Hasty Death Read Online Free Page B

perched on the edge of the desk, his eyes on Rose.
    ‘You’re new, aren’t you?’
    ‘Very new,’ said Daisy. ‘First day.’
    ‘You enjoying it?’
    ‘Not much.’
    ‘Doesn’t your friend have a voice, Miss Levine?’
    ‘I do,’ said Rose, ‘when I am not being kept off my work.’
    Gerald retreated. But during the afternoon, several bank clerks found an excuse to drop in.
    ‘You shouldn’t freeze them all off,’ complained Daisy. ‘One of them might buy us dinner.’
    ‘You are not in the music hall now,’ said Rose severely.
    ‘No, I ain’t,’ replied Daisy gloomily.
    On Thursday, Mr Drevey went down to the country ‘on business’, which meant he was escaping to attend a house party.
    On that same Thursday, one of the directors, Mr Beveridge, sent for Mrs Danby, and told her that his secretary was ill and he needed someone to take dictation.
    ‘I will bring someone to you directly,’ said Mrs Danby.
    She decided to select Rose. Rose was too hoity-toity. She would have to confess she could not take dictation and that would bring her down a peg.
    But Rose merely asked for a notebook, and that having been supplied followed Mrs Danby up the broad staircase to Mr Beveridge’s office on the second floor.
    Mr Beveridge was a fat jolly man. Rose was initially unnerved because she was sure she had met him before but he did not seem to recognize her.
    Two people were disappointed at the end of the day. Daisy because men popping into the room took one look, saw Rose wasn’t there and retreated. And Mrs Danby because Mr Beveridge had given
her a glowing report of Rose’s prowess and of her excellent Pitman shorthand.
    By Friday evening, Daisy thought she would die of boredom. The evening and weekend lay ahead. It was all right for Rose. She would probably sit reading.
    Daisy’s days as a chorus girl at Butler’s Theatre began to take on a rosy glow. She missed the jokes and the raucous company. And men had found her attractive when there was no Rose
to compete with.
    In the evening, they cooked sausages over the little gas ring by the fire. Then Rose settled down to read.
    ‘Pity we’ve got to work tomorrow morning,’ complained Daisy.
    ‘Only until twelve-thirty, then we’re free,’ said Rose, looking up. ‘We can go to the British Museum.’
    Daisy thought rapidly. ‘I might go and see my family if you don’t mind being left on your own.’
    ‘Don’t promise them all your money. We get paid tomorrow.’
    ‘Naw. Just say hullo.’
    Next day, Rose was exhilarated to receive her first pay packet. But she made a mental note to ask for more money if she was going to continue to be employed as a secretary.
    She said goodbye to Daisy outside the bank. ‘I’ll be back this evening,’ promised Daisy.
    Rose had discovered an omnibus which would take her to Holborn and from there it was an easy walk to her diggings. Conscious of the need for thrift, she paid for a third-class ticket. She did
wish people did not smell so bad. Not that the upper classes were so terribly keen on baths, but they did bathe occasionally. Rose took out a small lace handkerchief scented with Parma Violet and
held it to her nose.
    Daisy felt she was breathing the air of freedom when she stood outside Butler’s Theatre in Whitechapel. She was back home among familiar sights and sounds. She had no
intention of visiting her family. Although she sent them money when she could, she could not forget her last visit the year before, when her drunken father had tried to assault her.
    Daisy was studying the posters when a male voice said. ‘Think of going in, miss? It’s a good show.’
    Daisy swung round. ‘Why, it’s Billy Gardon!’ she exclaimed.
    Billy goggled at the sedate little figure in front of him. ‘Daisy, is that you?’
    ‘It’s me all right.’
    When Billy, a comedian, had last seen Daisy, she had brassy blonde hair and thick make-up, not to mention garish clothes.
    ‘What happened to you?’
    Daisy