The village hall was packed when Rose, accompanied by Daisy, walked onto the stage and began to sing:

Birds in the garden, all day long, singing for me their happy song

Flowers in the sunshine, wind and dew, all of them speak to me of you;

You that I long for, near or far, you that I follow, like a star,

Day may be weary, weary and long, you will come home at evensong.

When you come home, dear, all will be fair,

Home is not home if you are not there;

You in my heart, dear, you at my side,

When you come home at eventide.

Rose sang with a depth of feeling Daisy had never heard in her voice before. She thought of Becket and wondered whether Rose had been thinking of the captain.

There was a great roar of applause.

Rose took Daisy’s hand and led her forward. Then they both bowed, and just as they bowed, a shot rang out.

Women screamed, Bert blew his whistle, Daisy dragged a trembling Rose from the stage. ‘He’s here! He’s found us,’ whispered Rose.

CHAPTER FOUR

Why should your fellowship a trouble be,
Since man’s chief pleasure is society?

Sir John Davies

Two days had passed since the attempted murder of Lady Rose Summer. The countryside round about had been scoured for the would-be assassin. All railway stations were watched. Bert had a description of the man. He had called in at the village pub, The Feathers, with a magazine and had shown a photograph in it to the landlord. The photograph had won the annual prize and the story with it said it had been taken by a Dr Linley of Drifton in Yorkshire.

‘I didn’t know any better,’ protested the landlord. ‘You didn’t say to tell no one about her. I told him, “Oh, that’s Rose what lives with our policeman.”’

He described the man as being of medium height, stockily built, with a large red face, a brown moustache and wearing a dark suit and a bowler hat.

Kerridge had travelled to the village accompanied by Harry and Inspector Judd. Rose and Daisy were confined to the cottage and told not to venture out of doors.

Kerridge said to Bert, ‘It’s no use you fretting, Shufflebottom. It’s not your fault. How were we to guess that wretched doctor would take a photograph of her? From the description, it’s no one we know. The Honourable Cyril isn’t at all like the description of this stranger in the village.’

‘What about Dolly’s brother, Jeremy?’ asked Harry.

Kerridge shook his head. ‘No, Jeremy Tremaine is thin and tall. What are you getting at? That her own family would kill her? Rubbish.’

‘It did cross my mind,’ said Harry. ‘They were so blatantly ambitious.’

‘What I can’t understand’, said Kerridge, ‘is why he’s still after Lady Rose. As I said before, he must surely know that she would have told the police everything.’

‘Cyril could have hired someone,’ said Harry. ‘I mean, he might blame Rose for his rejection.’