Death on the Sapphire (26 page)

“And thank you, my lady,” said a once-again cheerful Gladys, who left to see what other tasks Mrs. Scotley had for her.

“Nicely done, Mallow.” It was the last item. Frances could see the whole horrific episode now, with both noble and base motives leading to the same awful place.

“My lady?” asked Mallow, looking concerned.

As with the doctor, Frances had let her mind wander again. “I’m sorry Mallow—I’m being terribly rude today. First to Dr. Mallory and now to you. We’re almost done, you and I. Indeed, I was proved right: we have two criminals and two crimes, one of theft and one of murder. And we’re about to solve both of them.”

She thought of the so-helpful Secret Service colonel, who seemed to know everyone and everything. Everyone wanted something from Lady Frances—but him. He just wanted her to stop investigating, trying to keep her away from the police. But
he had overplayed his hand, treating her as a silly girl. She had never liked the colonel, and now she knew why.

He wasn’t a murderer, she concluded. That was another story. But he had a lot to answer for nonetheless.

Frances was lost in thought, but when she looked up, Mallow took heart again. This was the lady she knew, with a glint in those gray eyes, her chin up, and a set mouth.

“Enough of this, Mallow. We have work to do. We’ll have dinner soon, bundle up the general’s papers for the solicitors tomorrow, and catch the last train back home.” Frances looked around the suite. “This is a sad house, Mallow. It’s been sad for a while, I think. There’s no more we can do here. But for General Audendale, for Major Colcombe, for Private Barnstable, there is plenty to do in London.”

B
y afternoon the next day, Frances had bundled up all the documents for the solicitors, who sent a carriage to pick them up. She saw that Mrs. Scotley had everything else well in hand and promised Gladys again she’d find her a place.

Frances asked Mrs. Scotley to find Tredwell and have him drive them to the station, but the housekeeper sighed. “His leg took up with him badly again, my lady. It comes and goes, more and more as he gets on in years. I took the liberty of telling him to lie down in his cottage and arranged for young Ben Hazzlit, from the next farm over, to drive you. He’s waiting now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Scotley, for everything.”

“A pleasant journey to you, my lady, and you as well, Miss Mallow.”

Mr. Hazzlit was clearly tickled at transporting a titled lady and her maid and had given his wagon a good cleaning. He helped them on and off with all the flourish of a Renaissance courtier, which impressed Mallow and amused Frances. They were on the train, even as the sun set.

The dining car served a very nice late supper. Her ladyship ordered wine for both of them. Mallow had firm ideas on the evil of drink, but when people like her ladyship and her
family ordered wine—nothing vulgar like gin—it was perfectly respectable with a meal. And Mallow sipped it slowly.

“When we departed London, you left word at Miss Plimsoll’s that we would be going to Egdon Hall at Grenville?”

“Yes, my lady, as you told me to.”

Very good. The colonel might find this out. And panic.

It was late when they arrived, and Frances longed for her own bed, but she stopped at the small piecrust desk at Miss Plimsoll’s. Two letters awaited her. One was from Hal—she would open it upstairs. The other was in the sharp, strong letters of a decisive man.

Well, men in general and military men in particular did so enjoy protecting women. But she had just come back to London and had no intention of leaving for a while.

Frances smiled wryly. “Sometimes, Mallow, people aren’t who you think they are.”

Mallow often became confused when her ladyship started talking like that. Was she referring to the old general? A great and good man, his servants seemed to think, but as her ladyship said, you never could tell.

“Yes, my lady,” said Mallow.

Once upstairs, they quickly got ready for bed, and when she was finally under the covers, Frances opened Hal’s letter.

After such an emotion-filled couple of days, it was absolutely delicious to read a love letter in bed.

Right after breakfast the next morning, she called Hal’s office. The deferential clerk told her Mr. Wheaton was in conference with a client, but he took the message that Lady Frances Ffolkes was back in London and would call Mr. Wheaton later. “And please tell Mr. Wheaton it was a very profitable trip.”

After the phone call, Frances went back up to her room. Mallow had finished her breakfast and was quietly catching up on her sewing. She sat at her desk and toyed with her pen. She knew now. She knew everything, or close to it. But the next step seemed beyond her abilities. Frances smiled at the thought of Mrs. Elkhorn throwing up her arms and saying, “Lady Frances can’t figure something out? To think that I was present for such a historic moment!” She thought and jotted down some notes, then thought some more.

Deciding to take another tack, she turned to her maid. “Mallow, how was Tredwell below stairs? Was he upset, worried? Did he talk about leaving the household? He was ill when we departed, if you remember.”

Mallow pursed her lips. “I must say, my lady, that he could be a little sullen and was most impertinent when I sent him to fetch the doctor. He questioned your orders. I couldn’t believe my ears. I can’t imagine what your late mother would’ve done with such an impertinent servant.”

“Impertinence was the least of his sins,” said Frances with a look of deep sadness. “I’m sorry to say, but it seems our Sergeant Tredwell was also a murderer.”

“My lady . . . I don’t know what to say,” said Mallow.

“Neither do I. I have some notes to make and letters to write. And then you and I will talk further.”

“Very good, my lady.”

Mallow busied herself with domestic duties while Frances wrote away at her desk. A solid plan in motion, Frances wrote a
detailed note on her good stationery, emblazoned with the Seaforth coat of arms. It always commanded attention. She addressed it to Inspector Benjamin Eastley, Special Branch, Metropolitan Police Service, and then after a moment’s thought, wrote “personal and confidential” on it. She sealed the envelope and headed to the dining room, where the staff was already setting for lunch. She caught the eye of one of the waiters, who supplemented his income as a discreet and reliable messenger. Frances put the letter and some coins into his hand.

“Could you deliver this after you go off duty?” she asked.

He looked at the address and his eyes flickered, but that’s all the surprise he showed.

“It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

Back upstairs, she put her plan in motion. “Mallow, you know how the shop girls talk in the really fine stores. We’ve been to such stores dozens of times. Do you think you could imitate one of those girls on the telephone? That is, pretend?”

“I . . . I suppose so my lady.” What was this about? Even for Lady Frances, this was unusual.

“Good girl! I knew I could count on you. Now, I’d do this myself, but my accent is wrong. I need to find out when a servant is going to be absent. So here’s what you’ll have to say . . .”

A few minutes later, Frances and Mallow were downstairs in the phone room, dialing. Frances handed the speaker to Mallow.

“Is this the valet of Colonel Mountjoy? I would like to speak to your master about an important delivery of goods he has purchased,” said Mallow. She had it down perfect, the superior tone those shop girls used when speaking to servants.

Frances leaned in so she could hear the response too.

“I am the colonel’s valet. The master is not home. I can receive any deliveries. May I inquire where you’re calling from?”

Frances had not anticipated that, but Mallow was surprisingly equal to it.

“You may not,” she said. “I just need to know when you or your master will be available to receive the package during the day.”

“I am home during the day, except for brief periods to run errands for the master,” said the manservant a little stiffly. “And I have a half day off, which is tomorrow, so tomorrow afternoon will not be convenient.”

“Very good. We will give you some notice,” said Mallow, and she rang off.

“Oh, Mallow, that was perfect. Very nice. However, we have to work fast. If tomorrow is his half day, we must proceed now. Back upstairs to pick a dress.”

Frances had hoped to have a couple of days to plan, but perhaps it was better like this. If she gave it too much thought, her nerve might break.

“We’ll be making a call tomorrow. Take out the dress I wore for the Moores’ party again. No, even better, the deep-green one.”

Mallow blinked. Her ladyship never cared about dress before. And now, she was making a choice that was . . . inappropriate. “For a daytime call, my lady? If I may say, it’s rather ornate. It’s more suited to a formal dinner engagement.”

“Exactly, Mallow. I want to be a little bit . . . overdressed tomorrow. See that it is looking its best. Also, check on the back stairs, where old delivery boxes are stored until they’re hauled away. Grab at least three. We’ll want to tie them up as if they were new. That should take care of everything. I have a luncheon meeting today and then another committee before dinner. Then an early night for both of us. Tomorrow is going to be very busy.”

“Very good, my lady.”

When Lady Frances actually said it was going to be a busy day, it was going to be a very busy day indeed.

Frances walked to her various appointments during the day to make sure she was tired enough to sleep during the night. But she was still troubled by dreams, flickers of faces that kept visiting her: Tredwell, the colonel, Hal, and Danny.

She woke up suddenly and looked at her clock. It was early, but that was good. She’d want Mallow to make her look her absolute best today.

Mystified but pleased that her ladyship was for once giving her time to really do her up right without a fuss, Mallow went to work on Frances’s hair.

“I owe you an explanation, Mallow. Because I am doing something rather . . . difficult.”

“Very good, my lady.” The steady hands didn’t falter as they gathered up Frances’s copper tendrils.

“Colonel Mountjoy has the manuscript. I can’t prove it, but I know it. And we are going to take it back. The colonel is too clever to let us near it. But he spends his days in his club, leaving his flat in the care of his manservant. My mother knew how to cow a servant, as you pointed out. That is why I have to look very much like a grand lady today.” She turned to face Mallow. “I think there’s a bit of my mother inside me.”

“Most definitely, my lady.”

“And it will be of great help, Mallow, if you would come with me. I won’t think less of you for not going though. These aren’t the duties of a lady’s maid. And this could be unpleasant.”

“However I can be of service, my lady,” she said, forcing her voice not to tremble.

“I knew I could count on you,” said Frances. She turned back so Mallow could finish her hair, which Mallow did, as soon as took she took a moment to dry her damp palms on her dress.

She finished dressing her mistress, and when she was done, they both had to admit the results were impressive. Frances looked quite grand.

They grabbed the boxes and hailed a hansom to Colonel Mountjoy’s residence. He lived in a flat in a block of maisonettes, elegant apartments suitable for bachelors of means who didn’t want the trouble of running a household. The street ended in a small park with no outlet, so it was quiet, as there was no reason for anyone to travel there unless they had business in one of the houses.

They walked up the steps. Mallow balanced the boxes, and Frances rang the bell. She heard feet behind the door. No turning back now.

A well-appointed manservant opened the door, and Frances breezed right in.

“Oh thank you so much. We have been so busy in the shops and can’t stand on our feet another moment. Come on, Mallow.”

“Excuse me—” said the servant, but he was already talking to Frances’s back. She and Mallow found themselves in a masculine sitting room. The furniture showed little style; it was good but obviously just pieces that came with the apartment and lacked any sense of individuality. A few nondescript paintings hung on the wall.
Hal could do better
, thought Frances with some amusement. A door led to a bedroom, no doubt, and down the hall was probably a small kitchen with a chamber for the manservant.

Fortunately, the telephone was in the hall, not directly in the apartment, which might make things easier later.

Frances flung herself into a chair and motioned for Mallow to take a seat, too, which she did, but she sat ramrod straight. They had chosen right, Mallow observed. Her ladyship looked like a grand duchess, not someone a mere valet would dare overrule.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” said the servant. He was in a terrible position. He had no idea who this woman was, but he took in her dress—this was a person of quality. She had to be handled carefully.

“You will address me as ‘my lady.’ Lady Caroline Westwood. My husband is a knight commander of the Order of the Bath.
Didn’t Colonel Mountjoy tell you to expect me? I’m his cousin, up from Rye, to visit the shops. He didn’t mention me? How tiresome of him. But I know what a busy man he is. I assume he’ll be along shortly.”

The valet appeared dumbstruck. “I believe he is at his club, my lady. He said nothing to me about your arrival.”

“I shall upbraid him for that most severely when he arrives. But never mind. You may go about your business, and my maid and I will wait.”