Death on the Sapphire: A Lady Frances Ffolkes Mystery (3 page)

“It was right here,” said Kat, showing her a blank space.

“Are you sure? There seem to be so many manuscripts on the shelf.”

“Yes. It was that spot, set a little aside. As for the rest of these—” She laughed lightly. “In recent months, he had the idea of getting involved in theater, perhaps producing plays. He had friends who were writers and artists, and he was collecting plays to see if something amused him. Mother was horrified.”

“I’m sure she was,” said Frances. It was fine to attend plays, but theatrical work was not quite respectable. “I know Charles mentioned it to me, and he encouraged it. He was pleased to see Danny take an interest in something. Anyway, we have our work cut out for us. We’re going to search every inch of this office. Kat, look at that side. Mallow, over there. I’ll look here.” The three women began, sorting through whatever papers were still in the office.

“You sound so . . . organized,” said Kat admiringly.

“I’ve pored over manuscripts in libraries and sought out obscure books on shelves when I was at college,” she said. Kat looked even more impressed.

They worked in silence for a while, carefully reviewing each sheet of paper but not finding any sign of the missing manuscript. However, at one point, Mallow came over to Frances.

“I found something, my lady, stuck between what seems to be a pile of statements from Major Colcombe’s wine merchant.”
She paused, to make sure Kat was absorbed in her own papers and not paying attention. “There were a lot of them, my lady.” Mallow came from a family that frowned on drink, but Frances was aware that Danny, like his father before him, appreciated fine wine.

Frances looked over the torn scrap of paper Mallow handed her. It was clearly not a liquor bill—perhaps it had been shoved into the untidy pile by accident. The heavy ecru paper was commonly used in law offices, Frances knew from her own dealings with solicitors. And the beautiful, masculine handwriting could only have come from a well-trained clerk: “Confirmation of transfer of £500 from the account of Daniel Colcombe to the account of D. Trega—”

It was a pity that so much had been torn away—it might’ve had the solicitors’ name and address and the rest of the payee’s name. Danny probably had meant to just read the confirmation and then throw it out after tearing it up. But one part got shuffled into his wine merchant accounts instead of the wastepaper basket.

“Good find, Mallow. If we hadn’t searched, it would’ve been disposed of with these old bills.” She stepped over to where Kat was working. “I found a mention here of someone who may have been a friend of your brother’s, D. Trega. Maybe ‘Tregallis,’ an old Cornish name.”

“Danny had a lot of friends,” she said, and then turned a little pink. “A lot of lady friends.” He certainly did, thought Frances. “There was also Captain Dennis, but his surname was Burden. And when he came back from South Africa, he had a nurse named Dorothy. Nurse Dot, we called her. But her surname was Jones, not Tregallis. And neither was Cornish.”

Frances decided to keep the paper for now. The office search yielded nothing else. Frances then marched everyone up to Charles’s bedroom, but it was very spare, and a search there showed nothing either.

“I’m so sorry to have put you to all this trouble,” said Kat.

“I didn’t expect to find anything,” said Frances. “I just wanted to be sure.” Frances had wanted to assume that Kat had simply been confused, but the manuscript was quite obviously gone.

“We are going to sit and be logical,” said Frances, and the two women followed her lead and took a chair. Mallow was used to that expression from Lady Frances, which Frances had picked up from a philosophy professor at college.

“We can conclude the manuscript did not disappear while Daniel was still alive, or he would’ve said something. So it disappeared after his death. But how soon? Kat, when was the last time we are sure the manuscript was seen? I know this brings back unpleasant memories, but we need to establish that.”

Kat thought silently, and Frances was grateful she was mastering herself and not getting upset.

“I never went into the study after that day when Charles showed me the manuscript.”

“Very well. Have you spoken to any of the servants—to your butler, Bellman?”

“Bellman? No. You mean he might—?”

“Servants know all kinds of things. Could you ring for him?”

Bellman had been in Colcombe service for a long time. Too long. He walked slowly and a little stiffly. But his back was straight and his eyes still seemed sharp. The master’s violent death had probably hit him very hard. Frances wondered if it might be time for a dignified and pleasant retirement—perhaps a cottage in the country on Colcombe land.

“Bellman, Lady Frances is helping me find Mr. Daniel’s manuscript. As I mentioned yesterday, it has gone missing.”

“And I am very sorry for that, miss.”

“Oh, no one blames you. But you can help.”

But there was no need for a crowd, concluded Frances. “Mallow, why don’t you take Miss Colcombe back to her room? Go through her clothes with her and choose several sober outfits for
around the house. Then call my dressmaker and arrange for her to come here so she can measure Miss Colcombe for a new black outfit, dignified but simple and suitable to receive callers in.”

Kat looked a little surprised but said nothing.

“Yes, my lady,” said Mallow.

“I will speak with Bellman.”

Mallow and Kat left, and then Frances caused another shock by asking the elderly man to sit. Servants did not sit in the presence of their employers or their employers’ guests.

“But, Bellman, as you see, I am rather short, and it is difficult to talk up to you,” she said with what she hoped was a welcoming smile. Bellman rewarded her with a ghost of a smile too and then perched on a chair, trying not to make himself too comfortable.

There was nothing wrong with the man’s memory. After the police were done, he had taken a look around the room and had particularly noted the manuscript. He was sure, because Major Daniel had made it clear that the maids were not to touch anything on the “personal” shelves, not even to dust. Major Daniel said he didn’t want those papers disturbed, and at the time, Bellman had made a particular note of the manuscript.

“And my eye went to it, my lady, I am sure of that. Usually, Major Daniel only had a few letters there. But that large manuscript could not be missed.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

“May fifteenth, my lady.”

“How can you be so sure of the date?”

“The solicitors were very formal, my lady. They needed Mrs. Colcombe to sign papers acknowledging that they were done with Major Daniel’s room. Two witnesses were needed, and Mrs. Habbers—our cook—and I served in that capacity.”

Poor Kat. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask Bellman, who could’ve reassured her that neither the police nor solicitors had removed it. The advantages of a college education—Frances
hadn’t been allowed to say, “I don’t know.” She was sent to the college library until she did know.

Bellman had made sure the manuscript was still in the personal section when the solicitors had left. He had locked the door and told both Mrs. Colcombe and Miss Katherine he had the key should they ever want access to the room. The key was kept in his pantry, but no one asked for it until earlier in the week, when Miss Katherine requested it and, as he found later, the manuscript was missing.

“What did you think happened to it?”

“I couldn’t say, my lady. A professional thief, perhaps, though nothing of value was removed from this house at any time.”

“Could one of the servants have taken it?”

Bellman seemed a little ruffled at that, thought a moment, and said, “They have all been with us some years and have good characters. Besides, my lady, the manuscript had no financial value. Its loss only disturbs the family.” He paused. “We are all very fond of them, my lady.”

It was a matter of reasoning. Danny’s writings disappeared between May 15 and June 20, when Kat walked into the room. It was possible someone from the outside had broken into the house and then into the study, but breaking into an occupied house was no easy feat. And Frances had noticed that the study windows were well bolted. She always saw things like that. The way her eyes would dart around had driven her nannies and governesses mad, but for Frances, it had just been a way to relieve boredom. Her mother had once cheerfully asked her father, “Dear, you’re in the Foreign Office, and as Frances seems to notice everything, couldn’t you get her a job as a spy?”

So if servants and burglars were ruled out, that meant the manuscript was taken by someone who had been admitted to the house. Frances had no illusions about that study door lock. It was a worn, old-fashioned piece of hardware, like one she remembered in her grandfather’s house. At age fifteen, her cousin
Stephen had managed to pick it and sample the good brandy. For the boy’s sake, Frances had hoped it had been worth the beating grandfather had administered. No, a lock like that would keep out someone casual, but not someone determined.

“Just one more thing, Bellman. Would it be possible to assemble a list of people who visited the house during this period? That is, after the master’s death but before Miss Katherine noted it missing?”

Bellman sighed. “I’m afraid, my lady, that that the house was in something of a turmoil in the days and weeks following the master’s death. Large numbers of people came and went, often to pay their respects to Miss Katherine or the mistress, and it was hard to keep track of everyone. At times, things were a little more . . . informal than expected.” He thought for a minute. “Major Daniel led a somewhat unceremonious life, my lady, and we adjusted accordingly. Indeed, it was the master’s practice to receive late-night visitors by opening the door himself, and I’m afraid that set a certain tone.” He sounded a little aggrieved that things should be so. No doubt when Danny’s father had been alive, it had not been so.

Frances saw her nice system crumbling. There was no telling who came and went. Frances had long known Danny Colcombe—this casual life was not all that surprising and no doubt had put its stamp on the way the house was run. She imagined a steady stream of people coming in and out of the house, with Kat letting people in herself, or more likely guests themselves letting other guests come and go, with the aged Bellman unable to keep up or even keep track. It would be easy for someone to sneak away, pick the lock quickly, and grab the manuscript.

She stood, and Bellman creakily stood too. “Thank you, Bellman. You have been very helpful.”

“I am glad to be of service, my lady. And if I may be so bold, thank you, on behalf of the staff, for helping Miss Katherine in these difficult times.”

Bellman went about his duties elsewhere in the house, and Frances stayed a while longer in the room. Very well, a little setback, but not a fatal one. She closed her eyes and found herself back in her old dormitory room.
It could be anyone, couldn’t it? No, it would have to be someone who knew the house and where to find the manuscript, not a casual thief. Someone who knew the family, a friend, or at least an acquaintance. Someone who had been there before . . .

Upstairs, Kat and Mallow had made great progress in the brief time. Mallow had identified three outfits that, while not actually passing a test for “mourning,” were somber enough for wearing around the house. And her ladyship’s dressmaker would be coming around tomorrow. God knows what ancient and unfashionable establishment Mrs. Colcombe patronized for herself and her daughter. Kat seemed at peace.

“Your butler was of great help, and now I just need a few more things from you.”

“Do you think you can find it?”

“I will have to do a little research.” She saw pen and paper on a small desk in the bedroom. “Kat, you and I are going to make a list of everyone who came to the funeral.”

It took about an hour, recalling names. It became a sort of game, because Frances’s sharp eyes had taken in faces, which she described to Kat, who often could put a name to them, such as brother officers, old school friends, more Bohemian types, and so on. It wasn’t absolutely complete, of course, but very good. Kat had fully cooperated but seemed rather mystified. No matter, thought Frances.

One man stood out in particular in Frances’s memory, a middle-aged man in a somewhat wrinkled suit that no decent valet would’ve let out of the house. Frances had assumed he was one of Danny’s friends from a less fashionable part of town, but although the man watched everyone keenly, besides a quick
murmur of sympathy, he had seemingly spoken to no one. Kat remembered him too but had no idea who he was.

“We’ll put him down as Mr. Rumpled for now,” said Frances, and Kat giggled. They finished the list, then made an extra copy—Kat didn’t ask why and Frances didn’t explain.

“And now, Kat, we’re going to take our leave. But I’ll keep you informed.” Kat showered Frances with gratitude, and Frances realized it was as much for the companionship as for the help with the manuscript. She resolved to visit again soon and knew that Mary would be pleased to come as well.

“I am glad we can help, Kat. Your brother . . . well, Danny was special to all of us.” She paused. “He was special to me.”