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well.
    When he returned to his home in the evening, it was to find a furious artist on his doorstep. Hecker’s manservant had remembered Harry’s name. ‘I am bringing the police into this,’ shouted Hecker. ‘You broke into my desk and stole my property.’
    ‘I must say you have a bloody nerve,’ said the captain. ‘Let’s both go to Scotland Yard, now. Of course it will come out that you are a blackmailer and you will be ruined.’
    Hecker’s bluster left him. ‘No need for that. But I warn you—’
    ‘No, I will warn you. All the money you blackmailed out of these ladies must be discreetly returned, every penny. In a few days’ time, I will check to see if you have done so. It would give me great pleasure to ruin you, but in doing so I would ruin your victims’ reputations as well.’ He leaned forward on the doorstep and smiled into Hecker’s face. ‘If you do not do what I say, I will shoot you.’
    ‘You can’t do that!’ Hecker turned pale. ‘This is England.’
    ‘Marvellous country, isn’t it? Now, stop fouling my doorstep and make a noise like a hoop and bowl off.’ Harry put his hand on the artist’s face, shoved and sent Hecker flying down the steps to land on the pavement.
    Harry let himself in with his key. He doubted that he would hear from Hecker again.
    High summer spread across the English countryside. Society moved out to Biarritz and Deauville, returning in August for grouse shooting in Scotland. Lady Rose read, walked through the countryside, and sometimes thought she might die from boredom and loneliness.
    As August moved into September, the earl received a visit from Baron Dryfield, who owned one of the neighbouring estates. The little earl was glad to receive him. Because of Rose’s disgrace, he felt ostracized from local society. The baron was a huge jovial man, a great favourite of King Edward’s.
    ‘I need to talk to you privately,’ said the baron. Lady Polly, who was in the drawing-room with her husband, rose to her feet and left the room.
    ‘What is it?’ asked the earl, alarmed. ‘What is it that my wife can’t hear?’
    ‘You will shortly hear from the palace that His Majesty is going to favour you with a visit in September.’
    ‘But that’s wonderful news. It means the scandal is buried. Great expense, of course.’
    ‘Well, the bad news is there’s a buzz at court that our king wants to try his luck with Rose. She’s become a sort of challenge, see. They call her The Ice Queen.’
    ‘What am I to do?’ wailed the earl. ‘How can I protect Rose? If he asks, say, to go for a walk with her, I can hardly refuse.’
    ‘Bless me, I don’t know. But thought I’d warn you.’
    Captain Harry Cathcart had been busy all summer. Word had got around, and in a society rife with scandal, his services were in demand. There was nothing very dramatic, mostly petty business which could be solved with shrewd advice, but his bank balance was getting fat and he now had a carriage and pair.
    He found to his surprise that he was also much in demand socially. His taciturn manner, damned before as boring, was now considered Byronic. But he accepted few invitations. His experiences in the war seemed to have left a dark, sour patch inside him.
    One morning he received an urgent telegram from the Earl of Hadshire, asking him to travel to the earl’s home, Stacey Court, as soon as possible.
    The captain packed a suitcase and set out with his man, Becket. They took a hack to Paddington Station and the Great Western Railway train to Oxford, planning to take the local train at Oxford, which would bear them on to Stacey Magna, the nearest station to the earl’s home, where they would be met.
    Harry was unusual in that he had bought first-class train tickets for himself and Becket. Normally the master travelled first class and the servant in the third-class carriages at the back of the train.
    Half-way to Oxford, Becket fell gently asleep and Harry studied his servant’s face.