Daisy reached for the door handle but a vicious blow struck her on the back of the head.

‘I’ll deal with you later,’ growled the shopkeeper.

He decided to close up. When Becket and Harry arrived, he was putting up the shutters.

Harry approached him. ‘I would like a word with you.’

‘Haven’t got the time,’ he said. ‘Closing up.’

‘Bit early for that, isn’t it?’ asked Harry.

Becket got down from the car and stood beside Harry. Then Becket heard a faint cry from the shop. ‘Help me!’

The shopkeeper snarled, ‘Go away,’ and tried to get into the shop. Harry struck him a savage blow behind his legs with his stick and the man fell to the ground.

‘See who’s there, Becket,’ said Harry.

Becket ran into the shop. Then Harry, standing over the fallen shopkeeper, heard Becket howl, ‘It’s Daisy. She’s hurt bad.’

The shopkeeper tried to struggle to his feet. Harry struck him over the head and he fell down again.

He went into the shop. ‘I’ll tie that villain up. Help me with a shutter. We’ll lift Daisy out and put her in the car and then get her to hospital. Take her to Saint Bartholomew’s.’

Harry found some rope behind the counter. He went out and tied the man up and dragged him by his heels into the shop. Then he brought a shutter and they gently lifted Daisy onto it. Daisy was moaning faintly, and as they lifted her, Harry saw with horror that the back of her gown was stained with blood.

Once Daisy had been lifted into the car and driven off, Harry returned to the shop. He saw there was a telephone on the wall. Odd that a poor neighbourhood shop should boast a telephone, he thought, but he dialled Scotland Yard and told Kerridge about the events.

Then he phoned the earl’s secretary and left a message for Rose that Daisy had been attacked and was now in hospital.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Rose was not at home for Harry’s telephone call. She was out being driven in the Park by the handsome Roger. She found him more and more intriguing and felt she could listen to his stories for hours. His tales took her imagination flying to coral islands, to the minarets of Istanbul and the bustling excitement of New York.

He made her feel feminine, light and free. There was none of that aching, dark, brooding, frightening passion she often felt for Harry.

The earl had demanded to know who had rung and Matthew had told him about Daisy’s predicament. The earl told his wife.

‘Where is she?’ demanded Lady Polly.

‘Bart’s.’

‘Then we must go immediately.’

‘I’ll order the carriage,’ said the earl.

Daisy had been employed by them and the earl and countess were diligent at looking after their staff. That Daisy was no longer in their employ did not matter. It was still their responsibility to take care of her.