Death Among Rubies (12 page)

They sat in silence for a while, lost in thought. Then Mme. Aubert smiled, and said, “But you, Lady Frances. You are in no rush to get married?”

“I am unconventional. That’s how my father put the best face on it.”

“Your brother spoke earlier today with my husband. I got a sense he is worried about you.”

Frances laughed. “He is like my father.”

“Men. Busy and important men,” said Mme. Aubert. “They just want us to be safe—and married. You choose not to marry, not because you have no suitors, but because you value your independence too much.”

Frances tried to control her reaction, to keep Mme. Aubert from seeing just how close to the truth she was.

“But, Lady Frances, despite the annoyance you no doubt feel about your brother fussing over you, at least you have the
satisfaction of knowing that although your brother’s French is as good as yours, your accent is better.”

And Frances laughed again. “Thank you, Madame. And may I ask, do you have children?”

“Three sons. They are wonderful boys.” She smiled wryly. “And my husband is very interested in them. And now, I should find my husband. Again, Lady Frances, it has been a pleasure.”

With Mme. Aubert’s comments flowing through her mind, Frances sought out Gwen to see how she was doing. She came across Tommie quietly leaving Gwen’s bedroom and putting her finger to her lips.

“I just got her down. She was making an awful fuss, but eventually fell off—let’s find somewhere to talk.”

They headed toward the solar, which was empty, and she continued after they sat down. “The funeral took a lot out of her. And now she’s saying she doesn’t want to see the solicitor for the reading of the will, that she can’t face it.”

“Then we will face it with her,” said Frances.

“But that’s quite against the rules. Only those who are named in the will can be present for the reading.”

“Oh, but as the saying goes, ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’” Frances struck a histrionic pose. “Dear Mr. Solicitor, my great friend Gwendolyn, with no father, brother, or husband to support her, begs your indulgence and hopes you will stretch the rule to let her two good friends sit with her at this solemn legal reading.”

Tommie laughed. “You’re terrible,” she said. “And yet, I’m sure it will work.”

And so it did. When Gwen awoke, Frances was there to instantly soothe her and promise that she and Tommie would accompany her in her meeting.

“Really?” she asked.

“Absolutely. Just follow my lead.” And arm in arm, the three women headed to the drawing room, where servants were arranging the chairs. The solicitor was already there, arranging papers on a table. Frances delivered her lines perfectly, and was aware that Tommie was struggling not to laugh again.

Not that the solicitor, who introduced himself as Neville Small, seemed to notice. He was old and old-fashioned, in a well-made but out-of-date suit. He was no proof against ladies appealing to his sense of strength and chivalry.

“Well, my ladies, it’s not quite proper—” he smiled indulgently. “But in this case, I think it will be quite all right if your friends accompany you. But please, no talking,” he said, speaking to them as if they were children. In London, political men and men of business knew the value of sophisticated women, even if they weren’t open about admitting it. But in the country, it was different. No one would be less likely to work with young women than a rural solicitor. Indeed, Frances wanted to strike him. But this was not the time or place to make a stand for women’s rights.

They took three seats up front, and gradually others who had been summoned showed up: Mrs. Blake and her son Christopher—who asked Gwen how she was doing—and some senior and long-term servants. Everyone quietly took their seats.

Mr. Small cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for coming. Sir Calleford left a fairly simple will, so this shouldn’t take very long.” He started by announcing some legacies for the servants, which Frances thought were very generous. The butler and cook, among others, could retire on their legacies, and seemed suitably grateful.

“If there are no questions,” said Mr. Small, “the staff may leave, so I can continue just with the family.” And a moment later, the room was almost empty.

“Very well,” said Mr. Small. “The rest is also very simple.” He read directly from the will: “To my cousin-by-marriage and dear friend, Phoebe Blake, I leave one thousand pounds in
gratitude for years of selfless help, as well as the Gainsborough portrait of my ancestor, Lady Caroline Marchand, which she has always admired.” The financial gift was also generous, Frances knew, and a Gainsborough was extremely valuable.

At that, the cool Mrs. Blake broke down and cried into her hands. Christopher gently soothed his mother, while Mr. Small diplomatically paused.

“To my nephew, Christopher Blake, in grateful recognition of his excellent job in running the farmlands, I also leave one thousand pounds, plus the remaining bottles of my best port, which he has always enjoyed with me.”

Christopher smiled, and just shook his head. “Good show, uncle. I’ll drink to your memory every time I have some.”

“The rest of the estate is left to you, Miss Kestrel. That is, this house, all the lands, and the invested monies.” He explained patiently. “It is in trust. It’s yours, but I am a trustee. That means I will supervise everything on your behalf, until you get married. I manage the estate and pay you an allowance for your personal needs, as your father did. You have nothing to worry about,” he added with a paternal smile.

Gwen just nodded. Frances doubted she understood what was going on. But one thing Frances had had her fill of was Mr. Small’s patronizing tone. And knowing that she shouldn’t, Frances spoke anyway.

“I think Miss Kestrel would benefit from knowing the size of the estate and its financial position,” said Frances.

Mr. Small glared at her. Indeed, everyone took notice: Gwen’s eyes grew wide, and Tommie gave a small smile. Mrs. Blake raised an eyebrow and Christopher Blake openly grinned.

“Thank you, Lady Frances, for explaining how my job should be done.” His voice was full of sarcasm, which she ignored. He picked up his pen, and there was silence in the room except for the scratching.

“This, Miss Kestrel, is the current valuation of the house and grounds, and your father’s investments, minus the recent legacies.
The next line is the income, and the final line the expenses. It should be clear the estate is in a sound financial position.” Gwen took the paper and murmured a thanks.

However, Frances wasn’t finished. “And I know Miss Kestrel would appreciate knowing when she can review the books.”

This time, there were gasps all around.

“Excuse me?” asked Mr. Small. “You are here as a favor. You shouldn’t even be speaking.”

“It’s just as well I am here, Mr. Small. I know something of the law, and I know Miss Kestrel’s rights.”
Rights that would be easily granted if Gwen had a brother or husband.

She felt her heart beating. Everyone’s eyes were on her, and Mr. Small looked at her with pure contempt.

“You know something of law and finance, do you?”

“I am treasurer of the Ladies Christian Relief Guild in London, the largest ladies’ charitable agency in England. I work closely with both solicitors and chartered accountants, and my books balance to the penny. I would be happy to assist Miss Kestrel in reviewing the estate accounts under your care.”

Mr. Small wants to yell at me
, she realized. The only thing stopping from him losing his temper was the thought of how foolish he’d look.

“Lady Frances, I can only assume that the recent tragedy has unhinged you, or you would not be behaving like this.” He gathered his papers with more violence than was warranted. “If there are further questions, I can always be reached in my office. Miss Kestrel, again, my deepest condolences.” And with that, he walked quickly out of the room.

F
rances looked around again. Gwen and Tommie were simply astonished. Mr. Blake was still grinning. And Mrs. Blake was unreadable. In truth, Frances wasn’t embarrassed. She was proud of what she had done, making a stand for women’s rights. Why shouldn’t Gwen have the same access to her estate’s books as a male heir would?

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to observe some proprieties.

“I apologize for any upset I caused in your house,” she said to Mrs. Blake.

A thin smile. “Not at all, Lady Frances. As you said, you just asked for Gwen’s rights.” She then turned to Gwen. “My dear, I will be happy to work with Mr. Small on your behalf in the future so you won’t have to. I worked with him alongside your father. If you will excuse me now, I will see how Cook’s preparations for dinner are proceeding.” She stood up and left as well.

Christopher stood and bowed to Frances. “For putting that pompous bore in his place, you’ve earned my deepest respect. I said I’d drink to my uncle’s memory with his best port. I will drink to your health as well.”

“I am glad you approve, Mr. Blake,” she said.

“I do. Dear Cousin Gwen, you have chosen your friends well. I do not joke when I say that if this is how suffragists behave, you have my full support. And now, I just want to look in on the
Hardimans. A bit out of their element I’m afraid. I’ll see you at dinner.” And chuckling, he left the women alone.

“Well,” said Tommie. “Is it any wonder Mrs. Elkhorn and the rest of the suffrage group admire you so much?”

Frances turned a little pink and waved away the compliment. She turned to Gwen, who was still looking a little shocked.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, dear Gwen. The last thing you need is more disturbance today.” Gwen responded by hugging her.

“I didn’t understand what Mr. Small said or what you said either, but I am fortunate to have such fine friends. And that Aunt Phoebe said she would help. Would you like to see what Mr. Small gave me?” Frances took a look. If Mr. Small’s figures were accurate, the estate was indeed in a good position. It cost a fortune to run the house and grounds, but the investments were extensive.

“You have staunch allies, I promise,” said Frances. “Now, we have to decide what to do next.” She didn’t want to speak in front of Gwen, but she knew why those account books needed opening—and glancing at Tommie, she knew that her friend also knew why. Sir Calleford had been murdered, and money could be part of it.

“You mean, meet with Mr. Small again?” asked Gwen. “Or have Aunt Phoebe do it?”

“Oh no. He’s not going to be of any help at all. And we don’t want to put your aunt in the awkward position of questioning a man who has served the family for years. We have to make what is called in military circles a ‘strategic retreat.’ And then we call up reinforcements. May I use your telephone, Gwen? I need to reach London.”

“Of course. There’s no need even to ask.”

“Excellent. The only way to battle a solicitor is with a better one. And I know the best. For now, I think it would be a kindness to thank some of the locals who came today. Can I do that for you, as you’re so overwhelmed? On behalf of the family?
I particularly would like to visit Betsy Tanner, as she made so much effort.”

“That would be lovely Franny, thank you. Use the car, if you want. Also, Mrs. Tanner has a bit of a sweet tooth, and loves the ginger snaps the village baker makes. If you could bring her a box on my behalf?” And Frances said she would.

So Tommie took Gwen back to her room, and Frances placed a call.

She felt full of energy, and there was still plenty of time left in the day. Frances knew tomorrow would be busy, and there were people to speak with today while everything was fresh in their minds.

The first call would be to Betsy Tanner, the old servant. It was only half a mile to the village, but her feet were already hurting. She thought about the boots she had worn at the cottage with Hal. Solid footwear for men who worked.
Why should only men have comfortable boots? Of course, women were meant to merely sit around and be decorative.

But what would everyone think about her if she put them on now? What would Mallow say?
She smiled to herself as she thought of the last time she wore the boots, and decided to seek out the Kestrel chauffeur for his services as she was making calls on behalf of the family.

Betsy Tanner was spending her retirement years in a small cottage in what amounted to a tiny hamlet of grounds keeper and gamekeeper cottages. A sense of quiet hung over the place; most of the occupants had something to do, especially with the work for the master’s funeral, plus the ongoing work on the gardens.

The chauffeur had pointed her to the correct door, and Frances knocked. A girl of about twelve opened it.

“Hello, my name is Lady Frances Ffolkes. I’m here to see Mrs. Tanner.”

“Oh! I’ll see if she is in,” said the girl, using the phrasing suitable for the very best London houses. This girl had been trained well, even at her young age.

Frances waited in the entranceway, then was ushered into a small sitting room. Mrs. Tanner was ensconced in an old but comfortable chair. She had changed out of her good dress and was wearing something simple now. There was indeed a definite resemblance to the old queen, an imperiousness, but she had a welcoming expression nonetheless.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Tanner. I’m Lady Frances Ffolkes, a friend of Miss Kestrel’s, who asked me to extend her thanks to those who attended Sir Calleford’s funeral. She was very touched you took the effort to come.”

“Well, isn’t that nice, my lady,” she said in a voice heavy with the local accent.

“And Miss Kestrel asked me to bring you ginger snaps,” said Frances, holding up the box. Mrs. Tanner laughed.

“She never forgets, does she!” she said. “But please, my lady, take a seat. And excuse me for not getting up—it’s something of an effort at my age.” Frances dismissed her concerns. Mrs. Tanner then called for Dolly, and the girl returned. Mrs. Tanner asked her to put the biscuits on a plate and to bring in some tea, which the girl did quickly and efficiently.

“That girl has been well-trained,” said Frances.

“She is my great-granddaughter. And she should be good—I trained her,” she said proudly. “Someday I expect she’ll get a position at the great house. But first, her mother thinks it would be best if she had more schooling.” Mrs. Tanner clearly thought that was a waste of time.

“It’s not like the old days, I’m afraid,” said Frances. “There aren’t as many positions as there were in service. There are other opportunities for girls like Dolly, but they require some education.” Education for the poor, especially for girls, was a subject near and dear to Frances’s heart.

Mrs. Tanner pursed her lips.
It didn’t matter what your station in life was
, Frances concluded.
People didn’t like change. Especially the elderly.

“I daresay you’re right, my lady. It’s not like it was.” She took a ginger snap. “It was kind of Miss Gwendolyn to remember these, and kind of you to fetch them, my lady. I’ve known her since she was born, and since leaving for London she writes me every month from the city, the goings-on, what’s happening in society. And she brings me a cake at Christmas.”

How Mrs. Tanner must appreciate that. No longer in a servants’ hall, robbed of the gossip that servants loved, she no doubt looked forward eagerly to hearing the latest London scandals. That would be something to plumb—but first, Frances wanted some insights into Gwen from someone outside her family who knew her.

“I’ve only known Gwen for a few years. Can you tell me what she was like as a girl, since you’ve known her for so long?”

“Oh, that would be a pleasure, my lady. I can tell you she was always the sweetest girl, kind to everyone, even when people weren’t kind to her. She loved dogs and horses. And she always did what she was told, as best she could, my lady.”

Frances watched Mrs. Tanner’s eyes lose their focus as she returned to the past.

“When you said people weren’t kind to her—why would anyone be cruel to Gwen?”

Mrs. Tanner looked thoughtful. “Ffolkes,” she finally said.
Was her mind wandering?
“Lady Frances Ffolkes—I have that right, don’t I, my lady? Your father is Marquess of Seaforth. In government, he is.”

“Yes. He passed on some years ago. My brother holds the title now.” She watched the old lady closely. She had been wrong; her mind wasn’t wandering. She was at something, but wanted to find out something about Frances first.

“Of course. So your grandmother—no, great-grandmother—was Lady Helena Norwich, who married Viscount Bellmawr.”

Frances was astonished that Mrs. Tanner knew her family so well. But then, Mrs. Tanner probably had little to do these days other than revisit the past.

“Very good, Mrs. Tanner! Age has not diminished your memory.” The old servant looked very proud of herself. “I remember her in particular, my lady. She was here for the celebrations at the end of the Crimean War, some fifty years ago. A fine and gracious lady she was, I am happy to tell you.”

“So family lore has it,” said Frances. Mrs. Tanner nodded.

“If I may be so bold, my lady, may I ask why you’re here? Why you’re really here? It’s kind for you to call on Miss Gwen’s behalf, my lady, but there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Frances looked into the old woman’s eyes. There was a shrewdness there. Mrs. Tanner now looked at Frances as she would at a junior housemaid who had done a careless job dusting the drawing room knickknacks.

“What makes you ask that, Mrs. Tanner?”

“You’re one of the old families, Lady Frances. The Seaforths have been leaders for generations. I know I can talk to you, my lady.”
Ah, there it was. Another snobbish servant.
Frances was trustworthy because of her name. But there was more. “I wonder what a lady from a great family wants from an out-to-pasture servant such as myself?”

“You’re not out-to-pasture. You may not work, but you have knowledge. You have memories. And so you’re of more use to me than a score of maids and footmen.” Frances saw she’d have to trust Mrs. Tanner. And hope that Mrs. Tanner would trust her. “I am Gwen’s friend, and so is Miss Calvin, who also came up with her from London. I don’t know who else is her friend. Her father was killed. And someone has been spreading wicked stories about Gwen. I’m trying to find out who. And why.”

“Stories about Miss Gwen? It was ever so. I was just a housemaid in the house in 1837. I won’t forget that year, my lady, being the year Queen Victoria ascended to the throne. General Sir Robert Paddington owned an estate nearby, a frequent guest
he was. Stories starting flying. I hope I don’t embarrass you, my lady, but your name isn’t unknown here, and I don’t think much upsets you. But Sir Robert’s name was whispered—stories of late evening parties . . . with young men.” She shook her head. “When it became too much, he shot himself. It was the talk of the county for months.”

Frances leaned forward. “I don’t want Gwen to become the subject of gossip. I think you know that. I love Gwen like a sister. Stories or no stories, we will stand by her, Miss Calvin and I both. Her protection is my only concern. And I think you are the one—the only one—who can give me the stories that will help.”

Mrs. Tanner just looked for a while, thinking. When she had reached a decision, she continued. “As I said, Miss Gwendolyn was kind, but I’m afraid she was the butt of jokes. I’m too old to bandy words, my lady, so I’ll just say that as sweet as she was, she was never the smartest girl. It was easy for other children to fool her and tease her. Her only champion was her cousin, Mr. Christopher. Almost like brother and sister, they were. He was at his own house, but when he was around, no one dared show any disrespect to Miss Gwendolyn in his presence. A fine boy he was and fine man he became.”

“Do you think he’d make a good husband for her?” asked Frances. She watched Mrs. Tanner closely for a reaction—but she just laughed.

“Bless you, my lady. We all thought that a good idea and hoped for it, but that’s not to be. I think, as I said, they were raised almost like brother and sister. Nevertheless, I think Mrs. Blake had hopes, bringing the two branches of the family together, and the two estates. But still, I think she’d make some man a good wife, and hope she does soon.”

“Do you, Mrs. Tanner?” Frances spoke emphatically, and the old woman seemed a little confused.

“Well, yes, my lady. Not to a political family such as yours, but a solid country squire. They’ll hire a proper housekeeper.
I think Mrs. Blake will want to return home now. And Miss Gwendolyn will entertain in country style. I could see that, my lady. What else is there for a young lady like Miss Gwen except for marriage?”

“Of course. She may lack the companionship she had in London though. Perhaps her dear friend, Miss Calvin, would join her as a sort of companion?”
I threw out the bait
, thought Frances.
Will Mrs. Tanner bite?

“That might work very nicely, my lady. Miss Gwendolyn has written about her good friendship, and Miss Calvin, though I never met her, sounds like a young lady of sober sense. A good idea, my lady.” She fixed her eye on Frances. “But you spoke of rumors, my lady. There are always rumors. We are as God made us and you’ll get no judgment from me. What Miss Gwen does or feels is her own business. Not my place to comment on it. Still, one way or another, she’ll need a husband to run the great house, never mind feelings to the contrary.”