Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [76]
“Maybe if Mary Gore-Desmond had known of such things she would still be alive,” retorted Rose.
“Don’t speak to your father like that,” said Lady Polly. “I know your poor nerves are overset by your dreadful experience, but there is no need for you to be so ... coarse.”
The Peterson sisters were driven off in their motor car while Miss Fairfax followed in her carriage, accompanied by Sir Gerald.
“Faster,” Harriet urged the chauffeur. “I want to leave her behind. We really need to write to Mother, Debs, and get her off our backs. She was bad enough before, but she’ll ruin our chances, twittering and ogling with that awful creature on her arm.”
“Goodbye, rotten castle,” said Deborah, as the car rolled over the drawbridge. “As I told you, there was something fishy about Lady Hedley shooting herself. Rose was there. I tried to ask her this morning but her mother interrupted and pulled her away. Also, I sent my maid over to Creinton for some ribbons and she told me that Captain Harry, Rose and their servants were singing in the street. For money!”
“Can’t have been them. The Earl of Hadshire is most frightfully rich.”
“Ah, but the captain’s reported to have very little over his army pension,” said Deborah. “It must be so demeaning to be poor. He should marry Rose. I mean, her parents should be glad to get anyone for her now.”
“Oh, that scandal about Blandon will be over and forgotten. She’s got money and a title and looks. She won’t stay on the shelf for long,” said Harriet.
“You know what I think?” Deborah clutched her hat as the car swung out onto the main road. “I think Rose is the type to make things happen. Mark my words, she’ll be embroiled in another scandal before Christmas.”
“I hear her parents are shipping her off to India.”
“Well, all I can say is poor India,” said Deborah. “She’ll start another mutiny or something.”
Freddy Pomfret and Tristram Baker-Willis and their valets were deposited at Creinton Railway Station by one of the castle carriages.
“Absolutely poisonous visit,” complained Freddy, listlessly poking the fire in the first-class waiting-room. “Deaths and shootings. Boring melodrama. Like being trapped between the covers of one of Mrs. Henry Wood’s novels.”
“And that Rose creature,” said Tristram. “Getting us into trouble. That Trumpington woman was leering at us in the most horrible way. Turns my stomach to think of it.”
Freddy produced a silver flask. “Here. Have a swig of this. I filled it up with Hedley’s brandy.”
Tristam took the flask from him and downed a great swallow. “That’s better. We didn’t have a chance with the Peterson girls after that. Tell you what. Lady Rose is going to London. Let’s think up some way to get even.”
The waiting room began to shake under the thunder of the approaching train. “Here we go,” said Freddy. “London, here we come.”
Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone, accompanied by the Trumping-tons, stared bleakly out of the window. The landscape was white, in the grip of a severe hoar-frost.
She could only be grateful that she had escaped with her reputation intact. She did not believe for a moment the reasons given for Lady Hedley’s taking her own life. Remembering her talk with Rose, she was sure that somehow Rose had found out that Lady Hedley was a murderess and had challenged her. Thank goodness it was being hushed up or she might have had to appear in the dock as a witness. The whole experience had shaken her. She could only pray that she was not pregnant. Her menstruation was not due until the following week.
In that moment, Margaret made up her mind. She would stop looking for love and this time she would accept the proposal of the first man who asked her to marry him.
Mrs. Trumpington nudged her husband awake. “I wonder if I should go to India with the Hadshires’ gel. There’s something unstable about her. At first I thought, well, jolly good, free holiday and all that. Bit of travel. But the more I think about it, the less I like it. I mean, heat and flies and Rose likely to get embroiled in something awful.