Death on the Sapphire: A Lady Frances Ffolkes Mystery (9 page)

“But after all this time? The war ended several years ago. And we won—that should’ve settled everything.”

But Charles shook his head. “There had been too much embarrassment, too many ill-planned ventures, too much confusion in learning a new kind of warfare. Even years later, the Sapphire River debacle remains a sensitive point. That whole wretched war. Know this, dear sister, and never forget: we didn’t win that war. The Boers lost, but we didn’t win.” He gave his sister a look. “I know you want to help the Colcombe family. For their sake, for Danny’s memory. But do be careful, Franny.”

She prepared a smart response to tell him to stop being so overprotective, but then she saw real concern and bit back her remark.

“I promise to be careful. But surely there’s no danger in speaking with some old government hands, those who were in power back then. Someone with stories to tell.”

Charles laughed. “And they’re just going to admit to you that they were authors of a military disaster.”

“It’s been some years. Someone may give up some information, let something slip, give up another name. As you know, I can be very persuasive.”

“No, Franny. You’re not going to march through Whitehall making a spectacle of yourself.”

“Oh yes I will. But Charles,” she sweetened her voice, “you know everyone, you and Father. There was someone in the
government who knew. And if you give me a name, I won’t have to march all over Whitehall.”

Charles sighed. “Oh, very well. Do you know Lord Ashton Crossley?”

“I know the name, but nothing about him. Was he in the War Office?”

“He had no position. But he wielded great power behind the scenes. If anyone knows, he does, and because he was unofficial, no personal embarrassment would attach to him. But I don’t even know why I tell you. He won’t see you.”

“He will if you write me an introduction.”

Charles laughed again. “Franny, use your head. He’s a staunch Conservative, and we’re Seaforths. An introduction from us? He’d toss it in the fire. But if anyone can get past his front door, you can. Now that’s all, Franny. Go embarrass yourself if you want, but don’t blame me.”

Frances just gave her brother a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry. As the phrase goes, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

Mr. McDonald knocked on the door to remind his lordship that it was time to prepare for the meeting. Charles told his sister to be good as she took her leave, and she found herself lost in thought about tight-lipped police officers, secret service agents operating in the dark, and soldiers killing and dying in the African heat.

F
rances made the next day fun for Mallow. That evening was the Moore dinner party, and Mallow was delighted to dress her ladyship up. Frances rarely attended formal events, so Mallow hardly ever got to help Frances get into an elaborate ball gown and choose jewelry.

For Mallow, the day started early, choosing the right dress and thinking about her ladyship’s hair, which was enough to drive Frances to distraction.

“It isn’t until evening, and we haven’t even had breakfast yet.” Mallow looked so disappointed, Frances took pity on her. “How about this? I have another committee meeting this morning and then—” and then a meeting with the mysterious Colonel Mountjoy, but no need to tell Mallow that. “And then I’ll be home. So go through all my clothes. Consider jewelry. And we’ll have all afternoon to choose.” And happily, Mallow agreed.

That morning’s meeting with the Ladies’ Educational Improvement Club focused on trying to increase opportunities for education and training for poor youth in London. Frances remembered her cousin Susan had married a man “in trade,” to the family’s shock. He was a builder and had made lots of money. Perhaps he
could be persuaded to lend some of his carpenters and bricklayers to teach the unfortunates? Frances reasoned he’d want to oblige his noble-born in-laws. After some discussion, of course.

“Oh really, do you think he’d listen to you?” asked the committee chairwoman, Lady Anthea Trent.

“Yes,” said Frances, thinking of Superintendent Maples. “In the end, people usually do.” She wrote it down in her notebook and then, with the meeting adjourned, left for the Military Club.

The club porter gave her full deference, or as much deference as even a well-born woman would ever get at a gentleman’s club. She asked for Colonel Mountjoy. The porter said he would check if the colonel was present and then showed her into a room for visitors. It was comfortable but separate from the main rooms.
Now here was something to change
, thought Frances.
These clubs, as much as Parliament—perhaps even more—served as seats of power. How about opening these clubs to women?

Parliament would probably be easier. She reflected on when Charles would talk about the Crimean War, a war fought before high-powered rifles in the days of cavalry charges. But there were old officers in this club who fought in that war, and they would not change easily.

The door opened to admit an impeccable man. His suit was beautifully cut for his large frame. He sported a neatly trimmed military-style mustache that partially covered a generous smile, and when he spoke, his voice was a warm baritone.

“Lady Frances? I am Colonel Zachery Mountjoy. Thank you so much for coming. But first I owe you apologies for dragging you here. For propriety’s sake, I thought this would be better than your residence or mine.” The colonel knew his manners. “Your brother is also a member here, although I know his government duties spare him little time. I only know him by sight, but he enjoys a reputation here as a fine officer and a highly effective member of the government.”

The words poured out smoothly. Frances thought to match them. “How kind of you, Colonel. Actually, although we haven’t met, your face is familiar. I recall that you attended Daniel’s funeral.” He had been noted as an “unidentified officer” because of his bearing—Kat hadn’t been able to remember his name.

He seemed surprised, but only for a moment. “Very good, Lady Frances. You have a good eye for faces. Yes, I believe the military fraternity should turn out when a brother officer passes, especially when he was a hero like Colcombe. I paid a condolence call later as well to Mrs. Colcombe.” His name had probably gone in one of Mrs. Colcombe’s ears and out the other.

“All that does you credit. Thank you for attending, on behalf of the Colcombes. But I admit I was a little surprised to get your note, and I look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

“To start with, I just want to say, on behalf of so many soldiers, thank you for all the help you’ve given the Colcombe family. I’m afraid I knew Colcombe only by reputation, but I was aware of his exploits in South Africa. His family deserves well. I am glad they have friends like you. I understand you’ve been helping them with a manuscript Colcombe lost?”

“Did you speak with the Colcombes? I didn’t know anyone else was aware I was helping them.”

Mountjoy smiled, a little paternally, which irritated Frances.

“It’s very hard to keep secrets in as tight a community as London. I’ve heard a certain Inspector Eastley has been searching for it.”

“I hadn’t realized that. Would it be rude for me to ask what your interest is?”

Mountjoy laughed. “A perfectly fair question. My interest is purely philanthropic. As an old soldier myself, I keep an open ear and open eye for any of the King’s men who have run into difficulties. There was much talk about poor Colcombe. I made a few inquiries, quietly, of course, to make sure he hadn’t left them in financial trouble and that they were being well advised.”

Charles had done that, Frances knew. He went over family affairs in their solicitors’ offices. It was interesting that Mountjoy had looked into it as well. Purely out of goodness? He was in the Secret Service after all.

“But about the manuscript. Frankly, I don’t know what happened to it. But Colcombe had been talking about war memoirs, and that doesn’t always please everyone. Many things didn’t go well in South Africa. I don’t need to tell you, Lady Frances, that by the end, the public was disgusted with the war, with its cost not only in money but in soldiers’ lives and the devastation it had wreaked in that country.”

“The Seaforths have always been in public service. I remember the talk in our house.”

The colonel nodded. “Men in the government saw careers damaged or ruined. And no one wanted to be reminded of what had happened. And perhaps, if Colcombe’s manuscript came out, it would cause more damage. No telling what was in it, and no telling whom it would upset.”

“Are you warning me to stop looking for it, Colonel? To not cooperate with the police?”

Mountjoy threw up his hands and laughed again. “Warning you? This is England, my lady, not some mythic land in a gothic novel. Of course not. It’s really just a matter of tactics. Personally, I don’t think it was destroyed—it’s too valuable. Someone may want to read it—and then return it or even publicize it. If you chase it, and they know you’re chasing it, it becomes more valuable. Someone may hold onto it longer, thinking he can make even greater use of it for political purposes, sale, or even blackmail. When I was a boy, my lady, my grandmother had a ginger tabby. When I chased him, he ran. But when I sat quietly, he’d come and crawl into my lap.”

Frances nodded.

“So that is my advice—and not my warning—Lady Frances. You called in Scotland Yard, and while in retrospect that
might not have been the most strategic move, what’s done is done. There’s no point, however, in encouraging them, if you get my drift.”

“So you’re saying that the sooner this calms down, the sooner the manuscript might make its way back?”

Again, Mountjoy threw up his hands. “I couldn’t phrase it better myself, my lady. I am so pleased that we understand each other.” He stood to indicate the discussion was over. “I won’t keep you any longer. But if you or the Colcombes have any questions, here is my card. It has just my club address, since this is where I can usually be found, but I wrote my home address on the back, just in case you need to reach me urgently. And one more thing—if you do hear anything, just let me know, without acting first, of course, and I’ll have a discreet word around town.”

Frances pasted a smile on her face and gave Colonel Mountjoy her hand. “You’ve been too kind,” she said.

“Please, let me see you into a hansom,” said Mountjoy.

“That’s quite all right. I’m sure the club porter can get me one.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Frances. Your brother is a fellow club member—I can do no less.”

He indeed hailed a cab for her. The door slammed, and she was off, back to Miss Plimsoll’s. The exchange played again and again in her head. He was Secret Service. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t genuinely being thoughtful. Two serious agencies—the Secret Service and Special Branch—with interest in the same manuscript. But unlike Inspector Eastley, Colonel Mountjoy didn’t question her. He didn’t seem to care about finding it, so maybe he really did want to help out.

Part of her confusion centered on social class, she realized, thinking now about what her brother said about agency rivalry. Men like Mountjoy, the officer class, in the same club as her brother. It wouldn’t be a surprise to see him at a social event.
Should she tell Eastley about Mountjoy’s interest? Or would that make it worse?

Frances wasn’t sure why, but she found it irritating that Mountjoy had sought her out to discuss the manuscript. He seemed to know a lot and was vague on how he came by this knowledge. Simple kindness didn’t seem sufficient for his interest, but maybe she was being cynical.

Once home, Frances forced herself to put the Colcombe manuscript out of her mind and catch up on both her personal correspondences and letters on behalf of various clubs and committees. After lunch, she took a nap; these parties lasted well into the night, and she wanted to be fresh. Mallow gently woke her in plenty of time and then helped her into the waiting dress and did her hair. Mallow had a lot of opinions on what would best work for her ladyship’s complexion, hair color, and face shape and wasn’t shy about vocalizing them.

“Oh, my lady, you do look grand, if I say so myself. You’ll turn all the heads.”

“It’s your work, Mallow. Nicely done.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said Mallow. Frances glanced at her maid—she was all pink, the way she was when she was pleased with herself. Why shouldn’t she be pleased—she had done her mistress proud.

“I will admit that every once in a while, it is fun to get you truly dressed up, my lady.”

“And I admit, every once in a while, I like getting dressed up. I am sorry I don’t give you a chance to dress me up more often. If you worked for another lady, you’d have more of an opportunity.”

“That’s quite all right, my lady. There’s plenty to keep me busy.”

Frances laughed. “But what if I meet a duke tonight, Mallow, and because I behave myself, for once, he proposes. I become mistress of a great house, and you become lady’s maid to a duchess. A huge town house and a country estate instead of
a little hotel suite and balls every week. Oh, but I’m just being silly. Now what about a hat . . . ?”

But she had put some ideas into Mallow’s head. She enjoyed the prestige of being a maid to an aristocratic lady, but it might be nice to be in a great house. What if Lady Frances did marry well? Mallow imagined herself in a London town house, full of junior maids who had to defer to her. Maybe someday she would even become a housekeeper, the highest rank a female servant could aspire to. She’d be Mrs. Mallow then—housekeepers were always called “Mrs.” as a mark of great respect. A housekeeper in a ducal household—then maids in the house would have to serve her tea while she sat . . .

“Lost in thought, Mallow?” said Frances with a smile.

“I’m very sorry, my lady,” said Mallow. It didn’t do to daydream.

“Not at all, it was entirely my fault for starting it. Yes, that goes nicely with my dress. Good choice.” Frances glanced at herself in the mirror again. Then she sighed.

“Remember when we went to my cousin’s country party in Lincolnshire last summer?” she said. “It was so hot, and I persuaded you slip outside with me so we could cool our feet in the pond late at night.”

Mallow remembered. She had been afraid at first. A city girl born and bred, she found the country so dark and too quiet. She imagined wolves hiding behind every tree. But oh, it was so delicious in the pond, and she followed her ladyship’s example, lifting her skirts and slipping into the water up to her knees. Lady Frances had gossiped to her maid about the other guests, and Mallow had giggled as Lady Frances mimicked them.

“Oh, go on, my lady,” she had laughed.

“It’s true, Mallow, every word.”

Frances looked at her maid and brought her back to the present. “You do know, Mallow, that if I became a duchess, you and I could never cool our feet in a pond again.”

Now Mallow sighed, too. “Yes, my lady.”