Rose was beginning to feel that life might not be so bad after all. It was exciting to go to sleep over the chattering wheels. Only Daisy felt torn away from London, and the wheels sang a dirge on her ears: ‘Can’t go back. Never go back. Can’t go back.’ She peered out of the window and saw only her own reflection as the night-time countryside went flying past. The east coast line was in competition with the west coast line and the great steam engine could reach up to a hundred miles per hour. Daisy shuddered. They were flying into foreign territory. Yorkshire.

They tumbled out sleepily at York station at seven in the morning. They had arrived an hour earlier, but first-class passengers were allowed to stay on for breakfast.

Rose commanded a porter to take their luggage to the Scarborough train. Daisy followed behind, feeling once more like a servant, not knowing that Rose’s autocratic behaviour was caused by her sudden nervousness. What if the would-be assassin had followed them onto the train and was biding his time?

In a fusty second-class compartment they were crowded by a large woman with four sleepy, cross children who kept crying and wailing. Their mother seemed indifferent to their noise and distress.

Rose fretted and fidgeted, feeling the beginnings of a headache, and could only be glad when Daisy suddenly shouted, ‘Shut that bleedin’ noise.’

The children stared at her in awe and then mercifully fell silent.

The train stopped at station after station, until it finally drew into Plomley and settled down with a great hiss which sounded like a giant’s sigh.

The mother prodded Daisy in the back with her umbrella as Daisy was leaving the compartment. ‘Just you wait till you got kids of yer own,’ she shouted.

Daisy whipped round. ‘If I had brats like yours, I’d drown them!’

Can’t possibly be them, was PC Shufflebottom’s first thought on hearing Daisy’s remark. I was told to look for two grand ladies.

But then Rose descended and looked around. She saw the policeman in uniform and approached him.

‘Mr Shufflebottom?’

‘Yes, indeed, ma’am. Good journey?’

‘Yes, I thank you. As you probably know, I am Rose Summer and this is Miss Daisy Levine.’

‘Is that your luggage?’ asked the policeman nervously, looking at a pile of suitcases and hat boxes.

‘We decided to travel light so as not to occasion comment,’ said Rose.

Bert Shufflebottom signalled to an elderly porter. ‘Load the ladies’ bags on the trap, Harry.’

Rose thought briefly of that other Harry. Did he miss her? What was he doing?

The morning was cold, with patches of frost in the shadowy bits of the station platform.

They climbed into the trap outside the station. Bert made a clucking noise and the pony moved off.

‘We don’t have all that much room, ladies,’ said Bert. ‘I suggest you select the clothes you really need – we lead a simple life – and store the rest in the old stables at the back of the cottage.’