‘He bragged that it was the letters that gave him the idea of being a blackmailer. He was a keen amateur photographer and said he had compromising pictures of Mrs Jerry and Mrs Stockton. He said he had just realized a way of getting money to buy a title. I paid. Of course I paid.

‘Then when I went to Farthings and saw you there along with Mrs Stockton and Mrs Jerry, I was afraid.’

‘Did anyone else try to blackmail you while you were at Farthings?’

‘Yes. Mrs Stockton whispered that she had destroyed the photograph of her but had kept the letters. She said I must work for her society and travel with her. Then she told me that Mrs Jerry was going to go to the police. I was prepared to flee the country, but then she died. I knew Mrs Stockton had probably done it, but what could I do? You know what happens to fellows like me in prison.’

Harry felt a spasm of dread. Lord Alfred’s voice held the ring of truth.

He had sent Rose blithely off to see Angela Stockton, and Angela was a murderess.

‘Excuse me.’ Harry got to his feet and rushed from the room.

Lord Alfred looked at the letters lying on the table. He picked them up and took them to the fireplace. He took out a silver box of vestas and struck one and held it to the edge of the packet until a flame took hold and then he threw the burning packet into the fireplace.

He sat down again and covered his face with his hands and wept.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Really, if the lower orders don’t set us a good example, what on earth is the use of them?

Oscar Wilde

Rose felt sick. Angela’s eyes were glittering with a mad light, but the hand holding the gun never wavered. Rose tried to think coolly and calmly but jumbled thoughts raced through her brain. That famous line from adventure stories she had read – ‘With one bound he was free’ – tumbled into her brain. Would Daisy bring the photograph or would she find Captain Cathcart and get help? Her mother had insisted she go back to wearing ‘proper stays’ and a steel had edged itself loose and was cutting into her. The whalebone stiffening in the high collar of her gown was digging into her neck. If she had accepted Tristram’s proposal and settled for an uneventful married life, she would never have landed in this mess. ‘If you shoot me,’ said Rose, finding her voice, ‘how do you expect to get away with it?’

‘I will leave the country and hide abroad. They will never find me.’

‘If you have to leave the country, Mrs Stockton, what is the point of wanting the photograph? Your reputation will be ruined by this mad action of yours.’

‘I am not mad!’