Read Online The Blood Upon the Rose by Tim Vicary - Free Book Online

not. As I say, I hardly know him.’
    ‘Fair enough.’ Kee folded the photograph and notebook into his pocket. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, miss. It must be an unpleasant memory. But if you do think of anything more, you'll give me a ring, won't you? Here's my card.’
    She took it, and showed him out.
     
     
    Now isn't that interesting, Kee thought as he walked away. Nothing is what it seems in this godforsaken city. Here's a young woman with more money than a hundred decent families, her father a personal friend of the Viceroy, no less; and she gets shot at and nearly murdered in his lordship's car by a band of bloodthirsty hooligans. Does she show fear? No - that's breeding for you, perhaps; they're used to being sniped at from childhood. Does she show anger, or a desire to know why we haven't caught the devils? No, not a word. Does she show shock when I show her the photograph? Yes - but she's not shocked as she ought to be, because such a nice young man could be suspected of such a thing. Oh no. She was shocked because I knew about him, that's all. She was quite prepared to believe he might have done it.
    He thought about the blush. It had been quite charming, quite overwhelming, quite damning. At the very least it meant that she entertained strong feelings for the young man. Of course, the feelings might all be on one side - he might know nothing about them. But on the other hand, she might already be quite involved with him. They were both young, after all, and good-looking, on the same university course. Such things happen all the time.
    But if so, young lady, Kee asked himself, why did you not show anger at the thought that he might have been one of the murder gang? Or is that the sort of behaviour you expect from your suitors? Even when you yourself are in the car?
    So what happens now, he wondered. Clearly, he was not going to be very popular if he told Sir Jonathan that his own daughter might be involved with one of the suspects. Equally clearly, it would be sensible to put a watch on this young lady, to see where she went in the next day or so, and who she met.
    His main problem was to put himself in the mind of a young female Catholic Anglo-Irish aristocrat, who was apparently consorting with militant republicans. For Kee, a middle-aged Protestant Belfast docker's son, that was a little hard to do.
     
     
    When Kee had gone, Catherine leaned with her back against the solid front door, feeling that dreadful telltale blush slowly fade. The butler came into the hall and looked at her questioningly. She came to, and shook her head.
    ‘It's all right, Keneally,’ she said. ‘I showed him out myself. It was the police asking about the shooting.’
    ‘Yes, Miss Catherine. Have they caught anyone?’
    ‘No. Not so far as I know.’ She walked past him, up the main stairs, which one of the maids was brushing busily. It was hard to know from Keneally's tone what he thought. Would he be glad if some of the Volunteers had been caught - and hanged? For they would surely be hanged, if they were caught and convicted of this. She did not know. As for what he would think if he knew that his young mistress was in love with one of them … well, butlers were paid to be discreet. That would be a test for him, wouldn't it?
    Nevertheless, it was not something she wanted her servants to think about. They were all much older than her, and could hardly be expected to approve of a thing like that. She climbed the great staircase under its ornate plaster ceilings to the first floor, and continued up a slightly less grand one to her own rooms. She shut herself in her sitting room to think.
    It was a large, comfortable, untidy room. When she had moved back into the house she had chosen it as a retreat, and that was what it still was. The servants were allowed in only to light the fires, and when she specifically asked them. There were two desks on either side of the window, one cluttered with the accounts and papers for running