Think Hadshire’s faking it?”
“I never said that, sire.” The duchess twinkled at him and gave him a knowing little smile.
The lessons in the schoolroom were interrupted two days later when a footman burst into the room and shouted, “Sir Andrew Fairchild, for the king. He’s here!”
Rose and Daisy rushed back to the west wing. Rose helped Daisy out of her clothes and into a nightgown. Daisy quickly applied a white lead cosmetic to her face. “I don’t think we need to worry,” whispered Rose. “He will not dare risk infection. But if he comes, play your part well.”
She shot out of the room, and hearing footsteps ascending the staircase, dived into another servant’s room and stood with her ear against the door.
She heard her father protesting, “I’ll never forgive myself if you catch this awful infection.”
They went on past where she was hiding. “In here,” she heard her father say. “If you don’t mind, Sir Andrew, Fll wait downstairs. The footman will bring you back when you’re ready.”
Rose waited until her father had left and eased out into the corridor. John, the footman,