Hasty Death by Marion Chesney Read Free Book Online Page B

warmth,’ said Daisy cheerfully, dropping the coins back in, turning the dial and then lighting the small gas fire. They took off their wet clothes. Rose still felt
self-conscious at disrobing in front of Daisy, but Daisy had no such qualms. She stripped naked and then wrapped herself in a wool dressing-gown and began to hang her clothes in front of the fire.
Rose followed suit.
    ‘Have we anything to eat?’ she asked.
    ‘’Fraid not,’ said Daisy gloomily.
    There was a knock at the door. Rose opened it a crack. Miss Harringey stood there. ‘A gentleman has called,’ she said, her voice heavy with disapproval.
    ‘Did he give a name?’
    ‘A Mr Jarvis.’
    ‘Tell him to wait and I will be down directly.’
    Rose scrambled into dry clothes, leaving off the misery of stays, and hurried down the stairs.
    Mr Jarvis stood in the hallway carrying a basket. ‘Mr Jarvis! How on earth did you get here in this dreadful weather?’ asked Rose.
    ‘I rode one of the big horses, one of the ones that pull the fourgon. Here are some things for you’ – he proffered the basket – ‘and here is a letter. Please do not
say anything. I think the lady of the house is listening. Good evening.’
    He opened the street door and mounted the large shire-horse which was tethered outside, by dint of scraping snow off the low wall outside the house and using it as a mounting block.
    Rose hurried upstairs. In the room, she opened the letter. It was from her mother, Lady Polly, to say that they had returned from Nice and would Rose please stop all this nonsense and come
home.
    ‘What’s in the basket?’ asked Daisy.
    Rose lifted the cloth cover and gave a delighted cry. ‘Food! Oh, do look, Daisy. Game pie and wine and biscuits, cake, tea, coffee, and he’s even put in a bottle of milk. And there
are other things.’
    Daisy laid two plates and two cups on the table along with the cheap knives and forks they had purchased. ‘We’ll need to drink the wine out of teacups.’
    ‘We haven’t a corkscrew.’
    ‘I have,’ said Daisy, producing the knife again and twisting a corkscrew out from among the many implements.
    As their clothes steamed and the room warmed up, both began to feel more cheerful. ‘I know what it was,’ said Rose suddenly.
    ‘What?’
    ‘About Freddy Pomfret. When I was working as secretary, one of the clerks came in and said, “Mr Pomfret has very generous friends.” Mr Beveridge asked him what he meant and he
said, “Three people have paid large deposits into his account so we don’t need to send him any more letters about his overdraft.”’
    ‘Probably his relatives. But why didn’t they pay up before? What you getting at?’
    Rose was about to correct Daisy’s grammar and remind her not to be so familiar but in time remembered that they were supposed to be on an equal footing.
    ‘There must be some reason he was murdered. What if he was blackmailing people?’
    Daisy looked doubtful. She thought it highly unlikely. The Freddy she remembered was silly but not villainous. Still, if Rose’s detective urges had started up again, perhaps she would get
in touch with Captain Cathcart. Daisy had a fondness for the captain’s servant, Becket.
    ‘We could ask Captain Cathcart.’
    ‘Perhaps. I would like to see the books and then perhaps go to Scotland Yard and talk to Superintendent Kerridge.’
    Daisy’s face fell. ‘Could we see the captain first?’
    But Rose wanted to show the infuriating Harry that she could be a better detective than he was.
    ‘I’ll see what I can do tomorrow.’
    ‘If we can even get to work,’ Daisy pointed out.
    The next morning was cold and still but the snow had stopped. As Rose and Daisy slipped and stumbled their way along to the underground station at Holborn, Rose wished she had
packed her riding breeches. These long skirts and petticoats were useless attire for getting to work through a snowfall.
    The City was quiet, shrouded in a blanket of snow. They had