Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [74]
“Haven’t the faintest,” lied Harry, for he knew Rose’s mother had been referring to the bombing at Stacey Magna. “How is Lady Rose? I haven’t been allowed to see her.”
“Remarkably well, considering everything. She’s a brave girl. If it hadn’t been for her we’d probably never have found out.”
“If it hadn’t been for Daisy, she’d probably be dead. How is Daisy?”
“Chirpy as a Cockney sparrow. The doctor says she has a huge bruise under where the bullet hit the steel. Oh, that was something else Lady Polly found to complain about. She asked Lady Rose, ‘What were you doing giving an expensive corset to your maid?’
“So Lady Rose starts to complain that she cannot abide the constriction of that sort of stays and they end up having an argument about dress.”
“How’s Hedley?”
“He’s trying to look shocked, but you can see it’s dawning on him that he gets all her money. He’ll be able to buy his virgins, now. What a world. I suppose you’ve turned out not to be any use to Hedley.”
“On the contrary, I am employed to go about the sordid business of making sure the footmen on the scene keep their mouths shut. I suggested it might be a good idea to bribe Daisy. No one apart from Rose is thanking her and I feel she deserves a reward.”
“What will you do with your life now?” asked Kerridge.
“I’m not quite sure,” said Harry, bending down and rubbing his bad leg. “But next time, I will be sure that the people I work for are decent and honourable.”
“Captain, if they were decent and honourable, they would not require your services. You’ve heard of Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency, haven’t you?”
“Of course.”
“You might try something like that. Get something maybe a bit more meaty than blowing up railways stations all because some earl doesn’t want to entertain the king.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. There’s the dressing gong.” Harry held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I don’t suppose we’ll meet again.”
Kerridge shook his hand. “I’m sure we will, Captain. I’m sure we will.”
Harry had assumed that Lord Hedley would not be present at the dinner table, but there he was at the head as usual. He was wearing a black armband, as were the other men there. The ladies had all found something black to wear.
To his surprise, Rose was there as well, her face looking pale and almost translucent above the black of her dress.
Conversation was muted, but as the wine circulated, voices began to rise. “So awful,” said Maisie Chatterton to Harry. Harry was amused to notice that all the drama had made Maisie forget to lisp. “But I always thought there was something a little bit mad about her. I never want to come here again.”
“I think we’ll all be glad to leave in the morning,” said Harry.
Miss Fairfax’s voice boomed out, “I think it’s all very fishy. No one will tell me quite what happened. I was talking to Lady Hedley the other day and she seemed happy and well.”
There was a shocked silence. Then Sir Gerald said, “Now, my precious, you mustn’t be so tactless. It makes your eyes narrow, and we don’t want that, now do we?”
To Harry’s amazement, Miss Fairfax gave a giggle and rapped Gerald on the arm with her fan. “Naughty, naughty boy.”
She really must have an awful lot of money, thought Harry cynically. He glanced again at Rose, who was Ustlessly picking at her food. Did she feel like him, a misfit? He had been more comfortable in the company of Kerridge than in the fellowship of his peers.
Upstairs, Becket knocked at the door of Daisy’s room and crept in. He glanced at the inner door which connected Daisy’s room with Rose’s and whispered, “Is she in there?”
“Gone down to dinner.” Daisy was lying propped up against the pillows, a bound copy of Young England on her lap and a box of chocolates on the table beside the bed.
Becket drew up a chair and sat down next to her. “Did you get your pay-off?”
“One hundred guineas.