Part 13 (2/2)
”Don't think so.”
”Then perhaps Sir Peter might agree to an arranged engagement. If he does prefer men and were ever caught out, he would go to prison.”
”Do you think that might do the trick?”
”It would certainly save my master's face and would stop a lot of the gossip about her.”
”I'll suggest it.”
”Then there is charity work. There are soup kitchens in the East End. If she were to work some hours in one of those and the press got to hear of it, she might be regarded as an angel of mercy.”
”You are clever, Becket. I wish we could get married.”
”We will,” said Becket. ”I don't know how, but I will do everything in my power to make that happen.”
When Daisy returned, Rose listened to Becket's suggestions. ”It would mean I would have to propose to Peter,” she said.
A footman entered. ”Sir Peter Petrey has called, my lady.”
”I will see him. Are my parents at home?”
”No, my lady.”
”Then put him in the drawing-room. Come, Daisy.”
As they walked down to the drawing-room, Daisy hissed, ”You can't propose to him with me there.”
”We will take tea and then I will ask you to fetch my shawl.”
Peter advanced to meet them. ”I am so sorry, Lady Rose,” he said. ”It is unfair that you should be in disgrace for refusing to continue in an engagement that had become distasteful to you. Surely everyone knows he neglected you shamefully.”
”Everyone has conveniently forgotten that.”
Rose rang the bell and ordered tea. Peter chatted away of this and that and then Rose said, ”Please fetch my shawl, Daisy.”
When Daisy had left the room, Rose said bluntly, ”I have often thought of marrying just anyone in order to have a household of my own.”
”You might find a husband tyrannical.”
Rose took a deep breath. ”Not if it were someone like you.”
Peter carefully replaced a half-eaten crumpet on his plate. ”Lady Rose, are you proposing to me?”
”I suppose I am. I shall be very rich on my majority. I would not interfere with you if you would not interfere with me.”
”Meaning a marriage in name only?”
”Yes.”
”Why this sudden desire to marry me and not someone else?”
”I do not like anyone else. If I were to announce an engagement to you, people would a.s.sume that was the reason I jilted the captain.”
”All very Byzantine. Yes, I don't see why not. We are friends. Ah, I hear your parents returning. I shall ask you father's permission.”
Lady Polly was in a high good humour. Ever since Rose's disgrace, she had been diligently making calls, reminding society how Cathcart had snubbed her poor Rose, how he had never been at her side; how, having sunk to trade, the captain spent all his time working like a common labourer. Her last call had shown her that the gossip had taken. ”Poor Lady Rose,” fickle society was now saying. ”Of course she could not go on.”
The earl, who had just returned from his club, was told by Brum, ”Sir Peter Petrey wishes to speak to you, my lord.”
”Does he now!” Lady Polly and her husband exchanged glances.
When they entered the drawing-room, Peter rose to meet them. ”My lord, my lady, I will get directly to the point of my call. I wish to marry your daughter.”
”You have my permission,” sighed the earl. ”I'll send Rose to you, but don't get your hopes up.”
”Lady Rose has already intimated that she would be pleased to accept my suit.”
”Splendid! Splendid!” said the earl. ”Leave you to it.”
Harry was so furious when he read the announcement that Becket did not dare tell him it had been his idea.
Instead Becket said cautiously, ”I fear, sir, that Lady Rose may have been anxious to set up her own household and found in Sir Peter someone amiable who would let her have her own way.”
”Oh, to h.e.l.l with her,” raged Harry. ”I'm well out of it. I'm going to see Kerridge.”
At Scotland Yard, Kerridge looked sympathetically at Harry. ”It's your own fault,” he said. ”You did neglect her.”
Harry shrugged. ”I may as well tell you now. It was an arrangement between us to stop her being sent out to India.”
”That's a pity. I always thought the pair of you were eminently suitable. Still, that's an end to her detecting. She won't be getting into any more trouble now.”
In the following weeks Rose began to relax and feel she had made a wise decision. Peter was always in attendance and was a free and easy companion. But there was still some black little piece of sorrow inside her. She told herself it was because she missed the excitement of being with Harry and Becket and solving cases.
One morning, she remembered guiltily that it had been some days since she had last visited Miss Friendly. She went up to the attic. She stopped outside the door. Miss Friendly was singing in a high reedy voice: ”Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.”
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