by R. J. Koreto
Soon they were back in London, and Frances was pleased to see that the photographer had delivered a print of the Louisa Torrence portrait.
“Even without color, it’s clear how beautiful she was,” said Frances, showing it to Mallow.
“Very lovely, my lady.”
Frances watched her maid’s eyes focus on Louisa’s dress. “I am sure this was the height of fashion when the portrait was painted, although it seems so dated to us. It’s all about change, Mallow. A Greek philosopher named Heraclitus said that the only constant is change. That is, we can never step in the same river twice. As we look back thirty years, we should remember that.”
“Very good, my lady. Now do you wish to change before visiting his lordship and her ladyship?”
Frances declined, and when tea time came, said that she would take the bicycle.
“Has Mr. Cumberland adapted to your arrival on bicycle, my lady?”
Frances laughed. “Slowly, Mallow. Slowly.”
“Perhaps, my lady, you should tell him what that Mr. Heraclitus said about everything changing.”
Frances thought that was an excellent idea.
CHAPTER 7
Mary was pleased to see Frances again. “Charles will be joining us in a moment. He’s been making arrangements with the French ambassador and his wife. We’re having them for dinner next week. They speak English, but if you’d care to come, you could impress them with your excellent French.”
“Yes. I can say to the ambassador’s wife, ‘Madame, would you like to come to the next meeting of our suffrage club?’”
Mary laughed. “Diplomacy via suffrage—you may open a whole new branch of international relations. But tell me, how did your meeting go with Lady Torrence?”
“Rather a surprise. I know I can trust you—she has asked me to find Louisa, her long-missing elder daughter, gone these thirty years. It just gets more and more complex, but I’m onto something. It’s very exciting, becoming England’s first female consulting detective.”
“How extraordinary—people actually seeking you out! Your reputation is growing.” Frances gave a mock bow. “Best of luck, my dear. You really are becoming the Lady Sherlock.”
“Yes, and that’s partly why I’m here. I need an introduction to a City gentleman, someone who knows what’s going on in finance. It’s for my investigations. I want to wheedle out of Charles an introduction to Sir Harold Spenser. He’s the financial advisor to the Liberal Party, as you know, and I’d like to pick up some gossip from him. But Charles won’t help me if he knows why.”
“Aha! Well, you can count on me. But why not just ask Hal? He probably knows even more City figures than Charles.”
Mary saw an evasive look on Frances’s face, not something she saw often from her frank—no, overly frank—sister-in-law. She raised an eyebrow.
“It sounds silly, Mary, but that’s not how I want to go into our marriage. I’m given something important to accomplish, and what do I need to do? Get help from my soon-to-be husband.”
“But marriage is—or should be—a partnership, with each of you helping the other,” said Mary gently. “Charles is undersecretary. And I see that his household and dinners support his career.”
“Oh, I know that, Mary,” said Frances, and she struggled for words. “You’re the best political hostess in London. Everyone knows that. But about Hal . . . what can I give him? I’m not a hostess. I wouldn’t be good at that even if I wanted to, and I don’t think he wants that from a wife anyway. I can’t ask from him and not give in return. That’s not how to start a marriage on equal terms.”
Mary just looked at her friend calmly with her gentle eyes and a demeanor that had soothed tempers at many a diplomatic soiree. “Dear Franny, you’re so good at solving mysteries. I know you do more for Hal than you realize, and I’m sure if you talk with him, you will see that.”
Frances frowned, but before she could say any more, Charles entered.
“I see I am a blessed man, taking tea with the two loveliest ladies in London.”
Mary rang for the maid, and soon they were nicely set up with tea and plates of the Seaforth cook’s best efforts.
“Dear Charles, I admit that although family feelings are enough to bring me here, I do have an ulterior motive.”
Charles smiled wryly and shook his head. “Very well, Franny. What’s this all about? Getting me to introduce a resolution supporting women’s suffrage in the House of Lords?”
“How amusing! No, something much easier than that. I’m interested in learning more about City affairs—finances and so forth. And I’m hoping you could give me an introduction to Sir Harold Spenser. I’d like to spend a couple of hours with him learning about finances.”
Charles sipped some tea, took a cucumber sandwich, and looked his sister in the eye. “Franny. What is this about? Hal could explain whatever you wanted to know. Why must it be Sir Harold?”
“It doesn’t have to be Sir Harold. It’s simply that I am aware how well you know him. And I’m not asking Hal because I want to surprise him over dinner with my newfound knowledge of City affairs.”
Charles nodded, but he wasn’t completely convinced, Frances could tell. “Really? That sounds very—how should I say—domestic of you, dear sister. Why not a reference to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, while we’re at it?”
Frances just smiled. “With Mr. Asquith, the head of His Majesty’s Treasury? I’d be delighted if you could work that out. I know how busy he must be. But Sir Harold would be more than satisfactory.”
“Franny—” His tone rose, but Mary jumped in.
“Really, Charles. Sometimes I think there is no pleasing you. You upbraid Frances for involving herself in activities that you feel are none of her concern, yet when she works hard to involve herself in her fiancé’s sphere in order to become a good wife, you react like this.” She tsked and shook her head. Frances fought hard not to laugh.
Charles frowned. “My sister has been twisting the truth since she was old enough to talk, and you, my beloved wife, have been learning too much from the great diplomats of Europe.” He sighed. “Oh, very well. I suppose I’ll find out later, but if you want to convert Sir Harold to your suffrage cause, I don’t think you’ll find him a promising candidate. But that’s your affair. I’ll leave a message with him this afternoon.”
Frances got up and gave her brother a kiss on his cheek. He forced a smile and sighed once more.
“So you found his lordship helpful, my lady?” asked Mallow the next morning as she helped Frances dress.
“Yes, Mallow. With the help of my sister-in-law. He let me have my way out of brotherly affection, but I don’t think I can fool him anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, my lady,” said Mallow, but she appeared not the least bit surprised.
“But the important thing is that Sir Harold Spenser will give me a lesson on how things work in the City. With any luck, he’ll even tell me who bought the Green Players and Emerald Theatre.” She sighed. “Those clubs we’ve passed so many times, Mallow, with their fine facades and servants in perfect livery. Five minutes of gossip there, and I’d know everything I want. But I think we’ll see women in Parliament before we see them members of those clubs.”
She thought of the fictional Diogenes Club, cofounded by Sherlock Holmes’s still more brilliant brother, Mycroft. Would it have accepted women? Thinking about Sherlock and Mycroft, she had to conclude, probably not. My goodness, I can’t even get accepted into a fictional club.
Initially, Frances had planned to take the bicycle, as it was another pleasant day, but she was already eccentric as a woman seeking advice on financial matters. No need to make herself look odder by leaving a bicycle with Sir Harold’s chief clerk. It would be a hansom today.
The offices of Spenser, Ltd. were decorated in the faux Renaissance style favored by bankers, complete with columns, as if they were back in the days of the Medicis. It was just as smart inside, displaying gleaming wood and marble
. An immaculately dressed clerk behind a desk rose to greet her.
“May I help you, Miss . . . ?” he said.
“Lady Frances Ffolkes, to see Mr. Spenser,” she said. The clerk quickly consulted a leather-bound book.
“Very good, Lady Frances.” He snapped his fingers for a uniformed page, who escorted Frances up the stairs and across a thickly carpeted hallway. Frances smiled to herself. If this place was designed to impress customers, it certainly succeeded.
Sir Harold held court in an office on par with the rest of the building. He sat behind a desk so large that Frances’s immediate thought was that it was too big to fit through the door and had probably been built right in the office itself. The page announced her, and she walked across a magnificent Turkish rug to greet Sir Harold. The man himself was not as remarkable as his surroundings, being shorter than average and well-fed, which a talented tailor had done his best to work around. But Sir Harold had a welcoming smile and immediately came from behind his desk to meet Frances halfway.
“Lady Frances, it is a pleasure to meet the sister of so fine as man as Lord Seaforth. Please, take a seat.” As the financial advisor to the Liberal Party, he was no doubt pleased to do a favor for a prominent party figure like Frances’s brother.
Sir Harold showed her to a seat at a small table, and a moment later another page came with a tea service and then bowed out. He seemed pleased to see Frances, and she wondered what her brother had told him about the reason for her visit.
He answered her unspoken question in a moment. “Your brother tells me you are the volunteer treasurer of the Ladies’ Christian Relief Guild. Very noble of you, Lady Frances. He says you wanted to know more about finance for your role, and to that end, I have put together a brief lesson for you—an introductory course, if you will, on the basics of investing . . .”
It was not the most entertaining half hour Frances had ever spent, but she had to admit that Sir Harold did not patronize her and explained matters clearly. He went over different classes in investments, how shares and bonds worked, and the organization of joint stock companies, and Frances filed much of it away for later. She realized that she had been long interested in political equality for women—but for economic equality, women would have to master the intricacies of the City.
However, Frances didn’t lose sight of why she came here in the first place—to find out who bought the Green Players and Emerald Theatre.
“I hope I didn’t go too quickly, Lady Frances. I do let my enthusiasm get away from me sometimes,” he said, with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“Not at all, Sir Harold. You have given me much to think about and discuss with the other board members regarding our finances. But I wonder . . . what about investing in individual companies, such as purchasing an income-producing business?”
Sir Harold nodded sagely. “Very possible. But it requires a lot of investigation to make sure the business has a solid foundation. Large investors often have staffs to do it for them.”
“That makes sense,” said Frances, and she smiled. “In that case, if I had a sum, I might invest in, say, a theatre. I do see a great many plays and know London’s theatre world so well, I daresay I am qualified to investigate their businesses.” She had some more tea—but kept an eye on Sir Harold, who was looking at her with a great deal of curiosity. Had she been too direct?
“What an odd thing to say,” he said. She looked back at him, full of innocence.
“Is that a foolish idea? I know I’m still very much a beginner here.”
“No, not exactly. It can be a profitable, if rather risky investment, but—well, I really shouldn’t say . . .” And he helped himself to a little cake.
Frances wanted to scream. Sir Harold had clearly heard something, and if they had been men together in a club with glasses of a vintage port, she’d have the information already. But perhaps she could still wheedle it out of him.
She put her hand to her mouth. “Sir Harold—don’t tell me someone else has already decided to buy a theatre company as an investment! I feel rather proud to have thought of it as well.”
“Ah, yes. Excellent idea, that, if you have enough capital to weather the occasional downturn. But it’s more than that. I really shouldn’t say, but it has been talked about in financial circles for some weeks.”
“You can trust me to be discreet, Sir Harold. I sit on the board with the Duchess of St. Ives and the Countess of Edgewater, who was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria. And our royal patron is the king’s sister, Princess Helena. She frequently attends our board meetings.”
That was too much for Sir Harold, Frances realized with some satisfaction. Her brother may be a gatekeeper to the leaders of the Liberal Party, but she had more than a few distinguished names to dangle in front of the man, as well as the hint that she had access to royalty. Businessmen made deals for information—why shouldn’t she?
Sir Harold thought about it for a moment. “Of course, Lady Frances, as you come from a political family long used to discretion, I am able to trust you. Recently, a major investor, an important figure in the City, put together a syndicate to purchase the Emerald Theatre, home to the Green Players. There were a number of investors, but he was the principal. Everyone thought it a rather bold move, but he has since been pouring money into updates and expanding into these new motion pictures. His name is Lord Freemantle . . . I say, do you know him?”
It must’ve been plain all over her face, she realized. Lord Freemantle, the wealthy son-in-law of her client, Lady Torrence, was the secret purchaser of the Emerald Theatre. Now Frances knew that her belief that the purchase was engineered to keep Lady Torrence away from the theatre’s records was correct. It was too much of a coincidence. But why? Why was Lord Freemantle so desperate to stop his mother-in-law that he would spend thousands of pounds?
She gathered herself. There would be time for reflection later. “I know his name, although we have never met. His late father-in-law, Sir Arnold Torrence, was a colleague of my father’s in the Foreign Office.”
“Ah, yes. Small world, of course.” And it was. Nothing odd about a connection like that.
“But of course, Sir Harold, I will keep your confidence, since Lord Freemantle wanted to keep his business dealings private.” She stood. “You’ve been most helpful, but I don’t want to take up any more of your valuable time. I know the Guild’s board would also appreciate your insights, if you would ever want to attend a meeting—the last Thursday of every month at the Duchess’s house. I hope to see you there.”
Sir Harold seemed happy with that, said he hoped to see her again soon, and rang for the page to show her out.
Back on the street, Frances felt proud of herself. Perhaps membership in one of the distinguished clubs was not always necessary for a successful negotiation, and if Sir Harold was good enough to advise the Liberal Party, he might very well have some ideas for her charity.
For now, though, it was time to focus on Lord Freemantle. Even for a man of his reputed wealth, the purchase of the Emerald Theatre was a major undertaking. If he will do something drastic like that, what would he do to me if I interfered? thought Frances.
Should she tell her client, Lady Torrence, that the reason she was banished from the theatre records room was that her own son-in-law had stopped her? No, that could start a major family feud that would be counterproductive to finding Louisa—never mind how Lord Freemantle would react! She would have to confront him herself. Just show up at his place of business? He might not even admit her, and he would certainly be on his guard if a lady suddenly showed up at his offices with no introduction.
But there were other ways to reach him.
CHAPTER 8
After lunch, it was off to call on Lady Freemantle. Once again, Franny thought about the bicycle, but this was another occasion not to look unusual, and anyway, the Freemantle townhouse was close enough to Miss Plimsoll’s to walk.
She had never met Lady Freemantle, but that didn’t matter. Lad
ies in society could call on each other with even the most tenuous connections. And as the daughter of the previous Marquess of Seaforth and sister of the current one, she’d be admitted anywhere.
Unless, she thought ruefully, her suffragist connections had preceded her.
Nevertheless, she was promptly admitted to the Freemantle house, and it was clear from the moment she stepped over the threshold that Lord Freemantle had done well for himself indeed. Frances had been in enough fine homes to recognize good furnishings when she saw them, but here everything was new. In homes where family fortunes went back generations, you saw old portraits on the walls and other faded mementoes from great-grandparents. Any items that Sarah Torrence, now Lady Freemantle, had brought to her marriage home were perhaps confined to her boudoir and not in evidence in the perfectly quiet entranceway.
The butler led Frances to the drawing room, where Lady Freemantle was seated with a look of curiosity on her face. Frances compared her to the portrait of her older sister, Louisa. Even accounting for the many years that had passed, she doubted Sarah had ever been as beautiful as her sister. But she was a handsome woman with a welcoming smile, and Frances saw friendliness in her eyes. No, more than that—some merriment.
“Lady Frances—how kind of you to call. Do have some tea.” A maid expertly served the tea and silently departed as Frances sat. “Your brother is the Marquess of Seaforth, isn’t he? The name is familiar. I believe our fathers served together in the Foreign Office.”
“Yes, and I was pleased to meet your mother at a recent dinner at Lord and Lady Moore’s. I do try to keep up with the family’s old friends, and so I thought I’d call on you to reacquaint our families.” She’d have to go slowly and draw upon the diplomatic skills the Seaforths were known for.
Despite that plausible introduction, Lady Freemantle frowned. “Fair enough, Lady Frances, but I confess to being disappointed. I was so hoping you were coming here to recruit me for your suffrage club.”
