by R. J. Koreto
Mr. Hardiman must be loving this, thought Frances, this self-made American riding and shooting with the English gentry. Interesting he was spending time with Mr. Mehmet—she wondered what they made of each other. And Miss Hardiman? This was another opportunity to be with Christopher—and away from Mrs. Blake.
“I agree it would be good to go,” said Tommie, grasping Gwen’s hand.
“Mr. Blake has to meet with some of the tenant farmers for much of the day,” said Miss Hardiman. “But that will give us girls a chance to get to know each other better. My late mother always said that at times like these, a woman wants the company of another woman.”
“What will you ladies be doing today?” asked Mrs. Blake.
“Tommie thought a healthful walk around the grounds would be good for me,” said Gwen.
“I agree,” said Mrs. Blake. “As you’re now lady of the manor, it would be good for you to familiarize yourself with the place. You haven’t really been around the grounds since you were a little girl.”
That didn’t seem to sit well with Gwen, but she forced a smile.
Frances suddenly had an idea. “Miss Hardiman, I was going to visit Mrs. Tanner, an elderly woman who used to be in service here. Would you keep me company? It’s not a long walk, and she’s a rather interesting character.”
“Mrs. Tanner? Really?” Mrs. Blake seemed surprised and amused.
“I paid her a call after the funeral, and found she knew my great-grandmother, who visited here. Family lore says she was a ‘notable personality,’ as my mother gingerly put it, and I’d like to hear some more stories.”
Miss Hardiman said she’d be delighted to walk with Frances. And Mrs. Blake said that she would ask Cook to pack some delicacies to bring to Mrs. Tanner—she’d let the ladies know when the basket was ready and they could go by motorcar.
“Splendid suggestion,” said Frances. “I just have a few letters to write after breakfast and then we’ll go.”
It wasn’t completely the truth, however. After making sure Miss Hardiman had gone to her own room, she quickly headed for Gwen’s room, where Gwen and Tommie were discussing the path of their walk.
“Gwen, I just have a few questions for you, from some discussions Mr. Wheaton and I had after our talk with Mr. Small.” Gwen nodded. “We found out that when you came of age, your father and Mr. Small had you sign a will. Do you remember?”
“Oh yes,” she said brightly. “Mr. Small said it was just a formality, of course, because I was so young, but the law required it.” Not quite true, of course, but the easiest way of explaining it to Gwen. “I had to say where I wanted everything I owned to go if I died. I said whatever money I had would go to the East End soup kitchen and our suffragist group. Mr. Small made a face at that, but Father shrugged and said it was my money; I could do what I want. Oh, and all my jewelry to you, Tommie.”
Tommie looked astonished. “But that’s all your mother’s jewelry—it’s very valuable. That’s very sweet, of you, of course . . . I don’t know what to say . . .” She seemed deeply moved.
“Who else should get it?” asked Gwen. “And anyway, nothing is going to happen. But Father said it was important to make sure the house and estate stayed in the family, and so should be left to Christopher. Until—” Gwen suddenly broke off, and her eyes lost their focus. It’s what she did when she didn’t understand something, and didn’t know how to proceed.
“Until what?” asked Frances gently.
“Until I had a husband, and children,” she said, so quietly it was hard to hear her. She turned to Tommie. “I wish I could just walk away from the Eyrie, just shut it up and go back to London with you. But that wouldn’t be fair. So many servants put out of work. I asked Aunt Phoebe if we could sell the Eyrie and have everyone work for a new master and mistress, but she said no one could afford it, except people who already had their own estates.”
So Mrs. Blake was unaware that Hardiman gold was available? Or maybe she didn’t want Gwen to know, didn’t want to see an American woman presiding over tea. Of course, the forthright Miss Hardiman wasn’t going to be as compliant a daughter-in-law as Gwen would.
“You grew up here, Gwen,” said Frances. “You really don’t want to live here? And if we could sell it, you wouldn’t miss it?”
Gwen shook her head. “My mother died when I was so little. I hardly remember her. And then, it was just me and various nannies in this huge, empty place, and the only fun I had was when I could visit with Christopher—” She burst into tears and fell into Tommie’s arms. “Please, I don’t want to stay here. Please.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Frances.
“We’ll be all right,” said Tommie as Gwen whimpered. Her eyes asked if they could tell Gwen about selling to the Hardimans, but Frances shook her head. She didn’t want to involve Gwen with that yet.
“Gwen, I promise we’ll work this out. I can’t tell you more now, but trust me.”
Gwen made an effort at drying her tears and smiled.
“You’re so clever, Franny. I knew you’d come through.” She turned to Tommie. “Didn’t I say that?”
And Frances left Gwen in Tommie’s care, so she could work to keep her promise. Mrs. Tanner held more secrets, and maybe a second visit would pry them from her. She already trusted Frances, and might like to show off in front of the eager American visitor.
Downstairs, they found that Cook did them proud, packing a full basket at Mrs. Blake’s orders. Frances decided to take Mallow along to help young Dolly set up the food. Miss Hardiman seemed pleased with the outing, and to Frances’s practiced eye, was a bit overdressed for the occasion. If she did become lady of the manor, she’d need a lesson in proper dress.
“Is this something commonly done by ladies in England—visiting the local tenants and retired servants?” she asked.
“To be mistress of a great house is to be responsible for everyone. For the servants in your house, the staff tending the grounds, the tenant farmers, and their families. My father and his father before him always said it was a sacred duty.”
Miss Hardiman seemed rather startled at that and frowned. So it wasn’t all balls and parties among the elegant gardens.
“My father missed Easter at home once, when I was a girl, because he said he had to oversee the building of some canal locks. He said it was his canal, his boats, and thus his responsibility—and that sometimes came before family. Is that what you mean, Lady Frances?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I mean.” Perhaps, thought Frances, there was more to Effie Hardiman than I had realized.
After the short trip to Mrs. Tanner’s, the chauffeur parked alongside the small path that traveled around the cluster of cottages. The appearance of the Rolls-Royce caught the attention of everyone in the hamlet, especially the children who clustered around while the chauffeur attempted to shoo them away.
Dolly seemed pleased and surprised to see them.
“We thought we’d come for another visit, since Mrs. Tanner seemed to enjoy our visit so much last time. I brought my American friend, Miss Hardiman, who would like to hear more about the estate. And Mrs. Blake packed some treats for Mrs. Tanner.”
“Do come in, Lady Frances, Miss Hardiman, Miss Mallow. My great-gran, that is, Mrs. Tanner, will wake from her nap soon. Come in and we’ll set it out.”
Once inside, Mallow quite overawed Dolly. As a housemaid, Mallow had helped set the table for the most formal occasions for the Marquess and Marchioness of Seaforth, and she provided the same critical eye to Mrs. Tanner’s rickety table. The base metal forks and earthenware plates were laid out as if they were sterling silver and the finest bone china.
“Thank you, Miss Mallow,” said Dolly humbly. “Gran is sleeping rather late this afternoon. I’d best go see.” And Mallow said she’d finish laying out the table while Lady Frances and Miss Hardiman unpacked.
It took Frances a few moments to think about what Dolly had said. “Gran is sleeping rather late . . .”
Oh God. Frances raced by the startled Dolly and up the stairs. The door wasn’t locked, and it took her only a moment to get inside. Mrs. Sweet had been cold, but Mrs. Tanner was still warm. She hadn’t been dead long.
Frances glanced around the room. No sign of food, but her habits were probably well-known. Someone gave her something and then sent her to bed. Dolly probably wasn’t around every moment; it was easy to remove all traces.
Frances turned her attention back to the body. Mrs. Tanner’s face was a deep red. The result of a heart attack? Yes, she was very old, but Frances was inclined to be suspicious in the wake of two other murders. That red face meant something. . . . Frances leaned over the woman and sniffed close to her face. Then she stood up again, and smiled grimly. Bitter almonds and red complexion—the sure signs of a cyanide-based poison, as she learned during a most entertaining afternoon with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Frances closed the door behind her and headed downstairs, where the other women were all staring at her.
“Dolly. I’m afraid your great-grandmother has passed away.” The girl put her face in her hands and started to sob. Mallow firmly, but gently, led her to a chair in the corner.
“Lady Frances, shall I send the chauffeur for the doctor or police?” Miss Hardiman didn’t seem particularly upset, and there was no tremor in her voice.
There was no reason for a delay, but she did want to question Dolly.
“Thank you. Yes, tell the chauffeur to fetch the village constable.”
Miss Hardiman stepped outside and Frances turned to Dolly. “This is very upsetting dear, especially after what happened to Mrs. Sweet, but your great-gran was very old, and it’s no surprise she was called to God. Now, the constable may have some questions, because that’s the rule, so let’s just get them out of the way. You’ve probably been in and out today, but who else was here?”
It was a busy little hamlet, populated by retired servants and the families of the ground staff. No stranger could sneak in here easily. Everyone knew each other.
“Just family, my lady. Everyone was related to great-gran. They were in and out as usual, asking advice, gossiping. I didn’t really take any notice, my lady.”
Miss Hardiman came back and headed straight to the kitchen. Frances watched her put out some tea and then, without any self-consciousness, take down more plates. She found a bottle of cheap wine and put it on the table with a motley collection of glasses.
As she set the table with the additional places, Frances caught her eye.
“People come by after a death,” said Miss Hardiman. “There will be many of them, no doubt. You said she was well-known here. That little girl Dolly is in no fit state and your maid Mallow is calming her.” She gave a half smile. “We didn’t have servants when I was a girl. I learned to take care of things myself.”
“You may not have always had servants, but I believe you’ve always had common sense,” said Frances, and began helping her. “Mrs. Tanner’s death doesn’t upset you?”
Miss Hardiman shrugged. “I am sad for her and her family, of course. But as you said, she was very old. You went to school in New York, in the Hudson Valley. You know what winters are like there. Well, think of a winter with ten times the snow and twenty degrees colder, and that’s Buffalo.” She began to unpack the basket. “In the early spring, we’d find the bodies of those who didn’t make it.”
Frances glanced over her shoulder, at Mallow doing an effective job of soothing the child. Mallow had grown up with younger siblings.
“I imagine you don’t want to go back,” said Frances.
Miss Hardiman gave her a shrewd look. “There’s nothing I’d rather do less than return.”
“So you’ll stay here and marry Mr. Blake?”
Miss Hardiman didn’t answer right away, just completed laying out the food. “You’re a sharp one, Lady Frances,” she finally said. “Do you disapprove?” She seemed concerned about that, despite some bravado.
“Why should I?”
“Because he’s one of your English gentry. He had an ancestor who was a lord. I’m just a social-climbing American heiress.”
She wants reassurance, thought Frances. “Those things don’t matter the way they used to.”
“They do to Mrs. Blake,” said Miss Hardiman. “I think she’d like him to marry Gwen. I don’t think she’d like me to be the mother of her grandchildren.”
And Frances was saved from responding by the arrival of Inspector Bedlow and Constable Dill.
“Well, well, Lady Frances,” said the inspector. “Every time someone dies, I find you.” His tone was jovial, but there was a hint of anger behind it.
“I was paying a visit. But she died quite recently.”
“How do you know? Are you a coroner too, my lady?”
“When I took her hand, she was still warm.”
“Ah. You were quite right to call me, but I know she was very old, and with the shocking death of Sir Calleford, it probably wasn’t much of a surprise. Constable, secure the scene as a formality until the coroner’s men can come from Morchester.”
“You aren’t going to investigate further?” asked Frances. She suspected no one would seriously consider the woman was poisoned, as she was so old.
“Why should I? This was not a murder, and I don’t want you to start anything by saying otherwise.”
“You don’t think this is too much of a coincidence?”
“The only coincidence I see is your ability to keep finding dead bodies.”
“Two of which were people I was about to speak with.”
“From what I hear, you’re speaking with everyone. A coincidence is all it is, Lady Frances, and I’ll thank you not to interfere further. An old lady has died. That’s it. Now I think you ladies should head back to the manor house.”
“People will be coming. And we’re going to greet them, at least until other relations arrive.”
He looked as if he might argue the point, but finally said, “As you wish.”
By that point, the many relations of Betsy Tanner began arriving. Mallow turned over Dolly to one her aunts, then joined Miss Hardiman and Lady Frances in serving, until various granddaughters and grandnieces could take over. They eventually left the makeshift wake quietly, and the chauffeur drove them home.
CHAPTER 19
Frances was pleased the next morning that they were all going to the Blake estate, a thirty-minute drive in the Rolls-Royce. Gwen had, predictably, cried when hearing about the death of Betsy Tanner, but Tommie had soothed her: the woman was extremely old and no doubt in pain from crippling arthritis. “It was her time,” said Tommie, but she looked at Frances.
Blake Court was built of mellow local stone, nicely proportioned and substantial, although of a much more manageable size than the Eyrie. Mr. Blake had returned the previous day, and was on hand to greet them with his housekeeper, Mrs. Pear, who greeted them warmly.
“I scolded young Master Blake for not bringing you over earlier. Poor girl, stuck in that huge drafty place.” She gave Gwen a hug, while Christopher Blake just grinned. It was clear this housekeeper had known Mr. Blake—and Gwen—since they were children.
There was a full breakfast laid out in the dining room, which was more cheerful than formal—the furniture was good but scuffed in places, Frances noted, as if generations of careless, happy children had run through it.
“Mrs. Pear, I brought my maid, Mallow. We’ve descended on you with quite a few people, and she can help out, if you need.”
“That’s very thoughtful, my lady, but we can manage—although I daresay your Mallow will be a welcome face below stairs. Not many new faces around here nowadays.”
Gwen seemed very happy, and Frances hadn’t seen her eat so much since they had left London, although the food was better at the Eyrie.
“Now ladies, I thought I’d take you on a tour of my grounds and then we’d have lunch. I have to meet with a farm manager after lunch, but will see you at dinner.”
“Dear lady, it’s 1907, and we’re a group.”
“None of your lip, young man,” said Mrs. Pear, and Mr. Blake laughed again.
They fell into three couples. Mr. Blake led the way, in close conversation with Miss Hardiman. Arm in arm, Tommie and Gwen followed, as Gwen pointed out places she played as a child when she came on visits.
Frances hung back with Mrs. Pear, congratulating herself on her good fortune. Here was another servant who knew something of the family and seemed inclined to talk. In fact, Frances didn’t even have to prompt her.
“If I may say so, my lady, I’m very glad to see Miss Gwen with good friends like you and Miss Calvin. Mr. Christopher has mentioned she has friends in London, and I’m glad of it. She had a rather lonely childhood. Mr. Christopher was her only real friend.”
“It was a pity she lost her mother so young,” said Frances.
“Oh yes, my lady. She so loved her little girl. Lady Kestrel’s death was very sad.”
“I never met her, of course. What was she like?”
“Bless you, my lady; Miss Gwen is just like her, sweet and gentle.”
Frances then led the conversation to Lady Kestrel’s younger years, when she and her friend Phoebe had made a foursome with Sir Calleford and his cousin, Captain Jim. It was much the same story as Betsy Tanner had told. But Mrs. Pear had some further insights: they were all friends, it was true, but it was clear to Mrs. Pear that the young Calleford had worshipped young Miss Bronwen, and she was delighted with his attentions, while Miss Phoebe was destined for Captain Jim.
“I’ve heard some family tales that the four of them were so close that although marriages were expected, no one was sure who would marry who.”
“It was a long time ago, my lady. I’m sure I couldn’t say.” The housekeeper had said enough, but Frances suspected Mrs. Pear knew a lot more and decided to push. She was clearly a born gossip.
“Discretion is very important, Mrs. Pear. It’s only that Gwen hardly knew her mother, and now has lost her father, and if I had a little more knowledge of family history, I could better understand Gwen and help her through these trying times.”
