Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [25]
“But he doesn’t have to. He’s eccentric.”
“What about the House of Lords?”
“What about it?” jeered Kerridge. “Waste of time, if you ask me. Half the house is absent and the other half’s nearly dead.”
“Dear me, Super, you’re quite the little Bolshevik yourself.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Kerridge was shocked at his own behaviour. If his injudicious remarks got back to Scotland Yard, he would lose his job. He plodded on with the questioning, reflecting as he did so that the captain was one of the most empty-headed men he had met.
But when he got back to his desk at Scotland Yard, he turned over his conversation with the captain. He had an obscure feeling that he had somehow been irritated and manipulated into betraying his radical views. And then, there had been that odd business of the earl winking at his secretary.
That evening, before going home, he dropped in at the pub in the hope that Posh Cyril might be around, but there was no sign of the footman. He took his leave and bumped into Posh Cyril in the street outside.
“I want a word with you,” muttered the superintendent.
“Walk away and into the alley along there. Be with you in a mo’, “ whispered the footman. “Got a friend in the pub and don’t want to be seen with you.”
Kerridge stood impatiently in the alley amongst the dustbins until the footman appeared.
“I need some information,” said Kerridge. “I want to know about a certain Captain Harry Cathcart. Lives in Wr r Street, Chelsea.”
“I’ll find out what I can. Cost you.”
“Always does,” said Kerridge gloomily.
Shortly before Rose was due to visit the Marquess of Hedley, her maid, Yardley, gave notice. Lady’s maids prided themselves on the appearance of their employers. Yardley felt her position in life had diminished through Rose’s disgrace. Rose did dress for dinner, but during the day went around in skirts and shirt blouses, or in riding dress.
Lady Polly felt her daughter was going too far when Rose calmly announced that Daisy would be her new lady’s maid.
“That girl is out of the gutter,” raged Lady Polly.
“Daisy is bright and intelligent and a quick learner,” said Rose. “You never talk to her. I will fetch her and you can see for yourself.”
Lady Polly was taken aback when Daisy entered the room. The blonde hair was beginning to grow out and Daisy was dressed neatly and becomingly.
“So you think you can be a lady’s maid?” demanded the countess.
“Yes, my lady. I have learned a great deal, thanks to Lady Rose’s kindness.”
Her voice was soft, with only the slightest Cockney edge.
“I do not like to think of a girl of your background chaperoning my daughter,” said Lady Polly, who had the staccato speech of her class, an icy stare put into words.
“A girl of my background is wise to the ways of men, my lady. I would have protected Lady Rose better had I been with her in London.”
“And do you know how to sew?”
“Yes, my lady. I worked as a seamstress in Whitechapel when I wasn’t on the boards.”
The countess’s own lady’s maid, Humphrey, stood behind her mistress’s chair, darting jealous looks at Daisy. She gave a little cough. “May I suggest a test, my lady? Your blonde straw hat needs retrimming. I suggest it is given to this person to see how she can work.”
“Excellent. Fetch it here and give it to the girl.”
Two days later, the refurbished hat was presented to the countess. It was decorated by beautifully made scarlet silk roses. The countess was immensely pleased with it. But Humphrey snorted and said dresses were another thing. What about my lady’s ballgown, which had a torn hem, and that my lady had said was old-fashioned?
The dress was returned in another two days. The neckline had been slightly lowered and the shoulders decorated with white silk bows. The train had gone and it was now ankle-length.
“I always have a train,” complained the countess.
“Trains are going out of fashion, my lady,” said Daisy demurely. “I could not help noticing that you have very fine ankles, and if you adopt the new style, you will not need to