Sick of Shadows by M. C. Beaton

frozen as he slid his ring onto her finger. “Please take it . . . Rose.”
    She suddenly smiled up at him. “Yes, I will. Thank you. I think we could be friends after all.”
    He tucked her arm in his and they walked on. “You must admit we are a very unusual pair. The misfits of society. Just like Kerridge.”
    “Is Mr. Kerridge a misfit?”
    “Indeed he is. He would like to see all the aristocracy strung up from lamp-posts with himself manning the barricades at some people’s revolution.”
    “Why? We have always been kind to him.”
    “I can see his point. Any time he has to interview one of us, he is threatened with losing his job. ‘My friend the Prime Minister will hear of this.’ That sort of thing.”
    “Mostly I accept my position in life,” said Rose slowly. “One is immured from the sufferings of humanity. But when I rescued Miss Friendly, I was almost ashamed of myself for having chosen one easily grateful genteel lady who will not cause me any trouble when there are others, hundreds and thousands, even more deserving.”
    “I felt the same way when I rescued Phil. Did I tell you about Phil?”
    Rose listened while he described his visit to Bermondsey. Then she said, “When I reach my majority I will have my own money. I wish to set up a charity.”
    “Let me know,” said Harry, “and I will contribute.”
    They walked back to join Becket and Daisy. Becket was making tea. Rose showed Daisy her ring and Daisy glanced at Becket, who sent her a covert wink.
    They were all happy and at ease with each other when they finally drove back to London.
    But then, just as they were travelling along the Great West Road, Harry asked, “How do you find my Aunt Phyllis?”
    “She has very taking ways. Most of our servants are still at the town house and yet she moved in a staff of her own. She orders things like gowns and books and charges them to my parents’ account.”
    “You must be mistaken,” said Harry. “You are talking about my mother’s sister. She was so eager to be of help.”
    “Of course she was,” said Rose. “I am sure she would eagerly go anywhere for free lodging.”
    “Take that back!”
    “No!”
    In the back, Becket and Daisy exchanged alarmed glances. “I have always found her charming and amiable,” said Harry.
    “Indeed?” Rose’s voice dripped sarcasm. “And when did you last see her?”
    “Not for some years.”
    “So there you are! You do not know her at all.”
    “I do not believe you.”
    “Are you calling me a liar?”
    “Just misinformed.”
    By the time they drove up to the town house, Rose and Harry were not on speaking terms. Rose wanted to give Harry back his ring but did not wish to make a scene on the street.
    “I would invite you in,” she said coldly, “but I am sure you are anxious to get to your own home. Come, Daisy.”
    Daisy threw an anguished glance over her shoulder at Becket and trailed inside after Rose.
    Mrs. Holt, the housekeeper, was waiting for them. Aunt Phyllis had brought her own housekeeper, but Mrs. Holt had told the intruder not to interfere at all in the running of the house.
    “May I have a word with you, my lady?”
    “By all means.” Rose unpinned her hat. “What is the matter?”
    Mrs. Holt lowered her voice. “It’s Lady Phyllis. My lady has given Miss Friendly so many gowns and hats to alter that I swear poor Miss Friendly has been working all night.”
    “I’ll see to it.” Rose marched all the way up to the sewing-room.
    Miss Friendly was bent over the sewing-machine. She stopped when she saw Rose, got to her feet and stumbled, holding on to the table for support. There were purple shadows under her eyes.
    “Stop everything,” commanded Rose. “You are not to do any work for Lady Phyllis.” She rang the bell and when a footman answered it, she told him to fetch Lady Phyllis’s lady’s maid. When the maid arrived, Rose told her to take away all Lady Phyllis’s hats and garments and then said, “Lady