Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [60]
“But why sexual disease? She might just be frightened that she is pregnant.”
“Perhaps. But don’t you see? If Lord Hedley slept with Margaret, it follows he may have slept with Mary Gore-Desmond. Perhaps she threatened to tell his wife and his wife has the money.”
Harry sat silently in thought. “You don’t like the idea,” said Daisy pertly, “because you didn’t think of it.”
“Mind your manners,” snapped Harry.
“Daisy was only trying to help,” said Becket angrily and Harry looked at his manservant in surprise.
“So what do you suggest we do?” he asked. “Confront Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone? She will deny it. She has too much to lose. And Hedley will most certainly deny it.”
“Perhaps you should tell Kerridge of our suspicions. He might get the doctor to talk.”
“Shhh!” said Daisy suddenly. “I think I heard something.”
She ran lightly across the room and threw open the door. She could hear footsteps hurrying off in the distance at the back of the hall. Daisy ran in pursuit and found her way blocked by Curzon. “Is anything the matter?” he asked.
“Get out of my way!” shouted Daisy.
Curzon took her arm in a strong grip. “It is time you and I had a word, Miss Levine. You do not shout at a superior servant in that manner. You—”
“Daisy!” called Rose, hurrying across the hall. “Is anything the matter?”
“I’ll speak to you later,” hissed Curzon.
“It’s all right, my lady,” said Daisy. They walked back to the library. “Someone was listening,” said Daisy. “I heard these footsteps running away and went after whoever it was, but that great idiot Curzon blocked my way.”
Harry looked at Rose. “Is there a constable outside your room at night?”
“Yes. Well, there was last night.”
Harry turned to Daisy. “Make sure he’s on duty tonight.”
Rose was mounting the staircase with Daisy when Curzon came hurriedly up after her.
“Lady Hedley wishes a word with you, Lady Rose. Follow me. Alone,” he added with a glare at Daisy.
Feeling nervous, Rose walked after him, wondering if Lady Hedley had been the one listening at the library door, and then dismissed the idea as ridiculous.
Curzon threw open the door and announced her and then left them together. Lady Hedley was seated before the fireplace in her sitting-room, working at a piece of tapestry.
“Sit down,” she ordered. “No, not there. Opposite. Where I can see you.”
Rose did as she was bid. There was a long silence while Lady Hedley’s needle flashed in and out of the piece of tapestry mounted on a frame.
Then she began. “We have not really had an opportunity to talk.”
“I am most grateful to you for your hospitality,” said Rose.
The needle paused. “No you’re not,” said the countess. “How could you be? What do you think of this castle?”
“Very fine.”
“Why?”
“Well, very romantic, like casdes in stories of knights and ladies.”
“Piffle. I assumed you had some intelligence.”
“You do not expect me to say what I really think,” said Rose, becoming angry.
“It would be pleasant if you would try to do so.”
Rose took a deep breath. Why should she care what Lady Hedley thought?
“All right. It is silly, a folly, and set as it is against the poverty of the local village, a disgrace.”
“Still banging on about that village, hey? It may please you to know that Hedley has set about repairs.”
“Yes, it does please me.”
“He’s only doing it because the gutter press have criticized the living conditions.”
There was another long silence. Rose felt herself becoming almost hypnotized by the flashing needle.
“What did you think of Mary Gore-Desmond?”
“Nothing at all. I barely knew her.”
“I saw too much of her. Did you know I brought her out?”
“No, my lady. At the last season?”
“Yes, for part of it. Her mother fell ill towards the end but was still hoping her plain daughter should make a match with someone, anyone. So we took her on. Nasty little thing.”
“My lady, she’s dead!”
“That doesn’t soften any memories I may have of her. But the real reason I asked you here was to find if you had recovered from your shock.”
“I hope so, my lady but to tell the truth, I am afraid