Rose was sitting bolt upright in a chair by the open window. Through the window came strains of music from the band of the Life Guards playing selections from The Pirates of Penzance.

‘Why did you not call the police?’ asked Rose.

He pulled up a chair and sat opposite her and took her hand in his. ‘Because it’s a wicked world. Do you know what they say about women who have been raped, and I mean the police as well?’

Rose shook her head.

‘They say, she was asking for it. The story would go round the clubs and your virginity would be in question. I have thrashed him soundly and I have told him I will kill him if he approaches you again.’

‘I think men are animals,’ said Rose, her voice breaking on a sob.

‘Not all of us,’ said Harry.

She snatched her hand away.

‘You were flirting with that common widow.’

‘Mrs Winston was flirting with me.’

‘From where I was sitting, I could see you were definitely flirting.’

‘I am engaged to you, not Mrs Winston.’

‘Then kindly remember it.’

Harry was suddenly very angry.

‘Is this all the thanks I get for having saved you? I am glad, repeat glad, that this is an engagement in name only because I would hate to be shackled to an ungrateful little shrew like you.’

He stalked out of the room.

Rose sat there for a long time. She finally decided that the least she could do was go to Harry and thank him. He should have realized she had only said these things because she was overset.

As she left the library, she was joined by her mother in the hall. ‘I had such a good nap, dear,’ said Lady Polly.

They walked outside together. A marquee had been erected for dancing. They entered the marquee. It was a splendid affair, having been laid with a French chalked floor and decorated with banks of flowers.

Harry Cathcart was dancing a lively polka with Mrs Winston. She was laughing up at him. Harry’s bad leg did not seem to be troubling him at all.

Lady Polly looked from Harry to her daughter’s set face. Really, she thought, we might be rid of him after all. Not that he isn’t a good man. But trade! Our name should not be allied with trade.

Kerridge mopped his brow and made a mental note to tell his wife not to put too much starch in his collars. The window of his office was wide open but seemed to let nothing else in but brassy heat and the smell of drains and horse manure.

Inspector Judd came in and put a cup of tea on his boss’s desk. ‘Thought you could do with that, sir.’

‘Ta. Sit down. I was really thinking of nipping round to the pub for a tankard of beer.’

‘Quiet day. You should be able to manage it, sir. You remember that thieving pair of servants at Lady Glensheil’s?’