by R. J. Koreto
“Yes, I do have another meeting this evening. I had Miss Kestrel tell the footmen to set this up tonight in anticipation of a small celebration. Just you and me, Mallow. Sit with me, and I will pour you a glass of what I’ve been told is the world’s best port, and there’s some bread and cheese—no dinner tonight I’m afraid.”
Port! Mallow drank very little. Perhaps a half-pint of ale or cider when on an evening off with other servants. When she and her ladyship traveled by train, they’d have a glass of wine. But port was for ladies and gentlemen; it was far beyond her experience.
Mallow reluctantly gave in to the luxuriousness of the leather wing chair, sitting with her mistress in this ancient, distinguished room. Frances poured them each a glass.
“To competent women,” said Frances, clinking her glass with Mallow’s. The maid slowly sipped the fortified wine. Oh, this was delicious. No wonder gentlemen set such store by it. She felt a most lovely warmth soothe her nerves, and took another sip. So lost was she in her port, it took her a while to see how sad Lady Frances looked.
“Is something wrong, my lady?”
“The waste, Mallow. A woman of Mrs. Blake’s intelligence and ambition, stuck with nothing to do, used and abandoned and slowly going mad. How many other women are like this? It can’t go on.”
Mallow nodded in agreement, as they just stared into the fire for a few minutes.
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but Mrs. Blake misquoted the Bible. While I was waiting with the constables, I heard her say ‘pride goeth before a fall.’ But it’s ‘pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’”
“Good catch. And how appropriate. This house contains centuries of haughty spirits.” Effie Hardiman would be very good for this estate, she thought.
Frances finished her port and refilled her glass—and then topped off Mallow’s. They drank in silence for a while, watching the fire.
“I shouldn’t brood, Mallow. We did wonderful work, you and I, and let’s look to the future. There is one more mystery for me to solve, one more decision I have to make, something I haven’t told anyone else. Mr. Wheaton has asked me to marry him.”
“That’s wonderful, my lady,” cried Mallow. She put her glass down, got up, and gave her mistress a hug.
“Thank you,” said Frances, touched by Mallow’s reaction. “But as I said, there is still something to solve. I have to find a way to make Mr. Wheaton understand my terms. I think he does, but for marriage, there has to be a certainty.”
“You mean the money, my lady? Your dowry?” Mallow knew those arrangements were very important in the upper classes.
“Oh no, Mallow,” she said, waving her hand. “I mean the marriage itself. Mr. Wheaton must understand that I will not be changing my life, although we will be married. I will keep up all my activities, especially with the suffrage group. But if I can reach an agreement with him, we’ll move into his house after we’re married. Of course, you’ll have a choice room, as befits a lady’s maid.”
That would be grand, thought Mallow. The hotel was nice, but to take her place as a senior servant in a proper house . . .
The port was really delightful, and she was hardly aware of Lady Frances filling her glass again.
“But wouldn’t you want me to marry a duke or earl, Mallow?”
“Well, my lady, since you ask, it’s like the poem of Lord Tennyson’s you read to me. ‘Kind hearts are more than coronets.’ And if I may be so bold, I think Mr. Wheaton has a kind heart.”
Frances didn’t respond, but smiled quietly to herself. How nicely put! Mallow continued. “When I let him in by the side entrance, Constable Dill confessed he was somewhat nervous he was following your directions, my lady, but that he was sure he was doing the right thing.” She paused. “I think he will go far in the police service, my lady. Intelligent and well-spoken.”
“I agree,” said Frances, smiling.
They stopped speaking, and continued to drink in companionable silence as the fire crackled. Soon, they fell asleep in their chairs. Two hours later, Pennington gently woke them up. Frances saw confusion, worry, and sadness in his eyes, but his voice was steady.
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but the chief constable of the county is here with his retinue, and is most desirous of an interview with you at your earliest convenience.”
CHAPTER 27
It turned out to be almost dawn before Mallow and Frances got to bed, but the next day they were able to leave for London with Gwen, Tommie, and the Hardimans. With Frances’s help, Gwen instructed the estate’s attorney, the stunned Mr. Small, to keep the servants paid and the household going until more permanent arrangements could be made in the coming weeks.
And a month later, those arrangements were almost complete. Hal had diplomatically worked out everything with the courts—and with Mr. Small, Mr. Hardiman, and Mr. Blake—and they were all once again gathering at the Eyrie. A table had been set up in the great hall, and again a fire warmed the room against the weather that had turned from a cool fall to a windy winter.
Before they all filed in, Mr. Blake asked Frances if he could have a moment of her time.
“If you want to order me out of your house, Mr. Blake, I will understand,” she said. “I will take no offense.”
He seemed surprised. “Of course not, Lady Frances. Why should I want to? Because you uncovered my mother’s crimes? Should I kill the messenger as they did in ancient Greece? No, I thank you stopping her before she did more damage, and the blame must be mine for not realizing how sick she was.”
“It was a subtle madness. No one saw it until the end. But I hope some satisfactory arrangements were made?”
“Yes, thanks to your Mr. Wheaton. The man is a wizard. We were able to get her committed to a private facility for the insane, thanks to Mr. Wheaton’s shrewd negotiations. No charges were ever leveled against her maid Jenkins, as you may have heard. I doubt if she had the brains to realize what my mother was up to, and she was as loyal as a dog. She was offered a chance to attend my mother in the . . . institution, and accepted it. It appears to be a good place, not too far from here. I saw it—but my mother refuses to see me. The doctors said maybe later . . .” he shook his head.
“I am sorry. I know it sounds trite, but you must look to the future now,” said Frances, and he nodded in agreement.
“Before we conclude our business with the solicitors, I wanted to let you know that Gwen had one request—that the ruby dagger never enter the house again. Of course, I never would’ve considered it. Aside from its immediate use, I know it comes with a grim history. Still, that shouldn’t deter a true collector. The police released it last week, and I sent it to Sotheby’s for auction by special courier.” He produced a piece of paper from his jacket. “Here’s the receipt. I told them to fill it in with your name. It’s time that dagger did some good in the world. After the sale, the check will be made out to you. Give it to whatever charities you want.”
Frances was speechless. The dagger was worth a small fortune. Mr. Blake gave his so-charming smile. “When you find the words, write me a letter.” Frances just laughed to herself—Mr. Mehmet, she knew, would’ve found this most amusing.
And with that, they entered the room.
Hal took his place at the head of the table. Mr. Small sat at his right, in what Frances thought was a resigned acceptance at the way things had turned out. Hal again wore one of his new suits, even as Mr. Small still dressed in his old-fashioned one.
“Thanks to everyone for coming today,” Hal said. “First, I offer my hearty congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Blake on their recent marriage.” Effie and Christopher grasped their hands and smiled at each other, as Mr. Hardiman looked on benevolently. They had married quietly in the village church the previous week.
“And congratulations to them on their position as master and mistress of Kestrel’s Eyrie, which, I understand, was a wedding gift from the father of the bride.” Frances caught Mr. Hardiman’s changed express
ion—a bit rueful. Hal had negotiated the sale on behalf of Gwen, and apparently had put a very high price on Mr. Hardiman’s desire to give Effie what she wanted. Christopher would rent out Blake Court and manage both estates’ farmlands.
“We’re changing the name,” said Christopher. “As my cousin Gwen says she doesn’t mind, we’re reverting to the old name, before the Kestrels took over the house. It will once again be Marchand Towers.” Ah, thought Frances. An emphasis on the aristocratic ancestor. Had this been Effie’s idea?
“The monies from the sale of the Eyrie—now Marchand Towers—will be placed under Mr. Small’s management for Miss Kestrel’s benefit.” He nodded to Mr. Small. “I will continue to represent Miss Kestrel’s personal interests. Mr. Small, if you have the documents ready, we’ll start the signing.”
Mr. Small began producing the various deeds and contracts, and while he was doing so, Hal pulled Gwen, Tommie, and Frances aside. “Miss Kestrel. You are now extremely wealthy. Have you given any thought to how you will live?”
“I thought I would continue to live with my great aunt in London,” she said. “Can’t I do that?”
“Your great aunt is very elderly,” said Hal. “And you may find yourself the object of attention—unwanted attention—because of your wealth. Suitors, many of them unsavory, will be very insistent on meeting you. May I suggest you purchase a small house in a fashionable part of London? As mistress of your own house, it will be easier to keep your privacy.”
“Oh! I see what you mean. But I never saw myself as running even a small house, although I suppose—”
“But Tommie will move in with you,” said Frances. “It’s perfectly respectable for two unmarried ladies to share a household. And Tommie will help you run things, and keep you safe from fortune hunters.”
Gwen gasped, as Tommie looked back and forth between Frances and Gwen.
“Could we really? Is that possible?” Tommie began to smile, then said, “But my mother, she’s so sick, and—”
“For goodness sake, there’s nothing wrong with your mother,” said Frances. “She just likes making her cook and maid fuss over her. And you can visit her as often as you like. You’re staying in London, not moving to China. You’ll get a small house and staff it with a cook and houseman. I’ll wager we can get a married couple.”
“When we’re back in London, both of you can call on me at your convenience,” said Hal. “I have already convinced Mr. Small to make the necessary funds available. I’ll introduce you to house agents and servant agencies and will be happy to take care of the details.”
Gwen finally found her voice. “Oh Tommie, that would be wonderful. Do you think we could get a dog? A small one, for the yard?”
Tommie reached over and took Gwen’s hand. “Yes. I’m sure we can,” she said quietly.
They rejoined Mr. Small, and Hal was showing Gwen where to sign the sales agreement for the Kestrel estate, when Mallow walked into the room.
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but you have a visitor at the servants’ entrance. A member of the police, my lady.”
She was surprised. Surely it wasn’t Inspector Bedlow coming back to arrest her again?
“Very well. I think they can run everything without me.” She followed Mallow to the servants’ hall, where Constable Dill was waiting for her. Only, judging from his uniform, he wasn’t Constable Dill anymore.
“Congratulations,” said Frances. “I see from the stripes on your tunic that you have been promoted to sergeant. Well deserved, I may say.”
“Thank you, my lady. I hope I haven’t disturbed you, but I heard you were visiting again, and I wanted to thank you for the recommendation you gave to the chief constable. It was really your work that solved the murders.”
“But you had the courage and wit to listen to me. Not every constable would do that. If you want to thank me, when you become chief constable, promise you will use your influence to allow women to join the service.”
Sergeant Dill laughed. “I don’t know if I will rise to those heights, my lady, but if I do, I certainly will.” He cleared his throat. “And just one more thing, if I may. Miss Mallow, there is a party this evening at the local grange hall. May I escort you there? I assure you—and you too, my lady—that it is most respectable. The vicar and his wife attend. Refreshments and local musicians. I will of course see you back to the house afterward.”
“If you wish to attend, I owe you a dozen evenings off for your work,” said Frances.
“Thank you, my lady.” She gave it some thought, as Sergeant Dill looked on hopefully. It wasn’t the cinema in London, and certainly not up to music hall standards, but it might be entertaining.
“Thank you. I would like to go.”
Frances suddenly felt like she was in the way, and left the two of them alone to make arrangements. But as she walked away, she heard Mallow give permission to Sergeant Dill to call her “June.” It must be love, thought Frances. Mallow invited very few people to use her Christian name. How funny it was: When Mallow had first come to work for her, she had been convinced that respectable people never became involved with the police. And here she was, allowing a police sergeant to escort her to a party.
And speaking of love and change, Hal was waiting for her outside the great hall. The paperwork had been taken care of. Gwen and Tommie said they would be in the solar working on some suffrage materials, and said Frances could join them there.
“You said you wanted to talk to me,” said Hal. “I know we’ve been so busy in these past days, we haven’t had time to really talk since you solved the murders.” He looked a little shy. “Shall we find a comfortable place?”
“Yes. There’s a pleasant morning room here.” They settled down there. Hal looked nervous, and she felt a little bad for keeping him on tenterhooks for so long. He sensed this would be an important talk.
“You’ve asked me to marry you,” she said. “Is that offer still open?”
“Franny, you know it is—”
“I told you that there are some things I wanted to do. I still do, but perhaps we can do them together. I don’t see why I can’t achieve what I want to achieve as your wife.”
He leaned over and kissed her warmly. “What was it?” he whispered in her ear.
“It’s what happened here that really made up my mind. It made me think about what women can or should do with their lives. I had always imagined that I would devote my life to my causes, but I’ve decided I don’t want to end up bitter years later because of what I denied myself. Although, I don’t want my sister-in-law’s life either. As happy as Mary is with her lot in life, I could never live my life through a man.”
“And your solution?” asked Hal. He had a half smile. He’s wondering if the conditions will be too impossible to meet, thought Frances.
“You and I will have a new kind of marriage, one between equals, where the woman’s work is just as important as the man’s. Equal lives. What I want in life will be no more or less important than what you want. Can you accept that, Hal? You must mean it. You must know it is the only kind of marriage I can accept.”
Hal brushed his fingers along her cheek. “How could you think I would accept any other kind of marriage with you? Your charitable work, your suffrage work, even your detective work, are what make you—you.”
“So you won’t worry about me?”
Hal laughed. “I didn’t say that. Of course I’ll worry. Can you live with that?”
She considered that. “Yes, Hal. And I will be your wife.” And they kissed again. “But the engagement must be of a suitable length, so we can truly know each other. And no public announcements in the Times. No . . . fuss.”
“I accept your terms, Franny, without reservation. But can you accept one of mine? I know you well enough to know that you won’t let me ask your brother for your hand, as is customary. But may I ask for his blessing, for the sake of family harmony?”
“Yes, Hal. That will work nicely.”
�
��Excellent. Because he just arrived.”
“What? Did you bring him here expecting this?”
“I had no idea he was coming until the butler announced him, while you were out with Mallow. Is he still furious about your involvement here and your arrest?”
“He’s calmed down a little, thanks to Mary’s help, although he still brings it up. But what’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know. He asked for you and was put into the drawing room. Perhaps we should see him together?” He reached for her hand, and they walked to the drawing room, where Charles was pacing, a habit he had when something was weighing on his mind. He looked up as they entered.
“Dear brother, what are you doing here?”
“A little research. Remember that Turkish gentleman you asked me about? Mr. Mehmet? He disappeared the night of Mrs. Blake’s arrest. We’ve had agents trying to find him, unsuccessfully. We had important business with him. So I thought I’d come to have a look myself, speak to a few people. And since you’re here, I can ask you. What do you know? It’s something of a coincidence that a man I told you to avoid suddenly vanishes the night you solve another mystery.” He smiled wryly.
“You told me to avoid him, so I did,” said Frances.
“Franny, you of all people should know that I could always tell when you were lying. You were up to something here, and now Mr. Mehmet is gone. He was of great interest to my office and I need to know where he is.”
“How should I know?” she asked, with her wide-eyed, innocent look.
“Dear sister. I really don’t think I’m being unreasonable. You run charities with great competence, and know that I am not teasing you when I say I don’t know half a dozen men in London who could do better. Even your suffrage work—we’re a political family and you’re doing difficult political work, never mind my personal feelings. But you meddled in Foreign Office affairs. You have no concept of the implications, and as a result of your . . . investigations, we’re left with some loose ends. Wheaton, I could use some support here.”
