by R. J. Koreto
She had looked for the soldier when they left, but it had been too dark. And he’d be more careful now that Frances had almost caught him twice and had fooled him that morning. Still, all he’d find this evening was that she was visiting her fiancé.
Mallow was with her in the hansom. Ladies’ maids did not normally accompany ladies to evening engagements, but Mallow would soon be part of this household too and usually joined Frances to get to know her fellow servants. She could also help collect the ladies’ wraps as they arrived.
“How do you find Mr. Wheaton’s staff, Mallow? Just between us?”
“Satisfactory, my lady. Of course, a rather small staff compared with his lordship’s household.” Frances’s brother did a great deal of entertaining because of his position. Hal had a butler who doubled as a valet, a cook, and a couple of maids. For large dinners, like tonight, he hired an extra waiter. “Also, the food is not as . . . elaborate, my lady.”
“No. Mr. Wheaton leads a somewhat simpler life,” said Frances. Not because he couldn’t afford to do better, but because that was the way he chose to live. Frances’s mother had had long weekly conversations with her cook, and if there was an important dinner, they’d spent even more time. That wouldn’t happen to Frances. She wasn’t going to lead that kind of life.
They alighted from the hansom, and Mallow headed down to the servants’ entrance. Hal greeted Frances at the door himself.
“Am I the first?” she asked.
“Yes, my dear.” He kissed her on the cheek.
“My mother would be annoyed with me for arriving so early, but Mallow did an efficient job getting me ready.”
“And a fine job it was. You look lovely. But then you always do.”
“Flatterer.”
“Come sit down, and I will pour you some sherry if you’d like. Tell me how your detective work is going.”
Frances studied him. From most men, she could expect at best an amused condensation about her work. But not from Hal, and she felt ashamed of her suspicions. She should have known better. There was genuine interest and admiration there in those pale-green eyes.
“I’ve found out a lot, but it keeps getting more complex, and the lies keep growing. I am beginning to suspect that even my own client isn’t being entirely honest with me—not deliberately, but out of embarrassment or a wish to forget the past.”
“A client not being completely forthright with you? I am shocked, Franny. That has never happened to me or any other solicitor.” He laughed.
“Perhaps I am naïve,” she said.
“No, just inexperienced. Years ago, I was engaged to make financial arrangements for a client’s distant cousin, a widow with a child, who had fallen on hard times. It was years before I figured out that the ‘widow’ had been a poor farm girl he had gotten into trouble. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust me but that he was ashamed. Maybe your client is the same.”
Yes, thought Frances. Lady Torrence was ashamed—for letting her husband hurt their children all their lives, finally driving one away. She had said she hadn’t remembered the name “Bradley.” Indeed, if Emma was her daughter’s playmate, she might not have known the girl’s surname. As a girl, Frances remembered romping with the fishmonger’s daughter near their country estate. She doubted either of her parents had known the fishmonger’s name.
Soon, the butler was announcing the next arrivals, and in short order, there were ten in the drawing room, greeting each other and talking. As always, Frances found herself the subject of curiosity as a member of the aristocracy and a well-known suffragist. Although they presided over highly formal offices during the day, in the evenings—especially after a glass of wine or two—Frances found Hal’s solicitor friends and their wives a lively bunch. And who knew? Maybe one or more of the women could be enticed to attend a suffrage club meeting.
The butler called them all to dinner, and as they were eating their soup, Hal drew everyone’s attention by standing.
“My dear friends and colleagues, gentle ladies, and beloved Frances”—the last item was met by approving laughter from the company and a blush from Frances—“although I invited you here out of friendship, I also want to use this occasion to announce a momentous change in my office. I have found myself busier than ever of late. To that end, I needed another senior clerk, to be promoted from among my pool of clerks. And dear Frances, I know you of all people will be thrilled to hear that I promoted one of my female clerks, Miss Wilmington, to the position.”
More laughter followed with cries of, “Hear, hear!” from Frances.
“Well done, Hal!” said Frances. “As you know, I’ve met her several times and think no one, man or woman, is more deserving of such a promotion. I daresay she’s the first woman with that title in any solicitor’s office.”
“Quite, Franny. But it’s what happened after I told her of her promotion that makes the story so humorous. She was very pleased and thanked me most warmly, especially when I told her what her new wages were—the same as the male senior clerks. And she said, ‘Thank you very much, sir, and please extend my thanks as well to Lady Frances Ffolkes.’ Well, ladies and gentlemen, I asked her why I should thank my intended for a promotion in my firm—in my firm—and she stammered something about assuming Lady Frances had had a hand in the promotion. Which she did, if indirectly. But it seems I have to remind my staff that her ladyship is soon to be my partner in life but not in my business.”
With loud cheers, everyone toasted Hal for his progressive step and Frances for being such a good influence on him.
“I am glad to have inspired you to take such a step, Hal. And I hope when next we all meet, I’ll find out that other gentlemen here have also promoted women in their firms.”
The ladies were particularly vocal in their support.
“Perhaps,” said one woman, “someday we’ll even have women solicitors. And then Frances can be his partner in life and his firm.”
Frances and Hal met each other’s eyes and shared an unspoken message: Wouldn’t that be nice.
The dinner proceeded with good conversation and good humor. All went well until the roast was being cleared in preparation for afters, when Mrs. Dilmouth knocked over her wine glass, spilling some of the red liquid onto her dress.
“How terribly clumsy of me,” she said.
“Come with me,” said Frances. “My maid Mallow is downstairs, and she’s a genius with stains.”
The two women excused themselves and headed to the servants’ hall, where Mallow was helping with the sewing.
“A stain, madam? I’m glad you came quickly. I can keep it from setting and have you all fixed in a moment. Just wait right here.” Mallow went into the kitchen and came back with a damp cloth and a few other ingredients. The stain was handled quickly.
“Thank you so much, Mallow,” said Mrs. Dilmouth. “It’s a wonder.”
“I am pleased to be of assistance, madam,” said Mallow, full of pride.
“I’ll follow in a moment,” said Frances, and Mrs. Dilmouth headed back upstairs. She turned to her maid. “Thanks again. All is well here? The dinner is going beautifully, Mallow. Hal seems to have good staff.”
“Oh, yes, my lady.” She lowered her voice to avoid being overheard. “Mr. Wheaton’s staff is fine, my lady, and the hired waiter knows his business. But the extra kitchen maid, Gladys—although I’m no cook, I know how a kitchen should be run, and I wouldn’t think that she had ever been in a kitchen before.”
“That’s odd, Mallow. Mr. Wheaton never mentioned hiring an extra kitchen maid.”
“She showed up with the waiter, my lady. She said the agency was lending her for the evening as a gift because Mr. Wheaton is a good customer of the agency. The waiter didn’t know her, though, and Cook says she isn’t much good, free or not.”
“Mallow, where is this Gladys now?” She felt her heart pounding.
“Washing up, I believe, my lady. Do you think . . . ?”
Frances realized that, much li
ke in a military campaign, planning was everything. There just wasn’t time. If she alerted the butler, she’d risk losing her quarry. She had to think on her feet.
“Mallow, there’s no easy way for you to leave through the kitchen exit without attracting attention. Go upstairs quickly, exit through the front door, and stand on the street. Alert a constable if you see one, but I doubt we’ll be that lucky.”
Mallow said a quick, “Yes, my lady,” and headed upstairs at a rapid pace. Frances slipped into the kitchen. Cook was busy putting the finishing touches on the final dish, and one of the regular maids was helping her. By the time Frances’s presence was recognized, she had already placed herself between “Gladys,” who was working at the sink, and the only exit to the street. The maid’s hair and sloppy oversized cap shadowed her, but Frances could see her face, masculine despite clever theatrical makeup. No one ever looked closely at a mere kitchen maid, and the soldier—their stalker—had counted on that.
“Gladys. Although that is not your real name. You have been found out and are done stalking me. Sit down at the table right now and face the consequences of your actions.” She put every ounce of her patrician upbringing into her tone.
The cook and her maid looked up from their tasks, stunned. The stalker didn’t move right away. He was considering his options, Frances knew.
“I said, ‘sit down,’” Frances commanded. Then, turning to the staring maid and cook, she ordered, “One of you—go get the master now. We have an intruder in the house.” The maid ran, and then “Gladys” made his move, rushing Frances with his head down. She had half-expected that and stood her ground. Frances wasn’t tall, but she would not be easily moved, and she knew no man, even an actor, would be used to moving in women’s clothes. That was her advantage.
The stalker grabbed her and tried to throw her aside, but Frances pushed back. She was turned around and felt strong arms surround her. She couldn’t move.
And then she remembered her jujutsu. She relaxed for a moment, fooling her attacker, who moved forward to escape—but Frances neatly stepped forward and tripped him with a well-placed foot. He stumbled, and while he was off-balance, Frances grabbed him again. When he turned to attack her, she nimbly stepped aside and threw him with the aid of his own weight into the table, where he slammed his hip.
Clearly panicked, the assailant rebounded and gave Frances another shove while trying to use his longer legs to race past her to the door. Frances saw him try to pick up a rough bag, like a workman would carry, that was lying unobtrusively at the exit. But Frances caught up with him and was ready with her foot, despite the restrictions of her clothes, and tripped him again as he tried once more to run past her toward the door. He pulled himself up again, scrambling for the bag, but Frances managed to step on it, and the worn strap tore as he pulled it hard.
Unfortunately, his sharp tug also sent Frances off balance, and she fell against the wall. Snatching the bag from the floor, he stumbled out the door. Frances heard noise upstairs; Hal and his company were coming. But would they be fast enough?
Frances followed the man out the door and onto the street. He was running along now, and Frances realized that she had no chance of catching him. But then, out of the night, she saw what seemed to be a brass cannonball coming from the direction of the front door. She vaguely realized it was a decorative doorstop from the main entranceway—a sphere flattened on one side—and it caught their culprit right between his shoulder blades. He went down yet again, and without its strap, the bag went sliding away into the darkness.
He had no time to retrieve the bag, so he abandoned it and disappeared down the street. A moment later, Hal and the other men appeared behind Frances, coming from the front entrance.
“I’m unhurt—follow him!” Frances shouted, and Hal and one of the men did. But in the dark, the man had no doubt shed his maid’s outfit and vanished. They came back a few minutes later, shaking their heads.
“Franny, are you sure you’re unhurt?” asked Hal.
“Yes. A little shaken, but fine—Mallow, was that you with that doorstop?” Mallow reappeared, having retrieved both the missile and the lost bag.
“Yes, my lady. I am sorry that I failed to stop him more permanently.”
“But Mallow, you succeeded. I tore his bag, and you made him drop it. If he wanted it so badly, it must be important. We will examine it.”
“But later,” said Hal. “Come upstairs. Mallow will see to you, and you’ll have some brandy.” He looked at her in the eye and embraced her, and she let him comfort her. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered.
She looked up at the assembled company gathered in front of the house, looking on with concern and more than a little curiosity. Frances owed them an explanation.
“It’s my own silly fault. I was just checking in on my maid downstairs and noted that something about the hired kitchen maid looked wrong. When I challenged her, she attacked me and fled.”
“I imagine that she was a petty thief using forged references to get a temporary job to steal spoons or whatever else she could quickly grab,” added Hal. “Frances, with her sharp eyes, no doubt rattled her. No point in making a fuss with the police now. I’ll have a word with some contacts of mine at Scotland Yard in the morning, but there’s no reason not to go back upstairs and finish our dinner.”
It was a good speech, Frances realized, but didn’t entirely account for everything, especially Frances’s fight, part of which may have been witnessed by some of the guests. And how had Mallow been in place unless Frances had sent her there? The shrewd solicitors and their clever wives would know there was more to this. There would be talk . . . and Society would be treated to another colorful story about “Mad” Lady Frances.
But for now, an efficient Mallow rearranged Frances very quickly downstairs and dinner concluded with afters, coffee, and brandy.
“I say, Wheaton,” said one of the gentlemen. “You promised us a memorable evening, but we had no idea. Once more, a toast to your remarkable fiancée.”
The evening concluded on a cheerful note, and as the other guests left, Frances saw more curiosity from the gentlemen—and admiration from the ladies. Perhaps, if nothing else, one or more of them would come to a suffrage meeting to see what else Frances was getting up to.
When Hal and Frances were alone, they retired to the library, sitting next to each other on a settee, finishing their brandies.
“I owe you an apology,” said Frances. “What happened this evening was a result of my detective work. I dragged it into your house.” She sighed. “Although I am taking it seriously, I confess I also saw it as amusing. But I have introduced danger into your home. That was . . . thoughtless of me.” She looked at Hal for understanding and forgiveness.
“It is my house, Franny. But soon, it will be yours too. Ours. It’s the point I keep making. We are joining our lives together.”
His easy dismissal of the drama she had caused was endearing but vaguely irritating. He should be annoyed. Even angry.
“Mr. Wheaton, you’re going to spoil me. You’re too good to me.” She was only half joking.
“Is it so hard to believe that what is important to you is also important to me? After all, my lady, we’re all in agreement that you’re the one who got me to promote Miss Wilmington to senior clerk.”
“So you did it just to please me? You don’t think she really deserved it?” she challenged him.
“No. Despite my great love for you, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think Miss Wilmington deserved it. But the point, Franny, is that I wouldn’t have even thought about it before I met you.”
She nodded. “Thank you,” was all she could say. Yes, there were some things to work out before they walked down the aisle, but she did love him and knew that he loved her. She’d work out the details later. She always did. Meanwhile she still had a mystery to solve.
“Thank you for not calling the police. I don’t want any more complications in this case,” said Fra
nces.
“So I assumed. Now I saw Mallow retrieved the bag the culprit dropped. I won’t ask you to violate your client’s privacy, but I hope it has a clue for you.”
“I expect it does,” says Frances.
“Shall I ring for Mallow so you can examine it now? I’ll give you the privacy of my office. Or I can have a cab summoned so both of you can go back to your rooms.”
“I do want to examine it, but the clue will still be there later tonight. Or tomorrow. It will keep.” She put down her brandy and leaned over to give her fiancé a long kiss.
CHAPTER 21
It was late when Hal saw Frances and Mallow into a hansom for the short drive home. He was a little nervous and wanted to come with them, but Frances dissuaded him.
“We’re not going to be attacked together, and he’s licking his wounds, not seeking to start trouble with a London cabbie who probably has a club under his seat. Thank you, dear Hal, and we will talk very soon.” A final quick kiss, and then they were off into the night.
“I didn’t get a chance to say, Mallow, but I was deeply grateful, and deeply impressed, at your aim with that doorstop. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, my lady.” With a little hesitation, Mallow said, “I think, my lady, that I did that Zen Buddhist trick you spoke of earlier. That is, the arrow and the target are the same.”
“Mallow, I truly believe you did. Meanwhile, one of Mr. Wheaton’s friends told me I’d make a very good prop.” Mallow saw the mix of pride and embarrassment on her ladyship’s face, as when Mr. Shaw had called her “Major Frances.”
“Is that a position in government, my lady?” It was her ladyship’s dream to get women into government, although Mallow wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed.
