Death Among Rubies (24 page)

“Something is up, Mr. Hardiman. Among other things, I think Effie would like to see Christopher Blake again.”

“I’m sure she would,” he said. “But I’m not going to stay in the country if there’s going to be more violence.”

“Just until tomorrow,” said Frances, offering him a smile.

“And what happens tomorrow?”

“Ah. Tomorrow is another day, Mr. Hardiman. Have a good visit at Blake Court. And if you see Mrs. Blake in the meantime, there’s no need to mention this to her. She has enough to take care of. And I’ll be sure to tell the staff none of you will be in for dinner.”

And with that, she left before Mr. Hardiman could ask more questions.

Excellent. Everything was falling into place. She went back to her room, where Mallow was waiting for her. Her maid had the biggest role of all, and Frances closed the bedroom door firmly before speaking.

“Mallow. I have a very special task for you this evening. No one knows more than you how closely a lady works with her maid. I don’t think Mrs. Blake is any different. But tonight, I need Mrs. Blake without anyone to assist her. Not even Miss Jenkins. Especially not Miss Jenkins. Mrs. Blake wants us to think she’s unaware of what’s going on, as she’s been in her bedroom most of the day. But we need to be careful, and we need to see she really is cut off as much as possible.”

The wide-eyed Mallow just nodded. Frances produced a vial of the sleeping draft that the doctor had given Gwen right
after her father’s murder. “So I need you to get rid of Jenkins.” She went into the details.

“Don’t you worry, my lady. I won’t let you down.”

“Good girl, Mallow! I knew I could depend on you.” She smiled. “It isn’t normal work for a lady’s maid, is it?”

“Well, no, my lady, but—” started Mallow, turning a little red.

Now, Frances laughed. “You were about to say that I wasn’t a normal lady.”

“Well, not in those words, my lady . . .”

“But you’re absolutely right, Mallow. Now, I must call on Mr. Mehmet, then when I get back, I’ll need you to help me into my walking clothes.” And she left before Mallow could object.

Now came the hardest conversation of all. She took a deep breath and sought out Mr. Mehmet in his room.

“Lady Frances? So glad to see you again. I hope you are well after the attack on your person this morning?”

“Quite, thank you.” He motioned for her to take a seat, and he sat opposite her.

“I suppose, with the attack on someone from such an important family, police will surely come from London? Have you already, in fact, summoned them?” He tried to sound casual about it, but Frances heard the strain in his voice.

“No, I haven’t. I can, but I have a better way of handling this. I need your help, Mr. Mehmet. I won’t mince words.”

“What do you need?” he asked a little warily.

“I need you to tell me what you know. I believe you saw something that could help me solve this murder.”

“I assure you that you are mistaken.”

“Why did you not want Scotland Yard here? Why do you want me to solve it—unofficially? You foreign affairs types put your concerns ahead of everything else. I’ve learned that much.”

Mr. Mehmet stood, and his smile was gone. “This isn’t profiting either one of us. I will be leaving soon—my wife and I. Whether or not we get official permission.”

Frances stood too. “I know what you’re doing here. There’s no point in hiding anything from me. You’re working to overthrow your sultan. From what I hear, why not? He sounds most unsatisfactory. Work with me and you’re secret is safe. But if you stubbornly refuse to talk, then you’ll force my hand.”

“Lady Frances. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then I agree; this has been a waste of time for both of us,” she said. “Good day. And before you can leave England, I’ll have half a dozen of Scotland Yard’s finest grilling you about every movement you’ve made. Not Special Branch, but regular Criminal Investigation Division men. Let’s see if your Foreign Office friends can save you then.”

She turned and opened the door. She knew this would work. Frances had played enough card games to know how far you could bluff.

Mr. Mehmet reached over her shoulder and slammed the door.

“Lady Frances . . .”

She turned. “Come now, Mr. Mehmet. You trust your friend in London. You can trust your friend’s sister.”

He shook his head. “It was foolish of me to think you wouldn’t find out. If you had been alive when this house was being built, you’d have been burned as a witch.” He made that sound as if it was a prospect he relished.

“You’re the one who said I’d be the sword of Allah.”

“It serves me right for mocking the Prophet,” he said. “Your Lord and mine both work in mysterious ways.” He sighed. “So this is how it ends. With you blackmailing me.”

Frances tossed her head. “My understanding is that this is the way men do business, and if I am to work in the world of men, I need to learn it. It’s apparently called ‘negotiating.’ For a beginner, I think I’m doing very well.”

“You’re doing extremely well,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

“The night of the murder, I think you saw something. You didn’t tell the police because you didn’t want to tell them why
you were where you were. They’d want to know more—why you were gone so long, why you took a hidden door, with whom you were meeting. They’d make investigations. I won’t. So just tell me. And I will do everything I can to leave it at that.”

“Even if I told you, what would it do? I am a foreigner, not even a Christian.”

“You are a man—a gentleman. Even as a foreigner, the police would have to listen to you. You have no reason to lie if it came to a court case—but I don’t think it will. The threat alone will be enough.”

He nodded. “It seems I have no choice. Very well. I saw Mrs. Blake entering the study, during the evening. I consulted my watch—it was five minutes after ten. That’s all. I had slipped out a little-used side door. I couldn’t have the police inquiring into what I was doing and when. I assume Mrs. Blake and Sir Calleford were having a liaison.” He shrugged. “These things happen in English country homes, I know.” He paused, and Frances saw the wonder in his face as he made the connection. “It was an affair, surely. You don’t think—”

But Frances cut him off. She wasn’t prepared to discuss her theories further. “By itself, it means nothing. She could’ve had half a dozen reasons to visit him there, including chiding him for neglecting his guests. But it’s all clear now and I have what I need. Thank you. Again, I don’t think we should need to publicize this. I just needed the leverage for Mrs. Blake.”

“Like the leverage you needed for me,” he said with a little bitterness.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Mehmet. You men invented the game. I’m just trying to play according to your rules. Oh, and one more thing. Later this evening, Mrs. Blake will be leaving her room to look for me. Could you do me a favor? Stop her. Just talk to her as long as you can. You’re a talented talker; I’m sure you’ll do well. Thank you.”

And with that, she left. Her brow was covered in sweat. “
Oh my
,” she thought.

S
he went back to her room, where Mallow had laid out her walking clothes with the same care and attention as if they were an elegant ball ensemble. Always, Frances had put on these clothes by herself. Now, for the first time, she had Mallow to help—but that made it worse.

“I am not sure why you need to dress in . . . these, my lady.”

“I have to be secret. Mrs. Blake can’t know I’m leaving. No servant can know I left, and I can’t risk her seeing me. She’ll be checking the exchange to see if I made a call. She needs to think she’s safe. It’s a trap, Mallow.”

“Very good, my lady. I’ll do my part. I just wish it didn’t involve these clothes.” She started to help Frances get dressed and approached the men’s clothes with her usual attention to sartorial perfection.

“Mallow, I don’t think it has to be perfect. I’m supposed to be a working man.”

“My lady. When you promoted me to be your personal maid, Miss Garritty—maid to your sister by marriage, Lady Seaforth—made me promise that I would never let you leave your bedroom without being perfectly dressed. I will keep that promise. Even if you are dressed in men’s clothes. Now I believe the shirt is tucked in like this . . .”

“Should the braces be tightened like that?”

“The braces are designed for a man’s figure, my lady.” Mallow had a point. It was one thing to dress like a man, quite another for someone with her rounded figure to pass as one.

“If I may say, my lady, we could use the services of a valet.”

“It’s too bad Randall isn’t here to help,” said Frances, referring to her brother’s valet. Both women thought that over, then started to giggle. Although an excellent valet, Randall was a formal, humorless man, and the thought of him dressing his master’s sister in men’s clothes was really too much.

“Beg your pardon, my lady, but I think that’s one place we won’t get any advice.”

“I agree with you there. Let’s loosen the shirt a little and add this jacket, which will cover a multitude of sins. And help me tuck my hair under this hat . . .”

Frances admired the final results in the mirror.
Not too bad. This just might work.

“How do I look, Mallow?”

Mallow sighed. “Again, begging your pardon, but I don’t know how to answer that question, my lady.”

Frances chuckled, then looked out her window: the workmen in the garden were breaking for the day. It was time to leave. “Now make sure the hall is clear and I’ll be off.”

Mallow gave her a nod and Frances slipped out. She had memorized the way to the back stairs, where she planned to leave through the servants’ entrance at the back. She was almost out when she heard a voice from the stairs above her.

“You! What are you doing inside?” It was Pennington, the butler. Frances kept her head low to hide her face under the hat brim, and hoped a harsh whisper would pass for a man’s voice. Fortunately, the stairwell light was dim.

“Beg pardon, sir. Won’t happen again.”

“You were all told the house was off limits. But wait a minute.” His voice grew softer. “You’re young Abel, aren’t you? I heard you had started work. Good for you, my lad. No doubt
here to visit your sister?” He chuckled. Frances concluded she had been mistaken for the young brother of one of the maids.

“Yes, sir. Just thought I’d say hello.”

“Very well. But from now on, you call on your sister in the servants’ hall and on your own time. Now be a good lad and go off with the rest of the men.”

Frances almost went limp with relief. She didn’t think she could keep up the charade much longer. She nodded and pushed her way out the door. The real Abel and his sister would be thrown into a lot of confusion later.

She was just in time to meet the crew of about a dozen men as they headed toward the road that led to the village. One man was clearly the foreman: he was older than the rest and they all deferred to him. The men looked up curiously as Frances approached, wondering if one of their number had gone astray. She walked up to the foreman, and only then was her deception apparent.

“I have to slip out of the house for reasons that are my own.” She produced a purse. “Keep my secret and you’ll all drink on me this afternoon.”

The foreman laughed. “I’d like to know that story, but very well.”

They all marched along together and Frances listened to their rough talk. Then she felt a heavy arm around her shoulders, as one of the men sidled up to her.

“So, sneaking out to meet your sweetheart? Where did you get so much money anyway—steal it from the mistress?”

“Get your arm off me,” said Frances. The man just laughed, and she wasn’t strong enough to remove it. She wished she had Mallow’s rolling pin, but no matter, she had heavy boots on. Between Mr. Mehmet’s servant, Silas Watkins, and now this man, she had had her fill of being assaulted by men. And so, she slammed her heavy boot heel down on his instep. The man quickly snatched away his arm and came out with a string of obscenities.

“Touch me again and you’ll find there are worse places for me to kick you,” she said, to much laughter.

When they got to the village, the foreman winked at her and grinned as he and his men went into the village public house, and she continued on. It was startling to be dressed as she was, not just like a man, but a working man. Her position as a woman—as a lady of quality—garnered respect and acknowledgement.

Now, she was invisible. And yet, she could easily have joined the rest of them in the tavern, something the daughter of a marquess couldn’t do.
Something to consider
, she realized, as she came to the village police station.

Dill looked up from some paperwork and cast a frown.
Again
, noted Frances,
daughters of the nobility were treated much better than working men
.

She didn’t need any interruptions, so she shut and bolted the door and pulled down the shade.

“See here, my man” said Dill. “That’s police property. Do you want to spend the night in jail?”

“No, I’ve done enough jail time,” said Frances, doffing her hat. “But I have a counteroffer. How would you like to solve a murder and earn your sergeant’s stripes?”

“My—my lady . . .” he stammered.

“Exactly. Now I don’t have much time. So listen carefully. You’ll need to come by later this evening and you’ll need another constable, someone obedient who doesn’t ask too many questions.” And the constable got out his notebook.

“I am under orders to have nothing more to do with you, my lady,” he said.

“I’m sure you are. But you’re too smart to pay attention to silly orders. Now, listen carefully.”

He noted his instructions, and Frances was rather pleased he gave no arguments, just accepted his orders. So someone in this county had some common sense.

When they were done, Frances put her hat back on and strode out of the door. She felt a little wistful passing by the
tavern: It was dim inside and she might be able to pass as a man for a while. She wondered what that might be like. But now she had the clothes, and rural England was well-populated with inns and taverns, so there would be a chance to try that again some other time. No need to tell Mallow.