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Harry.
    “Why?”
    “If you remember, some man put those letters in your luggage to incriminate you in a murder. He may appear again.”
    “If you think he is the culprit, what has it to do with this Madame de Peurey?”
    “Miss Duval owned two houses in France. It is possible that Madame de Peurey may have hired someone to kill Dolores, but I will be able to tell better when I meet her.”
    “I must go with you,” said Rose firmly. “The duchess wants to go and I do not want to be returned to the convent.”
    “I am sure your parents will not approve.”
    “Is my company so repugnant to you that you will do anything and hope for anything to stop me going?”
    “I am only thinking of your safety.”
    Rose got to her feet. “It is a pity you were not thinking of my safety before you chose to consort with a French whore!” “I was merely working for her!”
    “Pah!”
    Rose strode off to the house.
    At breakfast the following morning, the butler handed the duchess a telegram. “What now?” she asked. “Oh, it’s from Polly. She says, ‘Do not approve. Stop. Convent respectable. Stop. Return my daughter immediately. Stop. How are you? Stop. Effie.’ ”
    “Oh, no!” wailed Daisy.
    The duchess turned her shrewd little eyes on Rose.
    “Is your father High?”
    “You mean, High Church?”
    “Yes.”
    “No, the church at our country home, Stacey Court, is Low.”
    “And does he know these Anglican convents were founded by Edward Bouverie Pusey?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    Edward Pusey had founded the Anglican convents in the middle of the last century. He was under criticism for being too close to the Catholic Church.
    “Good. Kemp, a telegram.” She waited until the butler had fetched paper and pen and then she began. “ ‘Dear Polly. Did you know the sisters were a bunch of Puseyites, all bells and smells and don’t think you want Rose there so think it best she comes with me and what were you thinking of to turn her into scrubbing woman really not suitable I am well, Effie.’ ”
    “Do you wish me to insert punctuation, Your Grace?” asked Kemp.
    “Send it!”
    “My parents may still protest,” said Rose uneasily.
    “Oh, I think that’ll do the trick.”
    Rose waited uneasily all day. At afternoon tea, she found the duchess in high spirits. “Got a telegram from your ma,” she said gleefully. “She says, ‘Dear Effie, Had no idea. Stop. Grateful to you. Stop. Daughter unruly so keep tight rein. Stop. Yours Polly.’
    “Paris, here we come!”

Alas! If women are going to motor, and motor seriously—that is to say,
use it as a means of locomotion—they must relinquish the hope of keeping
their peach-like bloom. The best remedy is cold water and a rough towel,
and that not used sparingly, in the morning before they start. There is
one other, the last, but perhaps the hardest concession a woman can make
if she is going to motor, and that is she must wear glasses—not small
dainty glasses, but veritable goggles. They are absolutely necessary both for
comfort and for the preservation of the eyesight; they are not becoming,
but then, as I have tried to point out, appearance must be sacrificed .
— LADY JEUNE . MOTORS AND MOTOR DRIVING 1902
    Daisy was overwhelmed by the grandeur of Claridge’s. Lord and Lady Hadshire’s homes in London and the country, magnificent as they were, did not have the same modern luxuries as the hotel, which boasted electric light, lifts and en suite bathrooms. At the Hadshires’, when she wanted a bath, footmen had to carry a coffin-shaped bath up the stairs and then fill it with water brought up from the kitchens.
    “It’s a world away from the convent,” she said. Daisy, brought up in poverty in the East End of London, could never get over marvelling at the vast gulf between rich and poor.
    Rose was at that moment allowing the duchess’s lady’s maid, Benton, to strap her into the long corset which was considered necessary to produce the