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would not let me work for you unless they were in London as well. Where are you going? This is not the way home.”
    “We are going straight to Scotland Yard. Kerridge will want to see you. Once you are home, he will not have a chance. You will no doubt have to begin preparations to go to India.”
    “But I am engaged to you!”
    “Your father was just terminating the engagement when the news came that you had been found standing over a dead body with a gun in your hand.”
    “I can’t go!”
    “It might be best for all of us. You can no longer work for me. The press will follow your every move.”
    Rose realized for the first time that before, she had always had a certain hold on him, and she sensed miserably that that hold had gone.
    Kerridge greeted them with relief. “I had better telephone your parents to say you are safe and well.”
    “Before you do that,” said Harry, “let’s discuss this.” He took out the bundle of threatening letters and explained to Kerridge how they had been found.
    “So we can put a face to this man. What did he look like?”
    “Unfortunately, the staff at the hotel could only give a scrappy description. Possibly in his mid-thirties, slight Cockney accent, white face, pinched features, thin brown hair, and wearing a dark blue coat and trousers. I searched Thurby and checked the station. There was no sign of him. He had checked into the hotel for only one night.”
    “Why didn’t you telephone so that I could have alerted the local police?”
    “There had been gales and the telephone lines had come down.”
    “Wait here. I’ll get on to it right away.”
    Rose sat wrapped in miserable thoughts. She remembered talking to a certain Mrs. Dursley at an afternoon tea party. Mrs. Dursely had been an unsuccessful debutante who had been packed off to India. She had married Colonel Dursley, a man old enough to be her father. “The colonel was due to return to England,” she had said, “and it was the only way I could think of to get home again.”
    “Was India so bad?” Rose had asked.
    “We were in Delhi. It was so hot and dusty. It was a suffocating world of malicious gossip and long hot days of boredom.” She had lowered her voice to a whisper. “My dear, I would have married anyone just to get home again.”
    “Are the Indians so bad?” Rose had asked curiously.
    “Oh, they’t all right. It’s the English community that I could not stand. If there’s ever another mutiny, it will be because of the memsahibs treating them like dirt.”
    Harry was thinking about India as well. Why should I not let this infuriating girl get sent to India? he thought. Rose has been nothing but trouble. She could find herself some army officer, have lots of children and settle down.
    Kerridge came back. “I’ve alerted the Essex police. I have also telephoned Lord Hadshire to say his daughter is safe. His lordship wishes you to return immediately.”
    “I will escort Lady Rose,” said Harry.
    “Come back here when you’ve finished,” said Kerridge. “I want a word with you in private.”
    Although he had not believed Rose guilty, Kerridge was shaken by the discovery of those letters. What if Rose really had the letters all along and when Harry burst in on her, she had made up a story about just finding them?
    As they approached the earl’s town house, Harry said to Rose, “Ignore the press. Just walk past them with your head down.”
    But there was not even one reporter outside. “That’s odd,” said Harry. “Let’s go in and face your parents.”
    Rose suddenly clutched his arm and looked pleadingly up into his face. He patted her hand. “It will be all right,” he said.
    But it was worse than Rose could have imagined. Her father did not shout or bluster. His voice was quiet and decisive. “I have instructed my secretary to send a notice of the termination of your engagement to the newspapers. As for you, miss—”
    “I am not going to India.”
    “No, India will be