very much.
It was a damp drizzly day when the cavalcade of carriages and fourgons arrived at the town house. The sight of the earl and his family and servants moving from the country to the town was like watching the procession of some minor foreign royalty.
Smoke swirled down from chimney-cowls and the buildings were black with soot. As they arrived, the lamplighter with his long brass pole was making his journey around the square like some magician, raising his pole and sending another golden globe of light out into the dusk, leaving behind him as he passed from lamp-post to lamp-post, a warm constellation of minor planets.
Rose felt heavy of heart as she stepped down from the carriage. London, again. London, where the infuriating Harry Cathcart had no doubt forgotten about her.
The only thing to raise her spirits was the thought that at balls and parties she would no doubt see the Honourable Cyril Banks. Some detecting was just what she needed to make her feel that her life was not totally useless.
She was to have the opportunity of seeing Cyril sooner than she expected. The next day, having accepted the invitation to afternoon tea at the Barrington-Bruces while she was still in the country, Lady Polly set out, accompanied by Rose and Daisy, her own lady’s maid, Rose’s lady’s maid, and two footmen.
Lady Polly wished to show off her new hat. It was not really new but one that Miss Friendly had refurbished. Lady Polly had quite forgotten how much she had objected to Rose’s hiring Miss Friendly in her absence and now considered the employing of the seamstress to have been all her own idea.
Lady Polly’s round figure was covered in a large sable coat and round her neck was a sable stole. Her felt hat was trimmed with sable fur and on her small feet were fur boots. She felt very chic and did not know that her daughter thought she looked like some exotic beast in a cage at London Zoo.
Rose herself was wrapped in a long fox coat but with a small fur hat perched rakishly over her curls. Daisy beside her, wearing a squirrel coat, felt its warmth banishing the cold of the day and wondered if she would ever see Becket again.
When they arrived at the large white house in Kensington, they left their coats and entered the drawing-room in their tea-gowns. A fire was blazing on the hearth, but there was a large embroidered fire-screen in front of it and the room was cold.
Rose recognized Cyril immediately. She waited for him to settle down so that she could get a chance to talk to him about Dolly. But she had to wait quite a time. The duties of a gentleman at five-o’clock tea were onerous. He had to carry teacups about, hand sugar, cream, cakes or muffins, all the time keeping up a flow of small talk. He had to rise every time a lady entered or left the room.
At last he found a chair beside Rose and settled himself with a sigh. “Thought I was never going to get anything to eat.”
“There is plenty left,” said Rose. “Ladies do not eat, you know.”
“Except for your companion.”
Rose looked to where Daisy was ruining her gloves by putting a muffin dripping with butter into her mouth.
“You must be as distressed as I am about the death of poor Miss Tremaine,” began Rose.
“Oh, that? Beastly business. I was grilled at Scotland Yard. Can you believe it?”
“How too frightful for you,” said Rose, smiling into his eyes.
“I say, that fiancé of yours was there! Aren’t you ashamed of him being in trade?”
This was insolence, but Rose chose to ignore it. “His work certainly takes him away from me a lot.”
“If I were your fiancé,” said Cyril, “I would stick by your side the whole time.”
Rose rapped his arm with her fan and giggled, “Oh, sir, you flatter me.”
Cyril eyes brightened. Rose was a considerable heiress and rumour had it that her engagement was shortly about to be broken. She was hardly ever seen out in society with her fiancé, and the gossips had said that he had
It was a damp drizzly day when the cavalcade of carriages and fourgons arrived at the town house. The sight of the earl and his family and servants moving from the country to the town was like watching the procession of some minor foreign royalty.
Smoke swirled down from chimney-cowls and the buildings were black with soot. As they arrived, the lamplighter with his long brass pole was making his journey around the square like some magician, raising his pole and sending another golden globe of light out into the dusk, leaving behind him as he passed from lamp-post to lamp-post, a warm constellation of minor planets.
Rose felt heavy of heart as she stepped down from the carriage. London, again. London, where the infuriating Harry Cathcart had no doubt forgotten about her.
The only thing to raise her spirits was the thought that at balls and parties she would no doubt see the Honourable Cyril Banks. Some detecting was just what she needed to make her feel that her life was not totally useless.
She was to have the opportunity of seeing Cyril sooner than she expected. The next day, having accepted the invitation to afternoon tea at the Barrington-Bruces while she was still in the country, Lady Polly set out, accompanied by Rose and Daisy, her own lady’s maid, Rose’s lady’s maid, and two footmen.
Lady Polly wished to show off her new hat. It was not really new but one that Miss Friendly had refurbished. Lady Polly had quite forgotten how much she had objected to Rose’s hiring Miss Friendly in her absence and now considered the employing of the seamstress to have been all her own idea.
Lady Polly’s round figure was covered in a large sable coat and round her neck was a sable stole. Her felt hat was trimmed with sable fur and on her small feet were fur boots. She felt very chic and did not know that her daughter thought she looked like some exotic beast in a cage at London Zoo.
Rose herself was wrapped in a long fox coat but with a small fur hat perched rakishly over her curls. Daisy beside her, wearing a squirrel coat, felt its warmth banishing the cold of the day and wondered if she would ever see Becket again.
When they arrived at the large white house in Kensington, they left their coats and entered the drawing-room in their tea-gowns. A fire was blazing on the hearth, but there was a large embroidered fire-screen in front of it and the room was cold.
Rose recognized Cyril immediately. She waited for him to settle down so that she could get a chance to talk to him about Dolly. But she had to wait quite a time. The duties of a gentleman at five-o’clock tea were onerous. He had to carry teacups about, hand sugar, cream, cakes or muffins, all the time keeping up a flow of small talk. He had to rise every time a lady entered or left the room.
At last he found a chair beside Rose and settled himself with a sigh. “Thought I was never going to get anything to eat.”
“There is plenty left,” said Rose. “Ladies do not eat, you know.”
“Except for your companion.”
Rose looked to where Daisy was ruining her gloves by putting a muffin dripping with butter into her mouth.
“You must be as distressed as I am about the death of poor Miss Tremaine,” began Rose.
“Oh, that? Beastly business. I was grilled at Scotland Yard. Can you believe it?”
“How too frightful for you,” said Rose, smiling into his eyes.
“I say, that fiancé of yours was there! Aren’t you ashamed of him being in trade?”
This was insolence, but Rose chose to ignore it. “His work certainly takes him away from me a lot.”
“If I were your fiancé,” said Cyril, “I would stick by your side the whole time.”
Rose rapped his arm with her fan and giggled, “Oh, sir, you flatter me.”
Cyril eyes brightened. Rose was a considerable heiress and rumour had it that her engagement was shortly about to be broken. She was hardly ever seen out in society with her fiancé, and the gossips had said that he had
Similar Books
