arsenic in her room among her cosmetics?’ asked Margaret.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Trumpington. ‘Ask the maids. There’s been an army of them in there cleaning up and laying her out.’
‘That’s destroying evidence,’ gasped Rose.
They all stared at her and she flushed at being suddenly the centre of so much attention. ‘It’s just that Scotland Yard has recently opened a fingerprint bureau. If the room had not been cleaned, they could have taken all our fingerprints and discovered if there was anyone who had been in her room.’
‘Trust our walking encyclopaedia to know that,’ said Gerald waspishly, and Rose, who had begun to regard him as a friend, gave him a hurt look.
The door opened and Lord Hedley came in. ‘The police want to interview you one at a time. Sorry about this. It’s all the fault of that doctor, Perriman. First it’s the working classes getting uppity; now it’s the middle classes. They make trouble to get their revenge on us.’
‘Why would they want to do that?’ asked Rose.
‘Envy. Pure envy,’ said the marquess. ‘Your parents phoned, young lady. I told them there was no need to travel here. Once this trivial matter has been resolved, we can all relax and enjoy ourselves. Now, the police will begin with the ladies. Lady Rose? Perhaps you should go first.’
‘Why?’ Rose wanted to ask. But she got up and followed the marquess through a door in the hall and along a corridor. ‘I’ve put him in the estate office,’ said the marquess. He ushered Rose in and closed the door.
Rose and Kerridge took stock of each other. Kerridge saw a very beautiful girl in high-boned white lace blouse and tailored skirt. Rose saw a thickset grey-haired man, with calm grey eyes and a thick grey moustache, standing behind a desk.
‘Please be seated, my lady,’ said Kerridge. Another detective sat a little away from Kerridge and a policeman with a large notebook was perched on a hard chair in a corner of the room. A stuffed fox glared down from the wall behind the desk, its mouth open in a snarl.
‘Now, Lady Rose,’ said Kerridge, ‘where were you on the night Miss Gore-Desmond died?’
‘I was in my room and I heard someone shouting – I think shouting, “Get a doctor.” My maid and I put on our dressing-gowns and followed the sound of the voices. Lady Hedley came out of what I now know to have been Miss Gore-Desmond’s room. She said Miss Gore-Desmond had been taken ill. I had a glimpse inside the room of Lord Hedley, the butler and housekeeper, and, I think, Mr Trumpington. I am afraid that is all I can tell you.’
‘What kind of lady was Miss Gore-Desmond?’
‘I didn’t really get to know her. She seemed – well, prickly, as if she despised us all.’
‘Did she favour any gentleman in particular?’
‘Not that I noticed. She sewed a lot. Petit point. She did not converse much, or if she did, I did not notice. Will that be all?’
‘Just one other thing. Do you know a certain Captain Harry Cathcart?’
High colour stained Rose’s cheeks. ‘I believe he is an acquaintance of my father.’
‘The bridge and the station at Stacey Magna were blown up.’
‘Yes, but what has that to do with the death of Miss Gore-Desmond?’
‘Just curious. Have you any idea who was responsible?’
‘The Bolsheviks, of course. Everyone knows that.’
Rose thought she heard him mutter, ‘Except me,’ but could not be sure.
‘That will be all for now. Shall I ring for a footman?’
‘I can find my own way back, thank you.’
He consulted a list. ‘Would you be so kind as to ask the Misses Harriet and Deborah Peterson to step along?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Why did you ask her about that business at Stacey Magna?’ asked Inspector Judd.
‘Because I have a nagging feeling that it had more to do with stopping the king visiting than any plot by Bolsheviks. But we’d better stick to this business here. What’s worrying you, Judd? You’ve a face like a
‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Trumpington. ‘Ask the maids. There’s been an army of them in there cleaning up and laying her out.’
‘That’s destroying evidence,’ gasped Rose.
They all stared at her and she flushed at being suddenly the centre of so much attention. ‘It’s just that Scotland Yard has recently opened a fingerprint bureau. If the room had not been cleaned, they could have taken all our fingerprints and discovered if there was anyone who had been in her room.’
‘Trust our walking encyclopaedia to know that,’ said Gerald waspishly, and Rose, who had begun to regard him as a friend, gave him a hurt look.
The door opened and Lord Hedley came in. ‘The police want to interview you one at a time. Sorry about this. It’s all the fault of that doctor, Perriman. First it’s the working classes getting uppity; now it’s the middle classes. They make trouble to get their revenge on us.’
‘Why would they want to do that?’ asked Rose.
‘Envy. Pure envy,’ said the marquess. ‘Your parents phoned, young lady. I told them there was no need to travel here. Once this trivial matter has been resolved, we can all relax and enjoy ourselves. Now, the police will begin with the ladies. Lady Rose? Perhaps you should go first.’
‘Why?’ Rose wanted to ask. But she got up and followed the marquess through a door in the hall and along a corridor. ‘I’ve put him in the estate office,’ said the marquess. He ushered Rose in and closed the door.
Rose and Kerridge took stock of each other. Kerridge saw a very beautiful girl in high-boned white lace blouse and tailored skirt. Rose saw a thickset grey-haired man, with calm grey eyes and a thick grey moustache, standing behind a desk.
‘Please be seated, my lady,’ said Kerridge. Another detective sat a little away from Kerridge and a policeman with a large notebook was perched on a hard chair in a corner of the room. A stuffed fox glared down from the wall behind the desk, its mouth open in a snarl.
‘Now, Lady Rose,’ said Kerridge, ‘where were you on the night Miss Gore-Desmond died?’
‘I was in my room and I heard someone shouting – I think shouting, “Get a doctor.” My maid and I put on our dressing-gowns and followed the sound of the voices. Lady Hedley came out of what I now know to have been Miss Gore-Desmond’s room. She said Miss Gore-Desmond had been taken ill. I had a glimpse inside the room of Lord Hedley, the butler and housekeeper, and, I think, Mr Trumpington. I am afraid that is all I can tell you.’
‘What kind of lady was Miss Gore-Desmond?’
‘I didn’t really get to know her. She seemed – well, prickly, as if she despised us all.’
‘Did she favour any gentleman in particular?’
‘Not that I noticed. She sewed a lot. Petit point. She did not converse much, or if she did, I did not notice. Will that be all?’
‘Just one other thing. Do you know a certain Captain Harry Cathcart?’
High colour stained Rose’s cheeks. ‘I believe he is an acquaintance of my father.’
‘The bridge and the station at Stacey Magna were blown up.’
‘Yes, but what has that to do with the death of Miss Gore-Desmond?’
‘Just curious. Have you any idea who was responsible?’
‘The Bolsheviks, of course. Everyone knows that.’
Rose thought she heard him mutter, ‘Except me,’ but could not be sure.
‘That will be all for now. Shall I ring for a footman?’
‘I can find my own way back, thank you.’
He consulted a list. ‘Would you be so kind as to ask the Misses Harriet and Deborah Peterson to step along?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Why did you ask her about that business at Stacey Magna?’ asked Inspector Judd.
‘Because I have a nagging feeling that it had more to do with stopping the king visiting than any plot by Bolsheviks. But we’d better stick to this business here. What’s worrying you, Judd? You’ve a face like a
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