by Abigail Agar
Her mother looked at him with apology.
“It is nothing, Gregory. A maid has departed. It happens each and every day. You know how their lot is,” she said, Sarah sinking into the shadows with her words.
“Mother…” Georgiana said, knowing she could not openly scold her mother but hoping to alert her to how rude her words were.
But her mother simply brushed it away.
“Anyway, she probably ran off with the newspaper boy or some other. We may find a new maid,” she said.
William coughed, but did not interject his thoughts, although Georgiana wished that he would.
“I suppose you are correct, my dear. It could be anything that has taken her from us,” Georgiana’s father said.
“No, Father, it could not,” she said, speaking up. She would not allow anyone to ignore the matter at hand.
“Georgiana, what is it? Can you not imagine that a young lady might wish to run off and marry rather than be a maid?” he asked.
“There is no evidence that she has done such a thing. She would have told me. She had no gentleman in her life,” Georgiana said.
Her father smiled at her in a condescending way.
“My dear, we cannot expect that the household staff is going to tell us everything,” he said.
“But…but Rachel would have,” Georgiana said, determined.
“Rachael would have no reason to do so,” he retorted, stressing that Georgiana ought not to be so friendly with the staff and be so familiar with them.
“Father, please. She could be in trouble. May we not go and speak with the police? To find out what has happened to her?” Georgiana asked.
Her father scoffed.
“The police?” he asked.
“Yes, Father. Why wouldn’t we? It is clear that something is amiss. She has vanished,” Georgiana said, desperate.
“My dear, your mother is probably right about the reasons for her disappearance. I am sure she has simply discovered a gentleman in whom she has an interest,” her father said.
Georgiana was growing frustrated. She could not understand why her family didn’t seem to care about the fact that Rachel was missing. She understood that Rachel was simply a maid and men and women like her mother and father were unconcerned with staff for any reason other than receiving the care and attention that they paid for.
And yet, Georgiana knew Rachel, like Sarah and Mrs. Buckley, to be a flesh and blood woman. She knew that her life had value, that she mattered. She understood that even maids and housekeepers had feelings, hopes, and dreams beyond simply pouring tea and dusting fireplaces.
“Father, please, we must look into this. It is very important. We cannot simply ignore what has taken place here. What if Rachel’s family comes to us and asks after her whereabouts? What will you say to them? She is their daughter, just as I am yours. Would they not deserve to know that we have made an effort to search for her?” Georgiana asked, invoking the fact that she, too, was a daughter in the hopes that it would cause her father to consider it more clearly.
She watched his face shift and realized that her strategy was working.
“I suppose you do have a fine point at that,” he said.
“Yes, Father. We must do something,” she said.
“Gregory, are you going to allow our daughter to manipulate you in this way? What she is speaking of, it makes very little sense. Rachel is fine, I am certain,” her mother said, shrugging as if it was not an issue in the least.
But her father continued to eye her with an understanding.
“I think, Elizabeth, that Georgiana is right. We should look into this. And if, as we may believe, there is nothing to be found in the end, she will be calm and understand that not everything has to be a cause for drama,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Georgiana as if to warn her that she had better not press the matter if there was nothing discovered.
“Yes, Father. So long as we make an effort to look for her, I shall not push if we learn that she did simply run off,” Georgiana said, certain that there was more to it than that.
“Very well. To the constables we go,” he said, sighing. “You know that I believe this is foolishly done, my dear. But as you are passionate about it, I can see no other choice.”
“Yes, Father, I understand. Nevertheless, I must insist. We have to go to the constable and tell them that she has vanished. I shall not sit idly by while she is missing,” Georgiana said.
Her father said nothing, but sighed, as he often did when he was simply humouring her. After he had finished his breakfast, he looked at Georgiana and gave a nod.
“Are you ready to depart?” he asked.
“Yes, Father. Give me just a moment to fetch my gloves,” she replied, rushing from the table and up to her room.
She grasped her white lace gloves, delicate and fine as they were. They had been a gift when she entered society. Still, she considered them one of her prized possessions as they had been exquisitely designed and fit her fingers snugly.
Georgiana made her way back down the stairs where her father was adjusting his hat on his head.
“All right, then. Shall we depart?” he asked.
“Yes, Father. Thank you for listening to me. I know that something is amiss. We cannot allow our dear Rachel to suffer alone as we simply move on with our lives. Thank you for heeding my concern,” she said, truly grateful that he had given into her demands.
Her father gave her a blank stare for only a moment.
“You, my dear, are incapable of letting a matter rest. What did you expect? You know that I often have no choice but to give into your insistence,” he said.
Georgiana winced, understanding that this was not a compliment. However, if no one was going to listen to her, if no one was willing to be concerned for Rachel, she had to be the voice of reason, she had to be the one who would make them concede.
At last, Georgiana and her father climbed into the coach, ready to depart. She was eager, determined that they would manage to find the truth, however simple or complex it may be.
“Are you quite certain that this is how you wish to spend your day, my dear? Chasing after a wayward maid?” her father asked once they were making their way through the streets.
“What else am I to do, Father? Sit and wait at home and make pretty little squares of cross-stitching?” she asked.
“I rather thought you may wait for the Baron of Ayre to come and visit, as I am sure that he will,” he said.
Georgiana shook her head, hardly caring about that in such a moment.
They arrived at the police precinct and Georgiana could hardly bear propriety as she followed behind her father, rather desperate as she was to charge ahead and demand action.
Nevertheless, her father waltzed in and smiled at the constables.
A rather fine looking gentleman, outfitted not as a constable, but in very respectable clothing, stood nearby and looked up at Georgiana and her father.
“May I help you, sir?” he asked.
Her father looked to Georgiana and raised an eyebrow as if to make her speak her concern. She swallowed and emboldened herself.
“Yes. We wish to speak with someone about my maid who has vanished. Someone in charge, who will make every effort," she said.
The fire-haired man flicked observant brown eyes between Georgiana and her father before giving a firm nod.
“As you wish, miss. I am Inspector Hamish Brock. Now, tell me what it is that has happened.”
Chapter 4
“She has never done anything like this before,” Miss Reid insisted as she sat across the desk from Hamish in his office. Her blue eyes were very intense as she told him all about what had taken place.
“Miss Reid, I understand that, but are you certain there is not a simpler explanation?” he asked.
“There is not, Inspector Brock. I am sure of it. She would not simply leave me like this without warning,” she said.
Miss Reid was beautiful, but Hamish refused to be dist
racted by it. He knew women like her, particularly in this division.
She was the sort of simpering young woman who lived for balls and society, the daughter of a wealthy man who believed that he could marry his daughter off to someone with a title that might be able to rise them from whatever dregs he had been born into before striking a deal that lifted him from the mire.
Like most young women of her sort in London, she was likely interested in finding her maid all for the sake of the pampering that would come along with the aid of a young lady who did not have the same opportunities that she had been given.
Hamish tried not to let his true opinion show, but to appear as though he was genuinely interested in the case which was being presented to him.
Unfortunately, he could see from Miss Reid’s lovely face that she was not buying his empathy.
“You think it not an issue, Inspector?” she asked, her tone full of demanding in the very way that made him take heed before showing her respect.
“Forgive me, Miss Reid, I did not mean that. It is only that I do this job day by day and it is not uncommon for a maid or a housekeeper, a butler or a valet to simply vanish. More often than not, if it is a female, she has left in search of a husband. And it is common that they leave for the prospect of better—which is to say, more forgiving—work,” Hamish said, aware that his words might be taken poorly.
“Do you mean to insinuate that I do not treat my staff well?” Mr. Reid demanded, his anger rising.
But Hamish stayed calm in his seat and did not jump to his own defence.
“Mr. Reid, I am well aware of what sort of life is lived by the men and women who are the backbone of our society. They do not receive the grace which they are due,” he said, simply.
“Ha! You go too far,” Mr. Reid accused.
“Be that as it may, I have said it,” he replied.
Hamish turned his attention back to Miss Reid, looking at her intently.
“Inspector Brock, is it not your duty to investigate whatever it is that has been brought to your door?” Miss Reid asked.
“So long as it warrants investigating, it is. But, Miss Reid, I do not believe that your particular case is what you think it to be,” Hamish said.
“Why not? Is it because I am a woman and I am not to be believed?” she asked.
Hamish raised his eyebrows at this.
“On the contrary, Miss Reid, I would never presume as much. Whatever prejudice London has against the word of a woman, I must assure you that I do not ascribe to such opinions. I would rather you not make the accusation that I might,” he said, firmly.
Miss Reid looked ashamed of her assumption and she simply nodded, quietly.
Hamish was struggling to figure out what sort of woman she was. His initial guess, that she was simply a wealthy and spoiled young woman like any other, was clearly incorrect. She shared none of the characteristics he was accustomed to in women like that.
She was demanding, but not in the spoiled way. It was a determination born out of concern rather than entitlement. Still, he did not want to allow himself to jump to the conclusion that she had a greater depth to her when he trusted that she must have some of those qualities.
“Now, Miss Reid, I understand that you are worried. I am well aware of the fact that young women such as yourself require someone to organize such lovely gloves,” he said, gesturing to the fine lace upon her hands. “But you must understand that this is no case.”
For a moment, she was quiet, her eyes filled with a bitter glare. Her father said nothing, as though he actually agreed with Hamish on the matter. Finally, he believed the issue resolved, finished.
He felt bad for having crushed her spirit, but it was better that the issue not be pressed when there was a very clear resolution in hand. Rachel had most assuredly left of her own accord and he had no reason to suspect otherwise.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to return to my work and I trust that you will allow me to do so,” Hamish said.
“On the contrary, Inspector Brock, I should like you to begin your work,” Miss Reid said, surprising him once more with her brash efforts.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Reid?” he asked, daring her to speak out again. Although he was not the sort of man to push a woman down or to silence her, he had never yet confronted a lady with such boldness as to challenge him in his own affairs.
“You did not hear me? That is a shame, for I imagine that an inspector who has poor hearing must not be the success that he thinks himself to be,” she said.
“Enough!” her father insisted, looking embarrassed. “What is the matter with you, Georgiana?”
Hamish leaned back in his chair, observing the interaction. The two were very interesting to watch. The daughter, clearly desperate. The father, angered by her lack of decorum. Both with hot tempers.
And a hot temper could be reason enough for a disappearing maid.
“Forgive her, Inspector Brock. She is an insolent child at times. Although I have no care for you at present, she ought to know not to speak to a man in such a way and I can assure you that we shall deal with this matter,” Mr. Reid said.
Something about it left Hamish uncomfortable. Certainly, Mr. Reid was not a bad man to his daughter; Hamish could see that clearly. But it appeared to him that Mr. Reid wanted the whole matter forgotten, that he was not eager for Hamish to give credence to his daughter’s worries.
Perhaps he was simply conscious of Hamish’s time, of the fact that this was probably not a case. He may have the same sense that Hamish did that none of this was really a matter to be considered at all.
Or…
Perhaps, he knew something that he did not want Hamish to find out about. Perhaps, he was hiding something.
“Father, please. This is not just some foolish notion of mine,” Miss Reid said, before Hamish could speak his mind.
“That is enough, Georgiana,” Mr. Reid said, firmly.
“Why must you insist that I be quiet, Father? I know, without a doubt that there is something wrong. I worry for Rachel. You may insist that I call her by her surname, you may insist that I do not treat her as a friend, but I cannot refrain from caring about her,” Miss Reid said.
Hamish now observed the look that went between father and daughter. It was obvious to him that Mr. Reid did not want to cave to his insolent daughter’s demands. And yet, he clearly understood that she would not be satiated.
Moreover, Hamish found himself impressed by Miss Reid. He had not expected that she would be the sort of woman to care so much about her maids. He had thought her just another of the many women in London who cared for only themselves.
But he could see it now. There was something more.
Before he had a chance to speak his mind, once more, his thoughts were interrupted.
“Please, Inspector Brock. I know that you must think me a foolish young woman, just as any other. I know that maids run off. But I am certain that this is not the case with our Rachel. I tell you that something is amiss and I mean it wholeheartedly because there are circumstances which make no sense to me at all. Rachel would not do this,” Miss Reid said, passionately.
Hamish rubbed at his chin and chewed his lip, thinking about what she was saying.
