Sick of Shadows (13 page)

In his anger and distress, Peter could not help noticing that tears did not mar or blotch the beauty of that face. He decided to pretend that Jonathan did not exist.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he was finally settled by his manservant in a first-class compartment. “Take care of the house when I am gone,” said Peter.

Just as the train began to move forwards out of the station, the carriage door opened and Jonathan tumbled in.

“What am I to do?” demanded the furious Peter. “I cannot call the guard in case you shame me further.”

“I thought it was a joke. I never expected to like you so much. I’m frightened,” said Jonathan.

Peter raised a newspaper and pretended to read. After several miles, the quiet sobbing opposite melted him a little.

“Luncheon is served,” called a waiter.

Peter sighed and lowered the newspaper. “Dry your eyes. We may as well eat.”

Rose wondered what on earth was going on. “If only we could get to the captain’s office,” she said to Daisy.

“We could simply say we were going for a walk,” said Daisy.

“At the moment we are not allowed out of the house.”

“I’ll watch by the window and see whether my lord and my lady go out. My lord goes to his club most days.” Daisy took up a position by the window.

After quarter of an hour, she said, “There he goes. Now we need to wait for Lady Polly.”

The day dragged on. Rose read while Daisy kept watch. “Lady Polly has just left,” she exclaimed.

Rose put down her book. “How do we get past the servants?”

“They’ll be taking afternoon tea,” said Daisy. “If we hurry, we should get out unnoticed.”

“What about coming back?”

“Let’s worry about that later. We’ll go to Chelsea. He may have finished work by the time we get there.”

At Harry’s Chelsea home, Daisy bit back an exclamation of disappointment as Phil opened the door to them.

“Is Captain Cathcart at home?” asked Rose.

“I am expecting him at any moment.”

Rose handed him her card. “We will wait.”

“Certainly, my lady. Step this way. Sherry, my lady?”

“Yes, please.”

“Who on earth is that?” hissed Daisy when Phil had left the room.

“I believe he is some down-and-out that the captain rescued from poverty.”

Phil returned carrying sherry glasses and a decanter on a tray. He carefully poured two glasses and handed one to Rose and then one to Daisy.

He bowed low. “Will there be h’anythink else, my lady?”

“No, I thank you.”

Phil bowed his way out of the room.

Daisy looked around the book-lined parlour. “You would think with all the money he’s making he would find a more fashionable address.”

“Shh! I hear a motor car.”

Harry walked in, followed by Becket. “Lady Rose! What brings you here?”

“I must know what is going on,” said Rose. “What was in that photograph?”

Becket helped Harry out of his coat and took his hat and stick. He smiled at Daisy, who gave him a cheeky wink.

Harry sat down. “The photograph was of Sir Peter in a compromising position with a beautiful youth wearing a mask.”

“You can’t mean . . . Gentlemen don’t . . .”

“I am afraid they do. Berrow and Banks paid the young man to entrap Sir Peter.”

“Have you been to Kerridge? You must tell the police.”

“I cannot tell the police. Kerridge would be honour-bound to arrest Sir Peter. He would be charged with acts of gross indecency and sentenced to hard labour.”

Rose’s face was bright red. “I never imagined . . . I never thought . . . Where is Peter?”

“Well on his way to the south of France, I hope.”

Rose stared at him for a long moment. “Do you see what this means? If Berrow and Banks hired this youth to compromise Sir Peter, then they are probably the ones who hired the assassin to try to kill me.”

“That is possible. Although I fear one of them wanted Petrey out of the way so that he could try his luck with you. But I definitely cannot tell Kerridge. I am going out this evening to silence Berrow and Banks.”

“You will kill them?”

“No, my dear. There are other ways.”

“I cannot understand why my father did not cancel my engagement.”

“He will. But I did not, for the moment, want Berrow or Banks to have that satisfaction. Now I need to go out again. May Becket take you home?”

“Yes, please.”

Harry rang the bell. “Becket, take Miss Levine out to the motor. I need a word with Lady Rose in private.”

When they had left, Harry looked seriously at Rose. “I am going to ask your father’s permission to pay my addresses to you. What do you think of that?”

“He will never agree. And why?”

He wanted to say, Because you enchant and infuriate me. Instead he said, “Because I would not leave you unprotected. London is full of adventurers. You may make another mistake.”

“But you will leave me alone like you did before!”

“I will try to behave like a faithful swain. Come, Rose, we are both misfits and we could deal well together.”

Rose looked up at him from beneath her long lashes. “An arrangement like before?”

“If you wish.”

At last she gave a little sigh. “Very well, then.”

“I must deal with Berrow and Banks first. Then I will call.”

“I am only agreeing because at the moment I am not allowed out of the house.”

Harry smiled. “Let me escort you out to the motor.”

Harry waited until Becket had returned. “Do not take off your coat, Becket. We are going to Scotland Yard. How is Phil progressing with the camera work?”

“He is excellent and knows how to develop and print negatives.”

“Good. Tell him to get that new Kodak I bought him, film, and magnesium for the flash. I’ll need him tonight. I will also need to furnish you with a pistol, Becket. You do not mind threatening anyone with a pistol, do you?”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“So here’s what we will do . . .”

Harry hoped his guess was correct—that Berrow and Banks would wait outside that brothel in the hope of getting hold of Jonathan. But to make sure, he, Becket, and Phil followed the pair from The Club, then hid at the end of Verney Street and watched. Berrow and Banks looked around furtively and went into the brothel. They came out a few minutes later and stood waiting.

“Jonathan must have been due on duty about now,” whispered Harry. “Becket and Phil, go now. You have your instructions.”

Becket walked forward to where Berrow and Cyril were standing. Harry had altered his manservant’s appearance. Becket now sported a heavy moustache and mutton-chop whiskers.

He held the gun on the pair. Then he raised it and fired a shot neatly through the top of Berrow’s silk hat and then levelled the pistol on them again.

The brothel door slammed shut and the lights went out. A shot in Verney Street meant trouble, and trouble meant the police. No one wanted to be around when the police arrived. Harry at the end of the street saw a possible customer turn and run off.

“What do you want?” squeaked Cyril. “Our money?”

“I want you to kiss your friend on the mouth.”

“Bugger you,” hissed Berrow.

Becket clicked back the hammer on the pistol. “Oh, do what the maniac says,” howled Cyril, “or he’ll kill us.”

He grasped Berrow by the shoulders and pressed his mouth to his. Becket melted into the shadows as the magnesium flare went off.

Neither man saw the flash, both having their eyes tight shut. When Cyril released Berrow, he looked wildly around. There was no sign of anyone. Both men took out their silk handkerchiefs and wiped their mouths.

“Disgusting!” raged Berrow. “Let’s get out of here. Scotland Yard shall hear of this.” He set off down the street.

“Hold on,” said Cyril. “We can’t tell the police.”

“Why not? We were forced to kiss each other by some maniac with a pistol.”

“The police will ask where it took place. If we say Verney Street, they’ll think we’re a pair of you-know-whats. And I told you that someone opened my safe and stole that negative and photograph.”

Berrow stopped short. “What are we to do?”

“We can’t do anything.”

The next morning, both Cyril and Berrow received envelopes delivered by hand. In each envelope was a large photograph of them kissing each other. The brothel behind them was also in the picture. Each received the same letter. “If you go near Lady Rose Summer again or interfere in her life, go near her home, or threaten her in any way, this photograph goes to the police and the newspapers.”

Cyril went straight round to Berrow’s town house.

“You got one too! What are we to do?”

“I’m sure this is the work of that counter-jumper, Cathcart,” growled Berrow. “Let’s keep clear of Lady Rose while we think of a way to get back at him.”

The earl was having a late breakfast with his wife when he was told that Captain Cathcart had called.

“Send him in,” he ordered, and when Harry arrived, “have some breakfast. Pull up a pew.”

“Just coffee, please,” said Harry. A cup of coffee was given to him by a footman.

“Have you any news?”

“Not before the servants,” said Harry.

“You lot, get out of here,” ordered the earl. “And no listening at the door, either.” He turned to his wife. “You’d better go, too, my dear. Unsavoury stuff.”

“Before you go, Lady Polly, and before I give my report, I wish to inform you that I would consider it a great honour to renew my engagement to your daughter.”

“Not that again,” said the earl.

“I think you will find that your daughter is not indifferent to my suit. Lady Rose needs someone to protect her from danger.”

“You drag her into danger!”

“I had nothing to do with her finding that body in Hyde Park.”

“True. Oh, well, after your behaviour the last time you were engaged to her, she won’t want anything to do with you. Try if you like. Now, to business. My dear?”

When Lady Polly had left the room, Harry described how Berrow and Cyril had been forced to kiss each other. “They know that should they even go near Lady Rose again, the photograph will be sent to the police and to the newspapers.”

The earl began to laugh. Rose had seen Harry arrive. She could hear her father’s roars of laughter and wondered if it could be because Harry had asked for her hand in marriage once more.

“By Jove,” said the earl, “that’s brilliant. But why don’t the police shut that den of iniquity down?”

“I am afraid high-ranking people use it.”

“Demme, this town’s a sewer, a veritable sewer. Ghastly fellows preferring it up the tradesmen’s entrance. Thanks anyway. I suppose you’d better see Rose, but mark my words, you’re in for a rough rejection.”

The earl and countess were bemused when they were asked to come to the drawing-room to find their daughter wearing a sparkling engagement ring and smiling up at the captain.

“Your daughter has done me the great honour of accepting my hand in marriage,” said Harry.

“I think you’re both mad,” roared the earl and stormed from the room. Lady Polly remained. “I suppose Mr. Jarvis will have to cancel your engagement now to Sir Peter and then announce this engagement. Really, Rose, do try in future to be more
conventional
. Brum said he saw you sneaking back into the house when I had given you strict instructions not to leave it. You may take your leave, Captain Cathcart. Mr. Jarvis will let you know of Rose’s social engagements.”

Harry kissed Rose on her cheek. “Friends again?” he whispered.

“Friends,” echoed Rose softly.

To Rose’s relief, her mother made no protest at her plan to help the poor of East London by serving in the soup kitchen at St. Matthew’s in Whitechapel. Charity was fashionable provided one went armoured with the usual protection of footman and lady’s maid.

Rose decided to take Miss Friendly with her, Daisy having suddenly and vehemently refused to go.

Daisy said she didn’t want to run into old acquaintances. It wasn’t because she had become too grand, it was because they’d make a mock of her while demanding money at the same time.

So Rose set off the following morning, Matthew having arranged her visit with the vicar.

The lady running the soup kitchen was a Mrs. Harrison, whom Rose remembered from her suffragette meetings. She was a thickset middle-class woman with a no-nonsense air.

She supplied Rose and Miss Friendly with long aprons to protect their clothes and told them to supply their own next time.

Rose had not been prepared for the rank smell of so many diseased and unwashed bodies. But she smiled and ladled soup into bowls while Miss Friendly handed out chunks of bread.

Her beauty was appreciated by the poor. She smiled at each and said a few words of comfort. One old Cockney was particularly grateful. “The Good Lord sent you, missus,” he said. “I saw the light in prison, I did. Chaplain says God would take care of me. You is an instrument of the Lord.”

He moved on. Rose’s feet began to ache. “How long do we have to stay here?” she whispered to Miss Friendly.

“Another hour,” murmured Miss Friendly. “So many hungry people.”

At last it was over. Rose felt a glow of achievement as she was driven off. She had promised to return on the following day.