Chapter 5 #2
Francesca went over to her, placing her hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Rose wept. “Why didn’t you turn on the lights?”
Rose tried to speak. “I tried the first lamp, but it didn’t work. I was so afraid—all I could think of was finding Daisy.”
“Did you see Hart? Did you hear anything, or anyone?”
“No! I sat with her, my heart broken. I stayed until I realized we needed help, and that was when I wrote that note. The only time I left her was to go to the desk, write the note, and then I ran outside. I paid a cabbie to deliver it for me. Then I went back to her and waited for you to come. I didn’t see Hart until he came into the study with you. ”
If Rose had left her john at half past nine, she had probably been at Daisy’s by ten.
Francesca had received her note two hours later, meaning Rose might have sat with Daisy for quite some time before recovering enough to write and send a note—if she was telling the truth.
Rosie’s story confirmed that Hart had entered the house while Rose was looking for a cabdriver.
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Francesca asked.
Rose seemed taken aback by her question. “Those pigs don’t care! They hate us—they use us. They would never try to find her murderer!”
“Rose, this is important. Do you know who Daisy was seeing last night?”
“She never told me who she was seeing, but I gathered it was some kind of old friend.”
Francesca started. “Do you mean a friend from her previous life?”
Rose stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Francesca saw, in her dark eyes, that she understood quite well. “I mean, was it an old friend from the life she had before she became Daisy Jones?”
“I don’t know!”
Francesca considered Rose’s intense reaction. “Was Daisy still entertaining clients, Rose?”
“No. She left the business the day she moved in here.”
That, of course, made sense. Why would Daisy continue to solicit customers when she had no financial need? “Can you think of anyone she used to entertain who might have been so passionately involved with her that he wanted her dead?”
Rose was finally surprised. “You think a john murdered her?”
“It would hardly be the first time a prostitute was murdered by her client.”
“I don’t know. I need to think about it.” Her face tightened. “Of course, there is one client we both know who had all the passion necessary to do the deed.”
Francesca refused to do battle over Hart now. “What was Daisy’s real name?”
Rose instantly turned away. “I don’t know.”
Francesca did not believe her. “You were best friends, and she never told you her real name?”
Rose stared into the distance. “No,” she muttered.
Francesca decided to give that up, for the moment, anyway. “It was always obvious to me that Daisy came from a genteel background. She was well mannered, well spoken, clearly educated and as graceful as any lady from Fifth Avenue.”
Rose did not respond.
“Why aren’t you helping me?” Francesca cried. “Someone wanted Daisy dead—someone who knew her well. I have to uncover her real identity and her entire past.”
“We both know who wanted Daisy dead,” Rose said harshly.
“And what if you are wrong? What if Hart is not the killer?” Francesca demanded.
Francesca saw the conflict in Rose’s eyes. She finally cried, “She never told me her real name, I swear! She was running from her old life, Francesca. She never spoke of it—ever.”
That was very odd, Francesca thought. “How did you meet?”
Rose met her gaze, her own eyes turning moist. “Oh, God, that was so long ago!”
“How long?”
Rose smiled through her tears. “It was eight years ago. Daisy was such a beautiful young woman. She was fifteen, but she was really still a child. She was so innocent, so naive. I had been turning tricks for years—I was so much older than she was, although not in years. I was sixteen, Francesca, when we met and became friends.”
“Where did you meet?”
Rose sniffed. “On the street.” She looked at Francesca.
“Can you believe it? Daisy was standing on the street corner, here in the city. She was so beautiful, Francesca, I can’t even describe it.
” She bit her lip. “I had never been in love, not with anyone, but I was stunned by her beauty, even then. I could tell she was lost—she was bewildered—and she seemed so sad. I had been shopping with one of the other girls. I made an excuse—somehow I didn’t want my friend to meet Daisy, to know about her.
And then I went over to try to help.” Rose hugged herself.
“What happened?”
“She was near tears. I saw that she was trying to sell her body to the gentlemen passing by, and that she had not a clue as to how to do it. She was so innocent. And obviously, she was desperate for funds. I couldn’t understand—she was beautifully dressed.”
“Had she run away?”
“Yes. She told me that much later. I couldn’t stand to see her trying to sell herself like that, when she was so upset and inexperienced.
I bought her a sandwich. We chatted a little and I could see she was frightened, and so relieved to be having a meal and not on the street, soliciting men.
I told her she could come stay with me, and she did.
I tried to hide her from the madam, Francesca.
And I did, for about a week. I hid her in my room.
When I had a john, she hid in the closet—or beneath the bed.
We became friends that week, until she was discovered.
And then I couldn’t protect her anymore. ”
Francesca was moved. How could she not be? “And the madam forced her into that life?”
Rose nodded. “But it didn’t matter that much. We had each other now. I was already in love with her, Francesca. I fell in love with her right away.”
Francesca paused to reflect on Rose and Daisy’s life. What could have caused a young lady to run from home and choose a life of prostitution over a genteel existence? She simply could not imagine. It was heartbreaking. “And she never told you where she had come from or why she was running away?”
“No! She refused to discuss her past, and do you know what? I was glad! Because I was terrified that one day she would come to her senses, go home and leave me.”
“But she never did.”
“No, she never did.” Rose stared tearfully at her. “Daisy liked you,” she said abruptly. “Before she got involved with Hart.” And the tears began to fall.
Francesca tensed. She had come to believe that Daisy had developed actual feelings for Calder. Handing Rose her handkerchief, she said, “Daisy came to care for Hart, didn’t she? That is why you hated him so much.”
“I hate him because he took her away from me!” Rose cried.
Francesca studied Rose, who was wiping away more tears with her kerchief. Very quietly, she asked, “You were jealous, weren’t you?”
Rose gave her a hard look. “What do you think? Daisy made you jealous, didn’t she?”
Francesca intended to ignore that dig. “Did you fight about Hart?”
Rose became wary. “Daisy never stopped loving me,” she said hoarsely. “But I admit that I was jealous—that I hated her being here, that I hated his keeping her. But you already know that. What are you getting at?”
“So you and Daisy fought when she was Hart’s mistress.”
Rose stared, breathing hard. “Yes. We fought.”
Finally they were getting somewhere, Francesca thought. “Did you continue your relationship while she was with Hart?”
“What does it matter?” Rose asked hotly.
Francesca decided to press her. “Why don’t you admit it? For a time, Daisy left you. She left you for Hart,” Francesca said.
“She never left me!” Tears began to track down Rose’s cheeks. “He refused to allow her to see me—he was that jealous, that controlling. How can you stand him?” she cried.
Francesca tried not to show her feelings. Hart could be very jealous, and she had not a doubt he could be controlling, but he had never tried to control her. “Rose, did you and Daisy reconcile?”
Rose turned away, crying. “She loved me,” she wept. “And I loved her.”
Francesca felt terrible, but she continued, “I know she loved you. I know you loved her. But your relationship changed, didn’t it, the moment she became Hart’s mistress?
From that moment, it changed irrevocably, and it never returned to the way it was.
According to Homer, your visits were once or twice a week. You didn’t reconcile, did you?”
Rose covered her face with her hands.
Francesca clasped her shoulder, feeling very sorry for the other woman.
But now she had to really consider the unthinkable.
Until that moment, she had wanted Rose to be on the list of suspects simply to keep attention away from Hart.
Now Francesca had to carefully think about the other woman’s state of mind.
Rose had been Daisy’s lover, and she remained deeply in love with her.
She was furiously angry with Hart, for supposedly stealing Daisy from her.
And while she was blaming Hart for everything, she had been first at the scene of the crime—or so it appeared.
Rose was an angry, jealous and jilted lover. Could she have murdered Daisy? Had she done so? She would not be the first woman to resort to murder, either contemplated or not, in such an instance.
Rose turned her teary gaze on Francesca. “We did reconcile, Francesca. But it wasn’t the same. As always, you are right,” she cried bitterly.
Francesca dropped her hand, standing. She had to know the truth. “Was Daisy in love with Calder?”
Rose looked up. “Daisy wanted the life Hart could give her. She did not want to go back to being a whore, and she was determined to wait him out and get that life back.”
Francesca was shaken. It was impossible not to feel some relief now that Daisy was out of their lives forever. She was instantly ashamed and guilty for feeling that way, even the slightest bit.