Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [81]
Harry Cathcart brightened when a footman brought him the earl’s request. It was not that time had been lying heavily on his hands. On the contrary, his days were taken up, just as before, with hushing up society’s scandals and finding lost dogs. But he had hoped for more dramatic assignments, and somehow, working in the past for the earl had certainly led to murder and mayhem.
He picked up his hat and coat and went through to the outer office where his sheep-faced secretary, Miss Jubbles, was labouring over accounts.
“I’m going out for a bit, Miss Jubbles,” he said. “Anything I can get you?”
“Oh, no, Captain.” Miss Jubbles gazed adoringly at the handsome captain with his thick dark hair, rangy figure and black eyes. Harry shrugged himself into his fur-lined coat and crammed a wide-brimmed hat on his head. Out in Buckingham Palace Road where he had his office, the cold was intense. In a neighbouring building, the pipes had burst and icicles glittered against the sooty brick. Other buildings had lagged the outside pipes with old sheets and he felt he was walking past ghostly sentinels with their whitish arms stretched up to the frost-covered roofs. He walked carefully because the street sweepers had been unable to clear the pavements of the frozen-hard mud and it was slippery underfoot.
As he made his way to Eaton Square, he felt a frisson of excitement. He would see the infuriating Lady Rose again. He remembered her as he had last seen her with her intense blue eyes and thick brown hair, her figure unfashionably slim in this new Edwardian era where men liked their women plump.
At the earl’s house, the butler took his hat, coat and stick and informed him that Lord and Lady Hadshire would see him in the drawing room. Harry mounted the stairs behind the butler thinking the earl must really have some major problem or he would have received him in his study.
“Come in, come in,” cried the earl. “Sit by the fire. Sherry? Yes? Fetch the decanter, Brum. You been shooting, Cathcart?” He surveyed Harry’s tweed coat, knickerbockers, thick socks and brogues.
“No, I do realise I am unfashionably dressed but my attire is suitable for the cold and I gather you want to see me on business.”
“Yes, wait until we get the sherry and I get rid of the servants.”
“Where is Lady Rose?”
“In her room,” said the earl gloomily, “and let’s hope she stays there.”
Daisy turned away from the window as Rose entered her private sitting room. “I just saw Captain Cathcart a few minutes ago coming into the house.”
“What on earth is he doing here? Oh, no! Pa’s probably asking his help. But what can Cathcart do?”
“Get a tame doctor to say you’re mad,” said Daisy. “Then you’ll be put in a lunatic asylum and I’ll be sacked.”
“They wouldn’t do that,” said Rose with a nervous laugh.
“It would solve their problem. If you then said anything about that plot to stop the king visiting, no one would pay you any attention.”
“If they do that, I will run away.”
“We could do that anyway, my lady.”
“No, they would put advertisements in all the newspapers and I would be hunted down. Oh, what on earth are they talking about?”
“It’s all very simple,” said Harry when the earl had finished.
“How?” The earl goggled. “I’m not having her put in an insane asylum. I know that’s the thing, but she’d never get married and I want grandchildren. A boy. Who’s going to inherit, hey?”
“I am sure Lady Rose would be competent to run your estates.”
“A woman? Never!”
“Very well. What I suggest is this. I have a friend, Mr. Peter Drevey, a merchant banker. I can persuade him to employ both Lady Rose and Daisy as typists. Ifou will have to pay him a fee to cover wages for both, and for his discretion.”
“If the fellow’s a gentleman, he won’t want paid.”
“If he is paid then I can get him to sign a confidentiality document. I am sorry, my lord, but I have outstanding accounts