Sick of Shadows Part 9

Rose bit her lip and then said in a small voice. "I'm bored."

"Then next week, I will take you for a drive if the weather is fine."

"I wish I were a man," raged Rose later to Daisy. "He can call at Scotland Yard any time he likes and be part of the investigation, but all I can do is sit here and rot and get letters from that dreary Mrs. Tremaine, oiling all over me in print. I am not interested in the fact that she and her dear husband have gone to Cromer on holiday."

Daisy brightened. "I am."

"Why, pray?"

"It would be interesting to go down to that village while the Tremaines have gone and ask around about them and about Dolly. See what we could find out."

"That is a splendid idea. I must find out how to get there."

"We could take one of the carriages."

"They've all got Pa's coat of arms on the panels. That would occasion comment. Better to travel by rail to the nearest town and take a carriage from there. We need not trouble to tell Aunt Phyllis where we are going. She is only concerned with ordering the servants around and eating vast quant.i.ties of food."

They took the train to Oxford and changed onto a local line and took another train to Moreton-in-Marsh, where they hired a waiting carriage to take them to Apton Magna.

"It is pleasant to be back in the country again," sighed Rose. "When all this is over, I shall go back north to see Bert and Sally."

"And how will you do that?" asked Daisy. "If your parents are at home, they are certainly not going to let you go all that way to see a mere village policeman."

"Perhaps the captain can arrange something," said Rose. "Oh, do look at that sweet cottage."

"All I see is the pump at the front for the water and no doubt the you-know-what will be out in the back garden. I can smell the cesspool from here."

"You have no romance in your soul," admonished Rose.

"I have memories of poverty in me soul," said Daisy.

"Don't say 'me.' "

They told the cabbie to wait for them at the entrance to the village. They had both decided to wear their plainest clothes.

A woman was sitting outside a cottage, holding a baby on her lap. "Excuse me," said Rose, "we were wondering if you could give us some information about the Tremaines."

The woman got to her feet and, disappearing inside the cottage, slammed the door behind her.

They met with the same lack of success at other cottages.

"Perhaps one of the more well-to-do residents would be more forthcoming," suggested Rose.

"There don't seen to be any," replied Daisy. "We've forgotten our village ways. We're too direct. We need someone friendly. Ask them something like where we can get a cup of tea, enter into conversation about the weather and so on, and then slide in some remark about the murder."

"That sounds a very good idea," said Rose. "That is, if we can find anyone amiable."

"I remember there was a cottage up by the rector's place. It looked in better shape than the others," said Daisy. "Why is the rector called 'doctor'?"

"Because he's a doctor of divinity. Remember that Gilbert and Sullivan opera? 'A doctor of divinity/Who resides in this vicinity.' "

The cottage they approached was small and thatched and made of Cotswold stone, unlike the red brick cottages of the other villagers.

It had a front garden crowded with flowers. They opened the gate and walked up the path. Rose knocked on the door.

A woman answered it. She looked washed-out and faded, as if some grim laundress had boiled her, mangled her and hung her out in strong sunlight to dry without ironing her first. Her simple muslin gown was creased, and the dry flaky skin of her long face, lined with wrinkles. Her eyes were of such a pale grey that they looked almost white and she wore her spa.r.s.e grey hair under a crumpled linen cap.

"We are visiting the countryside and wondered whether there was anywhere in Apton Magna where we could get some refreshment," said Rose.

"Oh, there's nothing nearer than Moreton-in-Marsh. They do ever such a nice tea at the White Hart Royal. I remember being taken there by a gentleman friend when I was just a girl."

"Perhaps you would like to join us?" suggested Rose. "We have a carriage waiting at the end of the village. I am Lady Rose Summer and this is Miss Daisy Levine."

"That's is so kind of you. May I present myself? I am Miss Friendly." She plucked nervously at her gown. "I am not perhaps quite properly dressed."

"Nonsense," said Rose bracingly. "You will do very well."

"I don't know. Dear me. Afternoon tea! Such a luxury." She looked at them wistfully out of her pale eyes.

"I'll go and bring the carriage," said Daisy quickly, and ran off.

"Please step inside," said Miss Friendly. "The sun is very strong."

Rose followed her into a front parlour. There was very little furniture. There were light squares on the dingy wallpaper showing where pictures had once hung. Fallen on hard times, thought Rose, with a feeling of compa.s.sion.

"Do you live here alone, Miss Friendly?"

"Yes. Papa died ten years ago. He was rector of Saint Paul's before Dr. Tremaine. The church kindly allowed me to have this cottage."

Rose heard a rumble of carriage wheels outside.

"Ah, there is our carriage and Miss Levine. If you are ready, Miss Friendly?"

Seated in the pleasant gloom of the White Hart Royal over an enormous afternoon tea, Rose again felt a sharp pang of compa.s.sion as she watched Miss Friendly try not to gobble the food. The woman was obviously starving. Rose talked about the weather and about the beauties of the countryside until she saw that Miss Friendly's appet.i.te was at last beginning to be satisfied.

"You must have been very upset over the news of Miss Tremaine's murder," she said.

"Oh, shocking. Very shocking. Poor Dolly. She often came to my little cottage. Such a beautiful girl. But very much a country girl. I always thought she would have been happy marrying a farmer, or someone like that, but her parents had such ambitions for her."

"I knew her in London," said Rose. "She was very unhappy."

"Of course. Lady Rose Summer! I saw your name in the newspapers. You found her. How awful. Yes, it was awful. But she must have been missing ... Oh, I shouldn't gossip. Poor Dolly."

"My fiance is a private detective," said Rose. "He is helping Scotland Yard to find the killer. Anything you can tell me would be of great help. Who was Dolly missing?"

"Roger Dallow."

"And who is this Roger Dallow?"

"He's the blacksmith's son. I think he and Dolly were very much in love."

"And is he in the village? May I speak to him?"

"Oh, he left, right after Dolly went up to London."

"And where did he go?"

"n.o.body knows. You see, his father is a brutal man. I think that was the bond between Roger and Dolly. They were both bullied by their parents. I am sorry I cannot tell you any more. I a.s.sume that is why you invited me for tea."

"I could just as well have asked you these questions at your cottage," said Rose. "Do you find it difficult to make ends meet?"

For the first time colour appeared on Miss Friendly's pale cheeks. She hung her head. "Papa was fond of hunting and hunting is an expensive sport. When he died I had to sell his horses, my jewellery and pictures and furniture to pay his debts. The church charges me a low rent but I have nearly reached the point where I do not think I can go on paying it. Forgive me. Ladies should not talk of such things."

"Oh, we talk about anything," said Daisy. "Don't you worry about it."

"Can you sew?" asked Rose.

"Yes, I am a very good seamstress. Do not judge me by my clothes. It is a long time since I have been able to afford any material and ... well ... I gave up troubling about my appearance."

"Our lady's maid, Turner, is not very expert with a needle but is an amiable creature and I would not like to lose her." The main reason Rose liked Turner was because Turner never reported any of her doings to Lady Polly. "Perhaps you might consider working for me? You would have a comfortable room and board and you would not need to worry about the rent."

Miss Friendly burst into tears. Rose handed her a handkerchief and waited.

"It seems like a miracle," she gasped when she could.

"Then we will return to your cottage and you may pack a trunk and we will send a fourgon for the rest of your things later. My parents' secretary will advise the church of your leaving."

Lady Rose should really have put Miss Friendly in a second-cla.s.s compartment, which is where servants normally travelled. But the woman looked so frail, she decided to buy her a first-cla.s.s ticket. Full of food, Miss Friendly fell asleep as soon as the train moved off.

"That was right decent of you," said Daisy.

"I think when this murder is solved that I should get involved in charity work. My parents cannot object. It is quite fashionable to do so."

"Do we have enough work for her?" asked Daisy. "We're always getting new clothes."

"There is plenty of work. Servants' clothes often need to be altered. Hats need to be trimmed. I will make sure she is kept busy."

Aunt Phyllis started to complain about the employment of Miss Friendly, but Rose silenced her with a haughty glare, and saying, "You have no right to question who I engage."

To Rose's relief the housekeeper, Mrs. Holt, actually welcomed the newcomer, privately planning to have several of her own gowns made over. Miss Friendly was given a small bedchamber off the second landing and shown the sewing-room in one of the attics.

Matthew Jarvis called on her to get the details of whom to notify in the church and where to send the fourgon. To Miss Friendly's amazed delight, she found she was to get a salary as well.

Then the housekeeper, under Rose's instructions, presented Miss Friendly with two bolts of cloth.

"Lady Rose says you might want to begin by making some frocks for yourself."

The next day, Miss Friendly began to work, the sewing-machine humming under her clever fingers, stopping occasionally to caress the rich cloth. As she worked, she began to search her mind for everything she knew about the Tremaines.

Perhaps she had forgotten something that might help Lady Rose's fiance with the investigation.

Harry called on Rose that evening. He listened carefully while she told him about the blacksmith's son. "I'll tell Kerridge. He might have followed the Tremaines to London. I would like to speak to this woman myself. I will go to Apton Magna tomorrow."

"That will not be necessary. I have engaged her as a seamstress. She is here."

"How did that come about?"

"She was so poor and so hungry. Besides, she will be of use."

Harry thought of his rescue of Phil. How like he and Rose really were. He wanted suddenly to tell her that they should start again, that perhaps they could deal very well together, but Rose had risen to ring the bell and ask a footman to fetch Miss Friendly.

She came in and sat down timidly on the very edge of a chair. "I am Captain Cathcart," Harry began, "and I believe you have supplied Lady Rose with some very interesting information about the blacksmith's son."

"Only that he and Dolly were very much in love. I believe they used to meet in secret. You can't keep much quiet in a village. The rector complained to the blacksmith and the blacksmith gave Roger a terrible beating. That was just before they took Dolly to London."

"Miss Tremaine gave Lady Rose a note saying she was running away. It is possible that she knew where this Roger was and was going to join him. On the other hand, he could have killed her. What sort of fellow was he?"

"Very strong. Curly black hair and quite tall. He told someone in the village that he was running off to London."

"Would it be possible to find a photograph of him?"

"I shouldn't think so, sir. I cannot remember anyone in the village having a camera."

"I'll get Kerridge on to this," said Harry. "Thank you, Miss Friendly."

She curtsied and left.

"You should not have risked going to Apton Magna without telling me," said Harry.