Death on the Sapphire: A Lady Frances Ffolkes Mystery (15 page)

Hal was surprisingly good at giving very sincere compliments. “Thank you,” she said.

“I have the particulars here for you. You can take an early morning train and leave that evening. Mrs. Tregallis said she is always available and eager to speak with you. If you wish to stay overnight, she has a spare room and is happy to put you up.”

Frances had one more question: could she assume that Danny’s mother and sister knew nothing of this?

“Nothing at all. Apparently, they don’t have a very suspicious nature.”

“It didn’t excite any comment when the nurse departed? I imagine she left rather quickly.”

“She did, but I don’t believe it caused undue commotion.” He paused. “It was clear Major Colcombe was back to perfect health.”

Frances looked at Hal closely—was that a thin smile? Was that last comment a bit of dry lawyerly humor? She wouldn’t have thought it of Hal, but he was full of surprises . . .

“I will wire Mrs. Tregallis and arrange to visit as soon as possible.” She reached over and put her hand on Hal’s. “I owe you many thanks for this. I will be off now, but we’ll speak soon. Meanwhile, please give my regards to Mrs. Wheaton.”

“I will—when I next speak with her. My sister and brother-in-law have invited her for a stay, and she will be leaving in the morning. She and Edwina—my sister—have always been especially close, and both are looking forward to it.”

“I am glad for them, but you’ll be all alone in that big house.”

“Yes. It will seem odd dining by myself at the dining room table. Perhaps . . . might you be free to join me one evening?”

And Frances said she would.

She had time to go home before her next meeting but instead went directly to Mrs. Elkhorn’s house. She’d be early for the league meeting, but she wanted to request Mrs. Elkhorn’s help.

“Frances, happy to help, of course. You can help me arrange the chairs while we talk.”

She briefly outlined the search for the Colcombe manuscript and its background with the Boer War. It had become a bigger problem than she expected, and she needed allies, especially those with connections.

“My brother gave me a name, but I think it was just to tease me. This man could potentially help me, but Charles said he’d never let me over his threshold. However, you know everyone, even members of the Conservative Party.”

“Even them,” she said with a wry smile. “I’ve tried to build bridges everywhere. And if that wasn’t possible, there was at least some advantage in knowing one’s enemies. But whom do you want to meet?”

“Lord Ashton Crossley.”

“Oh my. Your brother did set you a challenge. He’s a man of great power, although largely retired now. He’s . . . he hasn’t been well. But we do know each other. And I will write you a letter of introduction.”

“So you’re friends?” asked Frances.

“Oh no. We loathe each other. But there’s a mutual respect. And he may see you, if for no other reason than he’ll be curious as to why I am recommending you. But I warn you, Frances. Even sick, he’s a very cunning man. Give him your respect but not your trust.”

Frances nodded.

“That’s an enormous help. Thank you so much,” she said.
Ha
, she thought.
Charles challenged me and I beat him
. Thoughts chased themselves around her mind as she helped Mrs. Elkhorn set up.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” asked Mrs. Elkhorn. “You’re not just interested in your late friend?”

“It may sound foolish, but I keep thinking of those men who died on the South African veldt, sacrificed for the stupidity and selfishness of the men in power.”

“Is that all?” asked Mrs. Elkhorn. “No wonder you do so well here. Nothing seems to daunt you.”

Frances glowed with the praise. “You’re the one who keeps telling us that this will be our century.”

“And it will be.”

The other women showed up, and the meeting began. Through Mrs. Elkhorn’s introduction and the committee sessions that followed, Frances felt strong and optimistic thanks to her mentor’s help and enthusiasm. Afterward, she went home and caught up on correspondences and other club and committee commitments. She wired Dorothy Tregallis, asking which day would be good to visit.

And before she knew it, it was time to for her and Mallow to head to the Seaforth home. One generally didn’t take a maid for just a dinner visit, but Mallow enjoyed a chance to visit her old friends from her days as a housemaid.

As Frances expected, Charles questioned her about the Colcombe manuscript over dinner, concerned that she was involving herself in something dangerous, or at least unwise. Frances had to deflect him with half-truths about mild inquiries among old civil servants to see if anyone knew anything. Charles felt that the manuscript was still in some drawer somewhere, or perhaps Danny had destroyed it before he died, and his sister Kat had just become confused.

Over port in the drawing room after dinner, Charles moved to another topic.

“I hope you two ladies can help me. I ran into Aubrey Laverton today. He’s member of Parliament for some district down in Suffolk and asked me if I could help get his niece involved in various activities, political teas, volunteer committees, and so forth.”

“Of course,” said Mary. “Who is his niece?”

“I think you know her—I saw you talking to her the other night at the Moores’. The Honorable Miss Claire Chillingford . . .”

Both Mary and Frances giggled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” said Mary. “Of course we’ll help. It’s just that Miss Chillingford, well she isn’t—we know her somewhat, and I didn’t think that she would find such activities to her taste.”

“You mean she’s rather dim?” asked Charles ruefully. “That’s what Laverton indicated. But perhaps there is something that she could do?”

Mary said she would certainly extend an invitation to next week’s luncheon—several other political wives would be coming, and even if Miss Chillingford could not contribute much, she’d learn something by listening. Charles thought that a splendid idea.

Meanwhile, Frances offered a place in the London Children’s Improvement Society. “We arrange wholesome trips for poor children into the country. Healthful meals and country air. I think helping pick sites for day trips from London should be well within Miss Chillingford’s ability.”

And Charles said if Frances could arrange that—without the sarcastic comments—he would be most grateful.

“Why the sudden interest in improving Miss Chillingford?” asked Mary.

Charles looked very self-satisfied. “It seems I have a piece of society gossip that even my wife has failed to pick up. It’s not official and still very secret, but according to Laverton, it seems Miss Chillingford is to be married and so will enter political circles. And this will entertain you particularly, Franny. Remember at the Moores’, you spent most of the evening with Lord Gareth Blaine? I’ve always found him too outrageous, but he seemed to amuse you.”

Mary closed her eyes, but Frances didn’t get it right away.

“What does Lord Gareth have to do with Miss Chillingford’s future husband?”

“That’s whom she’s marrying—Lord Gareth. I wonder if she’ll be as sympathetic a listener as you were, Franny.”

Frances felt herself getting dizzy and thought she’d faint. It couldn’t possibly . . . it was too ridiculous. All she knew right then was that she had to be alone. “Will you excuse me? I overindulged in the venison. Aunt Felicity always said game meats were unwholesome for young women. Just let me lie down for a few moments.”

As Charles looked on with concern, Mary practically carried Frances to the room that was still kept as her bedroom for when she stayed over. Frances managed to make it to the bed and wait until the door was closed before bursting into tears.

“How could he have . . . the things he said and promised and told me . . .” It seemed like some great cosmic joke that she had met the only person in London who she felt could fully appreciate her, only to have that dream yanked away by Claire Chillingford.

“What he did was unspeakable,” said Mary. “Charles said he never quite trusted Lord Gareth, and now we know why. To do that to anyone, but especially you, dear Franny . . .”

Every conversation, every word they had exchanged, was nothing but a temporary amusement for him, and the kisses were just base lust, Frances realized. She was disgusted with herself for not seeing through the charade.

Charles rapped on the door.

“I’ll be fine. Tell him it’s just a woman’s problem.” She smiled through her tears. “Men never want to hear about that.”

Mary slipped out the door and tried to keep her voice down, but Frances could still hear them. It wouldn’t take Charles long to figure out that this wasn’t about eating too much venison.

“It’s that Lord Gareth, isn’t it? He played with Franny’s heart. As soon as I mentioned his name—”

“Charles, Franny may have become emotionally tangled with him. The man is charming. Don’t overreact. I’m sure Franny will recover in a day or two.”

“Did he make promises to her? Because I will publicly horsewhip him.” Then the old argument started. “If Frances lived at home, like a young woman should, I would’ve seen this coming and headed it off. There are jokes around the club about all the ladies he’s romanced. What could anyone expect? If I had been around while this developed—”

But Mary broke in, unusually sharply for her. “Frances has made the decision to lead her own life, with the triumphs and defeats that come with such a choice. And so far, the former far outnumber the latter. And if I know Franny, she’ll turn this defeat into a victory too. The last thing a girl wants right now is a brother saying, ‘I told you so.’ Go back downstairs and have another glass of port and a cigar.”

And with that, Mary turned away from her astonished husband and reentered the room.

“I’m afraid you heard all that,” she said.

“If you can give speeches like that, you should be in Parliament,” said Frances. “Thank you.”

“You flatter me. Would you like to spend the night here?”

“That’s sweet of you. But I have plenty to keep me busy tomorrow. It’s another soup kitchen tomorrow night.”

“Can’t someone else take your place? Give you a quiet evening?”

At that, color came into Frances’s cheeks. She felt something else pushing away the hurt, at least for now. The Seaforths didn’t wallow in emotion, she remembered. “It will do me good. Down at the hall, everyone’s heart is broken. Perhaps I need reminding there are worse things in life than being courted by a cad.”

At that, Mary hugged Frances. “You really are the best person I know.”

Mallow was summoned from downstairs to help her mistress rearrange herself before leaving. Seeing the remnants of tear tracks, Mallow guessed what had happened but said nothing direct.

“I am sorry you are unwell, my lady.”

“It’s not really that. I had some bad news about Lord Gareth Blaine.”

“I hope he has not come to any harm, my lady.”

“I hope he has,” said Frances with some warmth. “He was toying with me. That’s all I have to say about that.”

Mallow was upset for Lady Frances, but she had always thought there was something a little too cocksure about him. At any rate, there was only one thing to say.

“Yes, my lady.”

Charles dispatched a footman to fetch a hansom after Frances refused his offer of the family car and chauffeur to take her and Mallow home. Frances just tucked herself into a corner of the cab and said nothing. Mallow considered some advice Miss Garritty had given her about taking care of one’s lady during “emotional disturbances.” The ability to soothe a mistress in trying times was what separated the merely competent lady’s maid from the superior lady’s maid.

Mallow cleared her throat, and Frances opened her eyes. “If I may suggest, my lady, you might feel better if we didn’t go directly home.”

“Where do you suggest we go at this hour? Tell the driver to take us round and round London?” Lady Frances had never been impatient with her like that.

“I have an idea, my lady.”

Frances’s eyes got wider, but she said nothing. Her ladyship was too curious to say no. Mallow stuck her head out. “Driver, I have a new address for you.” And she rattled it off.

“Very good, miss,” said the driver.

“Soho,” said Frances. “That address you gave is in Soho, isn’t it? I’ve been there, and I can’t imagine what I would like to see at this hour.”

Of course Lady Frances had been there. It was the raffish haunt of writers and artists, and Mallow was sure her ladyship
had met with residents there who would never be admitted to the drawing rooms in Belgravia and Mayfair.

But she was equally sure her ladyship had not been where they were going tonight.

“I trust you will find our trip entertaining, my lady,” said Mallow, and Frances smiled despite her sad feelings. She had sprung enough surprises on Mallow; she would be inclined to allow a surprise in return.

Mallow had some reservations about what she was doing. It was taking a bit of a liberty for a lady’s maid. She felt even more nervous when the cab stopped, at her direction, in front of a rather seedy-looking tea shop. It had seemed so fine when she was a little girl, before she had taken up residence in one of London’s great houses.