Our Lady of Pain (11 page)

“Betty?” asked Harry eagerly. “English?”

He shook his grey head. “Betty spoke Breton as well as French. Stayed with us for six months, about. Then one day, we sent her into Saint Malo to buy some cloth and she never returned. We tried to find her. She had called at the mercer’s and paid for the cloth and it was there waiting for us. We searched the town but no sign of her.”

“She changed her name to Dolores Duval,” said Harry. “She was murdered in London.”

The family looked at him in shock. Then the grandfather’s brows lowered and he said, “Get out of here. Dirty English coming around my home, trying to accuse me of murder.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Get out or I’ll set the dog on you.”

Harry walked towards the car. A blue dusk was settling down over the sleepy countryside. The air was redolent of woodsmoke, manure and the ammonia smell of animals. He thought of Rose. He remembered that look she had given him in Madame de Peurey’s garden. He suddenly came to a decision. When this case was over, he would ask her to marry him. If she refused, he would never see her again.

The duchess received his news that Dolores had originally been called Betty-something and had disappeared one day on a shopping expedition to Saint Malo.

“This is all becoming rather fatiguing and boring,” she complained.

Rose looked at her uneasily. If the duchess became tired of their company so soon, she and Daisy would be returned to the convent.

The hotel was not grand enough for the duchess, although the food was good and the rooms clean.

Rose’s worst fears were realized when they set out the next morning for Paris. As she arranged her various shawls and scarves before leaving, the duchess said, “This is all very tiresome. I think I was a bit hasty about that convent. Sterling ladies. Do you good to go back.”

“I really think the regime is unnecessarily harsh,” pleaded Rose. “Can you not bear with us a little longer? My parents should soon be returning.”

The Earl and Countess of Hadshire reclined side by side on deckchairs on the terrace of the Palace Hotel. “Suppose we should be thinking of packing up,” said the earl sleepily.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Lady Polly. “The Cremonts are going on to Cairo. We’ve never been to Cairo.”

“The Season will be starting soon,” her husband pointed out.

“And why should we scamper back for the Season? Rose is in Effie’s care and Effie can cope with her. Cairo would be fun, camels and things. I’m really weary of the Season, dressing Rose and parading her around and watching her get into more trouble. Effie can cope.”

There was a shock waiting for the duchess and her party when they arrived back at the Crillon. There seemed to be a great number of press outside. Magnesium flashes went off in their faces. Waiting for them in the entrance hall was a commissioner of police and two detectives.

The commissioner approached. He looked a little bit like Kerridge with his heavy features and grey hair. He bowed low. “I am Thierry Lemonier. I regret to say I have many questions to ask you.”

“About what?” snapped the little duchess. “Come up to my rooms. I am tired and do not wish to stand in the public gaze being interrogated by a bunch of peelers.”

“We need to interview your whole party.”

“Then follow me,” said the duchess and stalked ahead, trailing scarves and stoles.

They arranged themselves in the duchess’s private drawing room. Lemonier began. “You visited a certain Madame de Peurey two days ago, did you not?”

“We saw the creature, yes,” said the duchess.

Harry interposed. “What’s this all about?”

“Madame de Peurey was found yesterday in her garden by her maid. Her throat had been cut.”

“Good heavens! Fetch me brandy,” said the duchess. She rounded on Rose. “I should never have become involved in your detective exploits. Now look at the mess!”

Harry told Lemonier the reason for their visit, ending up by saying that they had all been in Saint Malo the day before. Lemonier noted down the hotel they had been staying at and then told them he would be grateful if they would remain in Paris.

“But I’m tired of all this,” raged the duchess. “I want to go home!”

“Did you see any suspicious persons while you were visiting?” asked Lemonier.

“No,” said Harry. “Did her servants not see something?”

“They were going about their duties. Madame de Peurey liked to have a siesta in the garden in the afternoons if the weather was fine. The garden can be easily accessed from the road.”

“There was a man on a bicycle,” said Daisy suddenly.

“You never said anything,” said Rose. “What man?”

“It didn’t seem important at the time,” said Daisy. “I looked back and there was this man cycling behind us. He was pedalling furiously and I thought he might be trying to race the motor.”

“Description?” asked Lemonier.

“I can’t say. He had a cap down over his eyes and he was wearing goggles.”

“Height?”

“Medium, and he was wearing a grey tweed jacket and knickerbockers.”

“Dolores Duval left everything to Madame de Peurey,” said Harry. “Perhaps, Mr. Lemonier, you could ask the French lawyer who now inherits.”

Lemonier made a note.

“There is something else,” said Harry. He told Lemonier about Dolores being originally called Betty and how she had worked on the farm.

“We will interview her lovers,” said Lemonier. “Fortunately we know who they are. I shall return tomorrow. I may have more questions for you.”

When he and his detectives had left, the duchess said angrily, “Go away, the lot of you. I’m tired.”

Outside her drawing room, Harry said to Rose, “I am going to telephone Kerridge.”

“This is awful,” said Rose. Her lip trembled and with a sudden impulse he folded her in his arms. “There now,” he said gently. “I will look after you. Go to your rooms and I will join you shortly.”

Rose smiled at him tremulously. He pressed her hand and hurried off, leaving Rose looking after him, torn between an odd sort of elation and fear.

But ten minutes later, Becket arrived to say that the captain had been called to police headquarters to discuss the case further.

“Are you going with him?” asked Daisy.

“No, he went off in a police car that was sent for him.”

“I feel restless,” said Rose, pacing up and down. “Let us go for a walk.”

Daisy and Becket exchanged glances. “Do you mind if I stay here?” asked Daisy. “I am very tired.”

“Do not worry. I shall go myself, only a little way.”

“Becket,” said Daisy, “go to Her Grace and ask that one of the footmen accompany Lady Rose.”

While he was gone, Rose changed into a blouse, skirt and long coat. Becket seemed to be away a long time and when he returned his normally pale face was flushed. “Her Grace is in a taking,” he said. “She said her servants are no longer to be of use to us. It is my opinion she is sulking.”

“Oh, I’ll go myself,” said Rose. “The streets are full of ladies walking on their own.”

Rose walked out of the hotel and stood looking at the cars and carriages circling around the Place de la Concorde. She had a sudden impulse to see Notre Dame. She went back into the hotel and asked for directions and then she set out again on foot after refusing the concierge’s offer of a carriage.

The concierge picked up the telephone after she had left and dialled police headquarters. He had been told to report on the movements of the duchess’s party.

Rose made her way down to the Seine, along the quays of the right bank and then crossed to the left at the Pont Neuf. She walked steadily, enjoying the rare feeling of freedom.

At last she reached Notre Dame and went inside. She sat down in the gloom, dimly lit by all the flickering candles in front of the various saints, and felt at peace.

After half an hour, she left. She felt hungry and had no francs with her to buy food, but was reluctant to return to the hotel.

Rose walked a little way away from the front of the great cathedral and looked down at the river. She walked along to a flight of steps that led to the lower quay. The black water was hypnotic, swirling past. A barge sailed past. She could see the bargeman’s family at dinner in a cosy cabin.

She felt a sudden frisson of fear. There was a murderer on the loose in Paris. She should never have gone out for a walk without protection.

She was aware of a movement behind her and half turned round. A man leaped towards her and pushed her violently and Rose hurtled down into the waters of the Seine.

Harry had gone over and over the little he knew about the case with Lemonier. While he was talking, a policeman came in and handed Lemonier a note.

“Lady Rose has gone out walking to Notre Dame,” said Lemonier. “I’m sorry, you were saying …?”

“When? When did she go out?” asked Harry sharply.

“The concierge telephoned about an hour ago.”

“Why was I not told sooner?”

“We decided that perhaps you did not want to be disturbed.”

Harry said, “I’ve got to go. She could be in danger.”

He hailed one of the new motor cabs and told the cabbie to get to Notre Dame as quickly as possible. Harry fretted as the cab sped over the cobbles of the Place de la Concorde, past the obelisk and down towards the Seine.

When they drew up outside Notre Dame, he hurriedly paid the cabbie and was about to rush into the cathedral when he saw an excited crowd of people farther along looking over the bridge.

He sprinted along and looked down. A figure was struggling in the water. The current was strong. He sprinted towards the steps leading down to the lower quay. He pushed his way through a gesticulating pointing crowd, stripped off his coat and hat and dived in. He didn’t know whether it was Rose or not. Harry lunged out and grasped an armful of clothing.

“Rose!” he spluttered, recognizing her. “Hang on.”

The great bell of Notre Dame began to ring, booming in their ears, reverberating across the swirling black water.

He struck out for the steps, fighting against the current. Arms reached down to help them and they were dragged up onto the quay. The watchers cheered him as he clutched a dripping-wet and shivering Rose to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. Someone handed him his coat and hat and he draped his coat around Rose.

A policeman came up and said, “You must come with me.”

“Nonsense,” said Harry angrily. “The lady will get pneumonia if we do not get her back to her hotel.”

“We always arrest attempted suicides.”

“I was not attempting suicide,” howled Rose. “Someone pushed me.”

“You left a letter,” said the policeman accusingly. “It is in English, but as you can hear, my English is very good.”

“I have just come from Commissioner Lemonier,” said Harry.

“You will come with us to the Crillon and you may telephone him from there.”

Rose was lying in bed. Beside the bed sat a remorseful Daisy. Harry had been furious with her for having let Rose go out alone.

Daisy looked up as Harry and Lemonier entered the room. “How are you?” Harry asked Rose.

“Cold and hot by turns. I am so sorry. I should never have gone out alone. I thought the murderer would have fled somewhere out to the country. There was something about a letter. What letter?”

“This was found on the quay just where you were pushed in. It was weighted down with a stone. I’ll read it to you. It says, “I killed Dolores Duval and Madame de Peurey. I do not want to live any more. Rose Summer.”

“I thought I was going to die,” said Rose through white lips. “The current was so strong and I felt myself getting weaker and weaker. I called for help but no one seemed to hear me.”

“Too busy watching the show,” said Harry bitterly. “Monsieur Lemonier, you must know this is rubbish. For a start, Lady Rose was with us in Saint Malo at the time of Madame de Peurey’s murder.”

“Nonetheless, to be thorough, we will take a copy of milady’s handwriting.”

“I have a note Lady Rose wrote to me,” said Daisy. “I’ll get it. No need to bother my poor lady at the moment. You can see she is not well.”

Daisy went to her room and found a list of things to be packed Rose had given to Daisy in London and brought it back.

Lemonier read it carefully and compared it with the note. “I have my police combing every hotel and lodging house in Paris, although we have only a vague description. Police are interviewing everyone who was on the quay. Can you remember seeing anyone, milady?”

Rose shook her head. “Funnily enough, just before I was pushed I began to feel afraid and realized how stupid I had been to go out on my own. I did not see anyone. There was no one on the quay when I went down the steps.”

Benton, the duchess’s lady’s maid, came in to see her mistress in a high state of excitement. “You will never believe what has just happened, Your Grace. Lady Rose went out walking beside the Seine and somebody pushed her in! The police are here.”

“Will this never end?” demanded the duchess crossly. “I am no longer amused. We will leave tomorrow, Benton.”

“But Your Grace, the police said—”

“Do you think I care what a lot of frog policemen say? My orders are to pack. Fetch Kemp.”

When her butler arrived, the duchess said, “Take a telegram. Right. Got paper and pen? Good. ‘Dear Polly. Daughter involved in murder and mayhem and whole business is too vulgar for words and can no longer chaperone her so suggest you catch train to Paris and get to the Crillon toute suite and take her away because I have had enough of it. Effie.’ Send that right off, Kemp.”

But when the telegram arrived at the Palace Hotel in Monte Carlo, Lord and Lady Hadfield were on their way to Cairo and had left no forwarding address.

Daisy rapped on Harry’s door during the night and when he answered, she whispered urgently, “Oh, Captain, Rose has a bad fever. She needs a doctor.”

“I’ll see to it right away.”

Harry ordered a doctor to be sent immediately and told the hotel manager also to hire a trained nurse. Then he quietly entered Rose’s room. She was tossing and turning and her face was flushed.

Daisy began to cry softly. “I should never have left her.”