by R. J. Koreto
Making sure the two of them were alone, he said, “My lady, if there is anything you want me to tell your maid, that is, Miss Mallow . . . I mean, it’s not strictly regulation, but I’m going back to the village anyway . . .”
“Thank you. That is very thoughtful, constable. However, that won’t be necessary.” She could swear he looked disappointed. “Tell me, constable, just between us—have you become attached to Mallow?”
Constable Dill reddened. “Well, my lady, that is to say, we have managed to speak, that is—”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Mallow is difficult to impress, and she seems to trust you. And you appear to have some common sense. Indeed, you look like a bright young man who wants to make his way in the world. I will give you some information. Someone connected with the Kestrel estate killed Sir Calleford, and Mrs. Sweet, and Mrs. Tanner. Your Inspector Bedlow is absolutely wrong about outside gangs, but he knows that—and I think you do too. That’s why he turned his attention to Tommie Calvin, who is about as likely to commit murder as the Archbishop of Canterbury.” She paused. “You and I will talk later.” This man could be a useful ally.
“Thank you, my lady. Whatever I can do to help.” And then he left her before they could be overheard. Frances, quite pleased with herself now, proceeded to make her way through the back issues of the Morchester Tribune.
The newspaper kept her occupied for a while, and later the sergeant came back with lukewarm tea and sandwiches for lunch. Then she sat back and closed her eyes, weaving the threads of what she knew into one pattern after another. She felt so close.
She was startled when the door opened again to admit Hal. He looked down at Frances, then started to laugh.
“Oh, I am so sorry, dear Franny. I promised myself all the way down here I wouldn’t laugh, but seeing you here . . .” He sat down.
“I suppose it has its ridiculous aspects,” said Frances a little stiffly. “Do you laugh at all your imprisoned clients?”
“How wide do you think my criminal practice is? I’m occasionally sent to make arrangements for young bloods who come up to London from Cambridge or Oxford and have a too-lively night in the big city. But you’re my first lady.”
“And probably the first of my family,” she said with a sigh.
“You would think so,” said Hal. “But in the seventeenth century, Sir Reginald Ffolkes was personally arrested by Oliver Cromwell during the Civil War. Your brother pointed that out to me.”
“My brother? Surely you didn’t tell Charles?” She had thought she’d have a little more time. But telephones and trains made sure gossip spread far more quickly than it used to.
“Oh no. He found out on his own. All your aunts are up in arms and it was all I could do to talk your brother out of coming down himself. My God, Franny, you really did it this time. Now, the local justice is waiting to see us, so a quick summary, if you please.”
She described the situation succinctly, as Hal took notes.
“So let me understand this. You deliberately provoked a member of His Majesty’s constabulary to keep him from arresting your friend Miss Calvin?”
“Yes. That’s exactly it. I didn’t really lose my temper—although I was close to it. I had to do something to derail his attempt to arrest Tommie.”
“You know he’ll come back.”
“But not for a while. He’s made too much of a scene arresting me. Whatever I did, the chief constable and local justice will be very unhappy with a daughter of the House of Seaforth in the dock. I did it to save Tommie. Things would come out . . . I couldn’t bear that for them. Gwen would be destroyed. But they won’t dare create more of a fuss bothering anyone at the Eyrie until they have a lot more evidence, so I bought myself some time. I know Bedlow will be back and he’ll use whatever information he’s gathered about Gwen and Tommie, twist it, and use that to humiliate Tommie and drive her away, even try to arrest her again. But I’m almost there—I only need a day or two. Just get me off.”
She looked into his eyes, then leaned over and softly kissed him on the cheek.
“Well if you put it like that.” He blushed. “Franny, I reviewed the details of the arrest. It was vague enough to topple over on its own weight. But as for your brother—you’re on your own.”
Hal told the sergeant they were ready, and they were ushered into the office of the justice. Like so many justices in rural areas, he was a local squire with a manor to run and other things on his mind. The last thing he wanted was a problem with a highborn lady from London and her well-connected solicitor.
The justice invited them to sit. “I understand you are her solicitor, Mr. Wheaton. Have you briefed a barrister to come up should there be a trial?” Only barristers, not solicitors, could represent a defendant in a trial.
“Yes, your honor. Sir Edwin Culpepper has told me he’s prepared to travel down here.”
The justice looked startled. Even in these rural parts, they had heard about him. One of the finest barristers in England, he was frequently mentioned in the press. The great Sir Edwin would no doubt make the local crown prosecutor look like a fool.
“However, I see no need for that,” continued Hal smoothly. “The charges would not stand up to strict examination. And Lady Frances was a bit overwrought. I was hoping she could quietly apologize, here in chambers. And then she’ll resume caring for her close friend, Miss Kestrel, who is still distraught about her father’s murder.”
Frances bit her lip. She hated apologizing, but it was for the greater good.
“That would seem to be a satisfactory solution. What say you, my lady?”
“I am sorry if I inadvertently thwarted the police in the exercise of their duties,” she said.
“You also deeply insulted the inspector, Lady Frances. You publicly embarrassed him.”
Frances took a breath. “I am also sorry for losing my temper and calling the inspector an imbecile and coward.” She paused. “It was rude of me to publicize those facts.”
She felt Hal tense up next to her, and the justice glared at her.
“I suppose I’ll have to accept that, my lady,” he said dryly. “Case dismissed.”
They were escorted out to the street, and Hal just looked at her.
“Franny—”
“Yes?” She looked at him with wide-open eyes.
“Never mind. Anyway, I called the house and asked the butler to send the car for us.”
“Excellent. When does your train leave?”
“In about thirty minutes.”
“Then I will keep you company until it leaves.”
When the car arrived, Frances told the chauffer to take them to the train station. He clearly strove to remain as passive as possible, and Frances smiled to herself. He’s doing his best to pretend he doesn’t know that I was just arrested.
Hal was the only one heading to London, so they had the waiting room to themselves.
“What next, my lady? As I said, they will be back for Miss Calvin, even if they have to use her friendship with Miss Kestrel against her. I told you that someone had to be convicted for this. I’ll come back with a barrister if it comes to that, but it’s going to be unpleasant.”
She turned her gray eyes on him. “I know, Hal. But what I’ve been learning is that someone is desperate. And desperate people overreach and make mistakes. I have some ideas about what to do next. But don’t worry, Mallow will be there to protect me.” Hal laughed. “Also, I’ll be under the care of Special Branch. I need to get Inspector Eastley back down here. He knows who Mr. Mehmet is. And that may be the key.”
“You think he may have killed his host? The Muslim believes hospitality is sacred.”
“I’m not sure that Mr. Mehmet is a very good Muslim. He secretly married a Christian woman who lives on the estate. He drinks alcohol and eats pork. The sultan is not just the sultan, you see. He is also the caliph, the supreme religious leader in Islam. One wonders if Mr. Mehmet has any respect for him, if he is so irreligious. And there
’s more: I do know Sir Calleford was murdered. I know a gossipy old servant was killed. And a widow who lives next door to Mr. Mehmet’s secret wife, who may’ve heard something. Mrs. Blake wants Gwen as a daughter-in-law so she can keep running the Eyrie, and that means getting rid of Tommie. But why kill Sir Calleford? She had what she wanted. Christopher Blake would kill for the Eyrie. Mr. or Miss Hardiman might, but his gold could buy his daughter another husband with a grand estate. And did you know Sir Calleford had a pregnant mistress?”
“He isn’t the first. I’m just glad that I’m not representing any of the suspects.”
“Or prosecuting. There’s so little evidence. I wish I had half a dozen constables to check alibis.”
Hal laughed. “I can see you, Inspector Ffolkes of the CID,” he said, referring to the Criminal Investigation Division. “I’m not making fun of you, believe me. I’d pity any miscreant you were chasing.”
“First the vote. Then the police service,” said Frances. “I’ll live to see women detectives at the Yard. But getting back to Mr. Mehmet—he’s friendly with my brother and Special Branch.”
“Surely that speaks well of him?” asked Hal.
“Not necessarily. I learned something growing up in a diplomatic family. You are cheerful and charming to those you distrust the most. And England and the Ottoman Empire are not on good terms right now. Does Mr. Mehmet serve his sultan—his caliph? He was vague about that. But this is the interesting point: he doesn’t want me to bring in Scotland Yard. He was upset when I said I could use my influence to bring London detectives to the Eyrie, professionals who would go over everyone’s movements. But not all secrets are criminal.”
“That’s it!” cried Hal theatrically. “Mr. Mehmet didn’t commit a crime, but he saw something which he can’t reveal without implicating something he was doing.”
“Bravo,” said Frances. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. He encouraged me to solve the crime, hoping no doubt I could do so as an ‘insider,’ someone who already knows the players. Someone who wouldn’t—who couldn’t—check alibis and locations. But I need leverage to get information from him. That’s why I want to visit Inspector Eastley. Also, there is another slender clue.” She related to Hal her near kidnapping and the overheard English phrase, “Our friend in London.” “Maybe Inspector Eastley knows who this ‘friend’ is. If I knew who this friend was, I think I could convince Mr. Mehmet to tell me what he knows.”
Hal just grinned. “My God, Franny, how your mind works.” He gave her a sharp, lawyerly look. “You know who killed Sir Calleford, don’t you? And you can’t prove it yet, can you?” Frances just raised an eyebrow.
Hal nodded. He put his hand on hers. “Be careful.”
“I told you, Hal. I always am. But to change the subject, I see you are wearing one of your modern, new suits. Why not your formal black one? Magistrates are very old-fashioned in the country, you know.” She had a teasing tone.
“I no longer own a suit like that. I gave it to a junior clerk with the same build as I have. He was very pleased to have it. I have fewer clients who expect me to dress like that; more captains of industry, modern men. Times change, and I change with them.”
“When I first met you, I wouldn’t have expected it.”
Hal leaned over. “And when I first met you, I never would’ve thought I’d be spending a country house weekend painting you half naked, or extracting you from a jail.”
“Touché,” she said.
She felt an unexpected pang as she heard the train roll into the station. Did I miss him more than I thought?
“I’m afraid I have to board the train, my love. Good luck.” Those liquid green eyes of his held hers for a moment, then he stood and headed out of the station.
Lost in thought, Frances slowly headed out to the back to where the motorcar was waiting for her. Then she stopped and turned, and gathering her skirts, she ran out to the platform where Hal was boarding.
“Hal!” He turned. She stepped up to him, threw her arms around him, and kissed him hard. He started to say something, but couldn’t speak.
“Dear Hal. Astonishing men is my raison d’etre.”
She waved him off as the train began chugging, then turned to face a rather astonished stationmaster. Between her arrest record, and public and passionate kissing, she knew she was going to be gossip fodder throughout the long country winter.
CHAPTER 21
Frances got back into the car, and told the chauffer to take her back to the village police station.
She caught Dill just as he was entering after walking his beat around the village. He seemed surprised and a little embarrassed.
“Please, my lady, come inside.” They entered the small front room, and Frances looked around with satisfaction. Mallow would certainly approve of how neat and clean Dill kept it.
“Please, take a seat. And again, my lady, my apologies for having to arrest you. I trust, seeing that you’re out, that charges were dismissed?”
“Of course they were, constable, and no need for apologies. But I’m afraid there is going to be more . . . unpleasantness. I was hoping you could help me.”
“Yes, my lady.” But he sounded a little uncertain.
“I just prevented the arrest of Thomasina Calvin. I think the real murderer wanted to frame her. That has failed for now, thanks to me. But someone is going to be very angry with me.” She took great satisfaction from that.
“I assure you, my lady, I will personally take care of watching over you while you remain in the Eyrie. I will patrol extensively around the house grounds in the coming days.”
“Thank you.” It was a noble gesture, but a single constable couldn’t even patrol a house of that size, let alone the grounds.
“I do appreciate that. And I know Miss Kestrel will as well.” She paused. “And so will Miss Mallow.” She watched him blush. “And if you do uncover anything unusual, report to Mallow. No one will think a constable calling on a maid is anything unusual.” He blushed even more. “Now, as helpful as you are, we’re going to need additional police assistance from London.”
“But my lady, only the chief constable can request help from the Yard.”
She smiled. “I’m not without influence. May I use your telephone?” She had the exchange connect her with a London number—Inspector Eastley.
“Inspector? It’s Lady Frances Ffolkes. I hope you are well?” She heard his sigh over the line.
“What is it now, Lady Frances?”
“I am very close to uncovering the murderer. But I am going to need your help. Can you and Constable Smith make an excuse to come down here for a few days?” She listened to quiet static along the line, and she thought for a moment they had been disconnected.
He eventually started to talk. “Lady Frances. I don’t know where to begin. I can’t just walk away from London to take care of a crime outside of my jurisdiction. I came at Foreign Office request. That particular . . . incident is closed.”
“But inspector, surely a man with your skills can make an excuse—some loose ends, some final files belonging to Sir Calleford that you need to review and collect. That was your initial job, wasn’t it?”
Another sigh. “I must admit you do not have a history of wasting my time.”
“Inspector, that almost sounds like a compliment.”
“Oh very well. I’ll be down tomorrow. Let’s try to keep my arrival quiet, shall we.”
“Just you and me and Constable Dill, who is being very helpful. I look forward to your arrival.”
She rang off. What was that look on Dill’s face? Worry, confusion, astonishment? Perhaps I’ve been a little overwhelming. But I have gotten a lot done today.
“As you gathered, constable, Inspector Eastley of Special Branch, whom you’ve already met, will be coming down tomorrow. It is his great wish no one else know about his arrival. Something is going to happen. I don’t know how, or from where, but I’ll want him standing by. Good day. We’ll talk again soon.
”
And with that, she turned and walked out of the door.
Constable Dill stepped outside and watched the Rolls-Royce drive along the main street on its way back to the Eyrie.
“What just happened?” he asked himself.
Like the chauffeur, Pennington gave no sign he knew that Frances, a guest of the house, had just come back from the Morchester police jail.
“Do you know where Miss Kestrel is?” Frances asked him.
“She had tea in the solar, my lady, with Miss Calvin and Miss Hardiman.”
“And Mrs. Blake?”
“The mistress is in her room,” said Pennington.
But Mrs. Blake was not the mistress of Kestrel’s Eyrie, not anymore.
The three women were chatting, but descended onto Frances with questions and sympathy as she entered the room. “How are you . . . are you hurt . . . how dare that inspector . . .”
Over their shoulders, Frances saw Mallow in a corner, working on her knitting. A maid did not sit and have tea with ladies, but Frances had told Mallow to stay with them and she had taken that seriously.
Mallow also knew not to make a fuss. While the ladies besieged her, her maid quickly poured a cup of tea and placed the kinds of delicacies her mistress liked on a plate. “Please take a seat, my lady, and have some tea.”
“Thank you so much.” She eagerly sat deeply into the soft chair and sipped the hot, fine tea. Frances closed her eyes. An arrest, threats, bringing Special Branch back . . . Hal. It had been quite a day.
She opened her eyes to see Gwen, Tommie, and Effie looking at her.
“Effie, are you and your father leaving to go back to London?”
“Dad would certainly like to. He says enough is enough. Mrs. Blake called the chief constable and said there was no reason American guests should be subject to such a dangerous environment. And now we have permission to return to London. But I told Dad I’m staying. And I am.”
