‘Never let it be said I told you. You guessed.’ Rose shook her head. ‘I’ve only seen that kind of shock on one other face, and that was when I confirmed to Grace what she had heard through the study door at Welbeck Street.’
‘Surely you’d have been best to lie to Grace? To make her believe she’d misheard? My God.’ Joanna swallowed the whisky. ‘I class myself as perfectly sane, but having finally discovered the truth . . . I’m a gibbering wreck.’
‘I’m sure. And yes, I did consider trying to convince Grace she’d misheard, but of course I knew she wouldn’t leave it there. There was a chance she’d go to the horse’s mouth, to the man whom she’d heard James talking to that day in the study. A man who later became Sir Henry Scott-Thomas, head of MI5. A man capable of destroying both her and James if he found out she knew. A man who was later paralysed from the waist down in a riding accident.’
‘The man in the wheelchair . . .’ Joanna felt as though her brain was frozen. She searched through the grey mists, knowing there were further questions she must ask.
‘The letter . . . does it confirm what . . . we’ve just talked about?’ Joanna could not bring herself to voice the words.
‘I may have delivered it, but it was already well hidden inside the package when I did. However, if it kept James alive all those years, allowed him to amass fame and fortune right beneath the noses of those who wanted him dead, then yes, I rather believe it does.’
‘And why did they never get to you? After all, you delivered the letters.’
‘By then, I was engaged to my beloved François and had left the palace. I married and left for the Loire only after the package had been delivered. No one knew I was ever involved.’ Rose chuckled softly. ‘The Duchess was awfully clever, until she couldn’t hide her secret any longer.’
Joanna realised with a jolt that she herself had told Simon the name of the ‘messenger’ in Yorkshire only two weeks ago.
‘Rose, you really are in terrible danger! I told someone your name recently. Oh God, I’m so very sorry.’ Joanna stood up. ‘So many people have died already. They’ll stop at nothing . . . you have to leave immediately!’
‘I’m safe, at least for now, my dear. After all, I am the only person who knows where that letter is. And besides, my old World War Two forged identity papers proved a godsend after all these years. François paid an expert a lot of money to ensure we were known as Madame et Monsieur Levoy – Swiss citizens. He had some Jewish blood on his maternal side, you see. I’ve always kept a passport in that name, just in case. François insisted.’ Rose gave a small smile. ‘And that is how I came into the country and how I am known here at this hotel.’
Joanna looked with admiration at this extraordinary woman, who had kept the secret for so long, and was putting her life at risk out of love for her old friend. ‘You mentioned earlier you delivered a package, rather than a letter?’
‘Correct.’
What was in that package?’
‘Dearie me.’ Rose yawned. ‘I’m getting terribly sleepy. Well now, the thing was that obviously the letters were highly sensitive, and that one in particular. If they had fallen into the wrong hands, it could have been disastrous. So the Duchess thought up a very clever way to disguise them.’
‘How?’
‘You saw the letter that Grace sent you. Even though it was old, there must have been something odd that you noticed about it?’
Joanna racked her brains. ‘I . . . yes, if I remember, there were tiny holes around the edges.’
Rose gave a slight nod of approval. ‘Now, as we are running out of time, perhaps I must help you with the final piece of the jigsaw. Remember, I am only doing it for poor Grace’s sake.’
‘Of course.’ Joanna nodded her head wearily.
‘The Duchess had two passions in life. One of them was the cultivation of the most marvellous roses in her gardens; the other, exquisite embroidery.’ She eyed Joanna, who looked back at her blankly. ‘Now, I think it’s high time I was in bed. I intend to leave England shortly to stay with some friends in America until all this blows over. I thought it best if I made myself scarce for the next few months, until the dust settles.’
‘Rose, please! Don’t do this to me! Tell me where the letter is!’ Joanna entreated her.
‘My dear, Ihavejust told you. All you must do now is use that quick brain and those pretty eyes of yours.’
Joanna knew there was no point in begging further. ‘Will I see you again?’
‘I doubt it, don’t you?’ Rose’s eyes twinkled. ‘I have every confidence you will find it.’
‘I don’t! Roses, embroidery . . .’
‘Yes, my dear. Now, the minute you have it, I should leave England tout de suite. Are you really going to publish and be damned, as they say?’
‘That’s my intention, yes. So many people have died because of it. And I . . . owe it to someone.’ Joanna’s eyes filled with spontaneous tears.
‘Someone you loved?’
‘I . . . yes,’ she sighed, ‘but he died trying to save my life. And it was all because of the letter.’
