Snobbery with Violence (3 page)

‘Yes, Sir Geoffrey?’

‘Tarrant’s giving a house party in a fortnight’s time,’ he whispered urgently. Through the open windows, he could see Rose’s mother searching the ballroom for her daughter. ‘Got you an invitation. We can be together.’

Rose disengaged herself from his arms and stood back a pace and faced him.

‘Together? What do you mean?’

‘Well, you’re always chaperoned . . .’

‘I would not be allowed to accept such an invitation without a chaperone.’

‘That’s just it. I’ve got a friend who will pose as my aunt.’

‘Miss Maisie Lewis, for example?’

He turned dark red and then mumbled, ‘Never heard of her.’

Rose turned on her heel and marched straight back into the ballroom and up to the leader of the orchestra and whispered something. He looked startled but silenced the orchestra.

Dancers stopped in mid-turn, faces turned in Rose’s direction. The recently installed electric light winked on monocles and lorgnettes.

‘I have a special announcement to make,’ she shouted. ‘Sir Geoffrey Blandon is a cad. He has been laying bets that he can seduce me before the end of the season. Here is the proof.’ She took out the page from the betting book and handed it down from the rostrum to the man nearest her. ‘Pass it round,’ she said.

Eyes stared at her in shock, so many eyes.

Then she walked down the shallow steps from the rostrum and straight up to her white-faced mother. ‘I have the headache,’ she said clearly. ‘I wish to go home.’

As they stood on the steps waiting for the carriage to be brought round, the earl said dismally, ‘Well, that’s it, my girl. I thought we’d agreed to go on as if nothing had happened. Why d’ye think I restrained myself from confronting Blandon? You’re ruined.’

‘I? Surely it is Sir Geoffrey who is disgraced!’

‘It’s all right for a fellow. The chaps will think he’s a bit of a rogue. When he propositioned you, you should have come straight to me. I’d have told him to lay off. But to get up there and behave like a fishwife was shocking.’

Rose fought back the tears.

‘Still, Captain Cathcart did the job. You’d best rusticate for a couple of seasons and then we’ll try again.’

The Scotch middle or lower classes are not, as a rule, given to joking, except with their dry, sententious humour, and they rarely understand what is commonly called ‘chaff’. It is better to bear this in mind, as it may account for many an apparently surly manner or gruff reply.

Murray’s Handbook for Scotland
(1898)

R
ose was only nineteen years old and, apart from her brief foray to support the suffragettes in their demonstration, had been protected from the world by loving, indulgent parents and by the sheer separation from ordinary life enjoyed by girls of her elevated class.

So she was hurt and bewildered that she should be the one disgraced and not the perfidious Sir Geoffrey. As servants packed up the belongings in the town house, preparatory to the move to the country, she hid herself in the normally little-used library and tried to find solace in books. Before her love for Geoffrey, she had damned the season as being little more than a type of auction.

But she was young, and somehow the thought that out there, beyond the stuccoed walls of the house, a whole world of enjoyment and pleasure was going on without her was galling.

She had not made friends with any of the debutantes, despising their empty chatter, and now she regretted her own arrogance.

Rose threw down her book. She would go and try to see Miss Tremp, her old governess, who now worked for the Barrington-Bruce family, whose town house was in Kensington.

She did not summon her maid but went upstairs and changed into a plain tailored walking dress and a hat with a veil.

Rose then slipped out of the house and hailed a hack. She directed the driver to the address but then realized that with her disgrace being generally known, the governess might not be allowed to see her, so instead, she lifted the trap on the roof and called to the driver to take her to Kensington Gardens instead.

It was a fine day and she knew the nannies and governesses with older charges often walked there.

She paid off the hack and began to walk slowly up towards the Round Pond, looking to left and right. Ladies in stiff silks moved along the walks as stately as galleons. Regimented flower-beds blazed with colour and a light breeze blew the jaunty sounds of a brass band to Rose’s ears. The sky above was blue with little wisps of cloud. A boy bowling an iron hoop raced past her, bringing memories of childhood when one could run freely, unencumbered by corsets and bustles. Rose began to think it had been silly of her to expect just to see Miss Tremp when she spotted her quarry sitting on a bench by the pond.

Rose hurried forward and sat down next to her. ‘Miss Tremp!’

‘My gracious. If it isnae Lady Rose!’ exclaimed the governess, surprise thickening her normally well-elocuted Scottish vowels.

‘I need your help,’ said Rose. ‘Where are the children?’

‘Two of them, boys. They are sailing their boats in the pond, my lady, and that’ll keep them busy for some time. I heard about your sad disgrace. It was in the newspapers.’

Rose bent her head. The newspapers had been kept from her but she should have known she would be written up in the social columns.

‘It’s so unfair!’ said Rose. ‘Sir Geoffrey should be the one in disgrace.’

‘Gentlemen never get the blame in such circumstances. You should know that.’

‘Miss Tremp, you educated me well, and for that I will be always grateful, but I could have done with a few lessons in the ways of the world.’

‘Listen to me, my lady. I told you I approved of the vote for women. I did not tell you to demean yourself by appearing at a demonstration. And it was up to your mother, Lady Polly, to school you in the arts of society.’

Rose could feel herself becoming angry.

‘It is an unfair world for women,’ said Miss Tremp. ‘But you are privileged. It is your duty to your parents to marry well and then to your husband to have his children.’

‘But you said women had a right to have independence and not to be a household chattel for some man!’

Miss Tremp flushed pink to the end of her long Scottish nose.

‘I am sure I never said such a thing.’

Rose shook her head in bewilderment. ‘What am I to do?’

‘I think the next step is surely to send you to India. That is the procedure for young ladies who have failed at their season.’

‘I AM NOT GOING TO INDIA!’ shouted Rose.

The nannies on either side leaned forward.

‘Wheesht!’ admonished Miss Tremp. ‘Ladies do not raise their voices.’

‘You are suddenly a wealth of information about what ladies do and don’t do.’

‘You would be best, my lady, to do what your parents tell you to do. Please lower your veil. I have my position to consider.’

‘Do you mean you consider me a disgrace?’

‘Unlike you, my lady, I have to earn my living. I was always of the opinion that you were a bit spoilt.’

‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘It was not my place to do so.’

‘It was not your place to fill my head with ideas of female independence which you should surely have known I could never be allowed to follow.’

‘The day will come, my lady, when you will be grateful to me for a sound education to furnish your mind.’

Rose stood up. She opened her mouth to deal out some final recrimination, but her shoulders sagged. She nodded her head, turned on her heel, and walked away.

She had hoped for reassurance from Miss Tremp, for comfort, for a shared outrage at the iniquities of society.

Miss Tremp watched the slim figure of Rose walking away and sniffed. That was the English for you. No backbone.

Detective Superintendent Alfred Kerridge was enjoying a pint of beer before going home to his wife, Mabel, and their two children, Albert and Daisy. He had risen steadily up the ranks by dint of diligent plodding laced with amazing flights of imagination.

He was a grey man – grey hair, grey eyes, heavy grey moustache. He felt a tug at his elbow and looked up into the unlovely features of one of his informants, Posh Cyril.

Posh Cyril was second footman in the Blessington-Bruces’ household. He had a criminal record for burglary of which his employers were blissfully unaware. Although he had given up a life of crime, he had become an informant. He had been very useful in finding the identity of thieves for Kerridge, for he could recognize his own kind among the servants of various aristocratic households.

‘Got something for you,’ he whispered.

Kerridge nodded and bought him a pint and then led the way to a corner table. They sat down. ‘What have you got?’ asked Kerridge.

‘Did you read about that scandal involving Lady Rose, daughter of the Earl of Hadshire?’

‘My wife insisted on reading it out to me. Hardly a criminal matter.’

‘Ah, but Sir Geoffrey Blandon is being forced to leave the country.’

‘Shouldn’t think he’d have to do that. Thought ruining some lass’s reputation was fair game with that lot.’ Kerridge detested the upper classes with every fibre of his hard-working lower-middle-class soul. He was sure one day the revolution would come. One of his rosy fantasies was a world where all the roles were reversed and the aristocrats’ money would be taken from them and spread among the poor.

‘It’s like this.’ Posh Cyril leaned forward. ‘It was my night off and I was playing cards in the kitchen at Blandon’s. The bell for the front door goes. The footman went to answer it. Then we hear shouting and swearing. I nipped up the stairs and opened the baize door a crack. There’s this tall, black-haired fellow and he’s smacking into Blandon with his fists. He brings him down and then he leans over him and says, “Leave the country by tomorrow or, by God, next time I’ll kill you.”’

‘No charges have been laid.’

‘But Blandon thinks the earl hired someone to beat Blandon up. That’s criminal,’ said Posh Cyril.

‘Was the assailant some hired thug?’

‘No, he spoke like a gent. Got gent’s clothes on, too.’

‘That lot are a law unto themselves,’ said Kerridge. ‘Nothing there for me.’

‘The newspapers might pay for this.’

Kerridge sighed. He knew if the newspapers got hold of it, he would have to investigate for the sake of formality. Then someone would have a word with someone else in high places and he would be ordered to drop it.

‘Keep your mouth shut,’ he ordered, ‘or I’ll make sure your employers know all about your record. Here’s half a crown. Now take yourself off.’

‘What is it, Brum?’ asked the earl the next afternoon. ‘Is everything ready for our departure tomorrow?’

‘Yes, my lord. A person has called to see you.’

‘I don’t see persons.’

‘This person is a police officer.’ Brum held out a small silver tray with a card on it.

The earl took it. ‘Detective Superintendent Alfred Kerridge. Dear me. I’d better see him. Where is he?’

‘In the ante-room.’

‘Send him up.’

Now what? wondered the earl. Have we engaged some criminal by mistake? There’s that new hall boy, whatsisname.

The doors opened and Kerridge was ushered in, holding his bowler and gloves in one hand.

‘Sit down,’ ordered the earl.

The stocky detective sat down gingerly on a delicate-looking chair which creaked alarmingly under his bulk.

‘I do not want to distress you, my lord, by referring to the matter of your daughter’s confrontation with a certain Sir Geoffrey Blandon—’

‘Then don’t.’

‘It has however come to my attention’, pursued Kerridge, ‘that Sir Geoffrey was beaten up by an assailant and ordered to leave the country.’

A slow smile lit up the earl’s face. ‘ByJove! Really?’

‘Yes, really. My lord, you did not by any chance hire such an assailant? My report says he spoke like a gentleman. He is tall and has black hair.’

Cathcart, thought the earl, with a sudden rush of gratitude. ‘No,’ he said coldly. ‘I am not in the habit of hiring thugs. I should warn you . . .’

Here it comes, thought Kerridge.

‘. . . that the Prime Minister is known to me.’

‘How did Lady Rose get that sheet from the betting book of a gentleman’s club?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Perhaps Lady Rose could tell me.’

The earl rang the bell. ‘You have over-stepped the mark. We have nothing to do with the assault on Blandon, and if you insist on pursuing this, I shall have a word with your superiors, not to mention . . .’

‘The Prime Minister,’ said Kerridge.

The butler appeared. ‘Show Mr Kerridge out,’ ordered the earl.

It was just as he expected, thought Kerridge, but perhaps his visit might persuade the earl that he was not above the law. Then he realized dismally that the earl had just persuaded him that he was.

The earl had never regarded himself a gossip and despised those whom he considered indiscreet. But when he arrived at his club an hour later and saw Brigadier Bill Handy sitting by the fire, the temptation was too much.

‘Well, well,’ said the brigadier. ‘I hear you’re leaving town. Bad business. Cathcart do his job?’

The earl sat down and leaned forward. ‘He did more than his job. Worth every penny of that thousand pounds he charged. He thrashed that bounder, Blandon, and told him to leave the country. But don’t tell anyone. Most grateful to you.’

‘What about your daughter? There was no reason for such a scene. How could she behave so disgracefully?’

‘To tell the truth,’ said the earl miserably, ‘I don’t know my own daughter. She had what seemed an excellent governess. Rose wanted a good education. I should have known how dangerous that is. Men hate a woman with a brain. Not me, but then, I’m highly intelligent and sensitive.’

‘Quite,’ said the brigadier, looking with amusement at the earl’s guileless face.

‘When Rose took off for that demonstration, we thought she had gone off to visit the vicar. Fact was, she took a train to London. Couldn’t blame the governess. She’d already left.’

‘What about India? Send her out there. Lots of officers. By the way, did you just say that Cathcart charged you a thousand pounds?’