The arrangement they had with Harry was that if they had been at a ball or party the night before, then they need not report for duty until midday. But both were anxious to get their problems solved and were at their desks, tired and sleepy, at nine in the morning.

No Harry.

The minutes dragged by and then the hours. They went out for a quick meal and returned at one o’clock to find Harry’s office still empty.

Daisy phoned Becket but there was no reply. She put her head down on her desk and fell asleep.

Harry had suffered a leg injury during the Boer War. It was three in the afternoon before Rose heard his limping step on the stairs. She nudged Daisy awake and got to her feet as he entered.

‘Any clients?’ asked Harry.

‘Not so far,’ said Rose. ‘I want a word with you.’

He ushered her into his office. Rose confronted him. ‘What is your business with Miss Duval?’

‘It is of a confidential nature.’

‘You said as part of the deal that I could help you with some of the detective work.’

‘Not in this case. I have been sworn to secrecy.’

‘It caused a fair amount of comment last night that I was once more unescorted by you.’

‘I’ll do my best next time. Please go home. You look tired.’

‘Can you assure me that your dealings with Miss Duval are not of a personal nature?’

‘They are strictly business, and if they were not, what is it to you? May I remind you that this so-called engagement was all your idea? Do you want to end it?’

Rose bit her lip. If she ended it with no other suitor in sight, then her parents would fulfil their threat and send her off to India.

‘Not for now,’ she said stiffly.

‘Then go home.’

‘Daisy wishes to speak to you.’

‘Very well. Send her in.’

As Daisy entered the office, Harry looked at her uneasily. He knew she was going to broach the question of her possible marriage to Becket, but Becket had confided in him that he did not feel ready for marriage. Harry had rescued a man called Phil Marshall from poverty and had employed him as well as Becket. He sometimes wondered if Becket was jealous of Phil and did not want to leave and let Phil take over.

He eyed Daisy as she came in. Daisy was expensively dressed, but her green eyes held that Cockney street awareness still. She had once been a chorus girl, and despite her usually cultivated vowels he always felt that inside was a bold, raffish Daisy suppressed by gentility and the cramping confines of an Empire corset.

‘What are you doing about me marrying Becket?’ asked Daisy.

Harry suppressed a sigh. He decided that Becket would just have to handle this himself. ‘I think you should speak to Becket yourself,’ he said.

Daisy’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘What’s up?’

‘I really think Becket should tell you himself.’ Harry rang his home in Chelsea and ordered Becket to come to the office immediately. He put down the phone and said, ‘He’ll be here soon. You may use my office. I am going out now.’