Death on the Sapphire (25 page)

The men had clearly posed for the photograph, but casually: rifles were balanced lazily over knees or draped over shoulders. But there was one man who seemed somehow familiar . . .

My God. It was Danny Colcombe. These weren’t Boers; they were the men of the Empire Light Horse. After she got over her shock, Frances grinned. No British soldier ever looked like that. She was so used to well-tailored officers in red coats. And Danny—he had always been such a dandy.

Beneath the photo was a letter from Davis Bramwell, member of Parliament, who had practically attacked her in his carriage. It was dated two months before the Sapphire River debacle.

So General Audendale had a lively sense of humor. It no doubt greatly amused Danny to have his men sit for a portrait looking like a band of brigands, and it would be just like him to send a print to his commanding officer. But she wouldn’t have expected Audendale to send it to a member of Parliament. Good for him.

Farther down in the box she found more invoices, requisitions for everything from marmalade to bayonets to bandages. And then another letter from Bramwell, dated some weeks after the battle of Sapphire River:

Frances was furious. Danny deserved the Victoria Cross, the nation’s highest military honor, given for gallantry above and beyond the call of duty. She remembered what Private Barnstable had said: the Empire Light horsemen were forced into a traditional engagement. From Bramwell’s letter about parade-ground soldiers, it was clearly to satisfy the War Office’s desire for an image of a line of soldiers in red coats, not a band of rough-living horsemen fighting a new kind of war they couldn’t understand in London.

It was monstrous. Mr. Bramwell and men like him needed to sell the war to the public as empire building. Well-dressed soldiers in the now-obsolete “British square” formation were what people expected, not unshaven soldiers dressed like bushrangers. How could you promote a war when the British looked no better than the men they were fighting? Bramwell didn’t care about
those who fought and died, even when they were successful. He cared about how they looked.

Was Danny to be forgotten because of the stupidity of men in Whitehall, who even now weren’t brave enough to admit their mistakes?

It was obvious from the letters that Bramwell bore heavy responsibility for both the planning and the concealment. He had been careful; there’s wasn’t enough information in the letters to make his role completely clear. But Danny knew. And if the English public found out about the lies and concealments, careers would be destroyed and reputations left in tatters.

It was the emissaries from Bramwell and his cronies that Private Barnstable heard in the tent. Poor Audendale had said that he was looking forward to Danny’s book, even though it would’ve tarnished his reputation, too. Was he not the commanding officer, even if Bramwell was the true cause of the defeat? A lifetime of obeying orders had prevented the general from revealing the depth of the scandal, but he would rejoice if Danny had done so.

Honor again, thought Frances. Audendale following orders to the end, if reluctantly.

She emptied the box, but there was nothing else of interest. Frances had seen enough, though.

Mrs. Scotley broke into her thoughts by knocking and entering. “I have brought the cash boxes and my account books. The general also entrusted me with certain banking transactions in Blackburn, the nearest large town, and I brought those records as well.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Scotley. I will look them over presently.” She was still almost dizzy from the revelations among the general’s military papers that Bramwell was so directly involved in the mistake and concealment. For now, the relatively simple task of reviewing the financials would be welcome . . . unless there were more surprises there. Frances watched Mrs. Scotley glance over
the general’s private dispatch boxes. Her look said,
If her ladyship wants to amuse herself with the late master’s papers, that’s her affair
.

“Tell me, has Mallow been making herself useful?”

“Very much so, my lady. If I may be so bold, it’s a pleasure to see a young woman properly trained for service nowadays.”

“Thank you. I’ll review the accounts now and see you this evening.”

After the earlier revelations, the finances were rather ordinary. The general had substantial means but very few expenses: wages for the small staff and their board and upkeep of the house. The only large expenditures were regular payments to his daughter—no reason to wait until his death to make her life more comfortable. Frances saw no large, unexplained expenses or income. The bills from the local wine and spirits merchant were a bit more substantial than she would’ve thought, and again she had visions of Audendale and Tredwell spending evenings by the fire downing glasses.

As she mused over the revelations, Mallow showed up with fortifying tea and biscuits.

“Thank you. Most welcome. I understand you’re making yourself very useful.”

“Thank you, my lady.” She sighed. “Things are not up to our standards here, I’m afraid. They may have been once, but not now.”

Frances nodded. “I agree, Mallow. But I have found some very useful items among the general’s papers. Tell me, is Tredwell nearby?”

“He doesn’t seem to have anything to do, my lady. He’s been pacing outside these rooms like a cat.” Mallow sounded very disapproving.

“It must gall him to have a stranger, even the sister of his master’s fellow officer, going through his master’s effects—maybe he thought they’d just be boxed up and put into storage. Very well, we will give him something to do. I haven’t heard any suitable
explanation for the general’s death, other than he was old. I want to talk to the doctor. Find the pacing Mr. Tredwell and see if he can bring the doctor back. And ask Mrs. Scotley to have some sandwiches waiting for him.”

“Very good, my lady.”

Mallow left and found Tredwell moodily polishing some swords hanging on the hallway walls, souvenirs of some old campaign.

“Mr. Tredwell, it is her ladyship’s wish that you go into the village at once and see if you can fetch the doctor, the one who treated your late master.”

He just stared at Mallow. “Why does she want to see him? Is it about the general?” he finally said.

“It’s not your place to question her ladyship’s orders. She runs this household for now.” Tredwell winced at that. “It is just for you to obey.”

“I served the general for half a century. I think if there are queries about him, I have a right to know.”

Mallow glared right back. “Maybe out here it is the fashion to question your betters. But in London, when we are given an order, we say, ‘Yes, my lady,’ and do it. I suggest you head downstairs right now, get into your pony cart, and set about bringing the doctor back here.” Mallow turned quickly and headed back to linen closet where she was sorting out sheets. Tredwell said nothing else, but she had the satisfaction of hearing his boots on the stairs behind her.

T
he old morning room, where visitors would’ve been received when the house was fully occupied, was not usable. Sheets covered all the furniture, and heavy curtains, which had been collecting dust for years, closed off the windows, so Frances said she’d see the doctor in the general’s suite.

When Mrs. Scotley brought him into the room and made introductions, Frances upbraided herself for having assumed the local medico would be as old as the general, someone who had been in the village forever, with a spinster sister who kept house for him.

But Dr. Mallory was only in his thirties. He wore fashionable clothes and had a quick step, although it was clear he was tired. In a rural district, he may have spent his day traveling widely to patients who couldn’t make it to his surgery.

However, his eyes lit up when Gladys appeared with a plate of beef and cheese sandwiches. And instead of tea, she had provided a glass of beer. The cook knew her customers.

“Dr. Mallory, thank you so much for coming. Please sit down and help yourself. I don’t know what you heard, but I’m a family friend of General Audendale, helping close up the house.”

“Anything to help, Lady Frances. I moved here two years ago, after my predecessor retired, and I spent a lot of time with the general. A fine man, and I was deeply sorry at his passing.”

“I’m sure you were,” said Frances. “But were you surprised?” She looked at him closely, and he looked right back at her. And then chuckled.

“I saw the look on your face. You thought I’d be older. And forgive me, I thought you’d be older, too. When I was told I had been summoned by Lady Frances Ffolkes, I was thinking I’d be meeting with someone like Lady Catherine de Bourgh from
Pride and Prejudice
, who would upbraid me for not giving the general some useless patent medicine she was devoted to.”

Now it was Frances’s turn to laugh. “But you came anyway. You’re brave.”

He shook his head. “No, actually, I’m a coward. A young doctor like me can’t afford to offend the nobility.” Frances nodded. She knew well that aristocratic families held sway throughout England, but in rural districts, deference to the old families was practically feudal. “But you clearly aren’t here to talk to me about patent medicines.”

“No, I’m not. And don’t worry,” she said with a smile. “I’m not easily offended. In fact, the franker you can be, the better. Believe me, I am in no way criticizing your medical skills. But the general’s death came at an interesting time. There are . . . investigations into certain occurrences in his past, having to do with some old associates of his. His death was fortuitous for some. I know I’m sounding very melodramatic, but I want to know if his death was unexpected. I will be discreet, on my word of honor.”

Dr. Mallory nodded. He was looking better, fortified by the sandwiches and beer. “Mrs. Mallory enjoys the Society pages in the papers and knew your name. She wondered if you were related to Charles Ffolkes, the Marquess of Seaforth, a government minister.”

“My older brother.”

“Then keeping secrets runs in your family.” He paused for a moment to think, and then Frances saw he had reached a decision. “Yes, Lady Frances, I was surprised. He was old and had various ailments, but nothing immediately life threatening. And he was cheerful and feisty. I’d tell him to ease up on the port, and he’d pour me a glass, tell me to mind my own damn business—pardon my language—and say he’d live long enough to attend my funeral. But then, some weeks before he died, he suddenly seemed to just give up. He didn’t want to live anymore.”

“Were there any changes before he died?”

“Nothing I could tell. He had gone up to London some time ago for a funeral of an officer who served under him and was sad when he came back but bounced back. However, I saw him frequently. There were a number of conditions I had to monitor. He started to brood. And then—all of a sudden, Tredwell, his manservant, called me late one night. And that was the beginning of the end. The man was a wreck, not even aware, hallucinating.”

Frances tried to control herself. The pieces were falling into place. “About what?”

“You are frightening me, Lady Frances. What is this about?” He gave her a wry look. “Or shouldn’t I ask?” He pulled a leather-bound notebook from his coat pocket and thumbed through it until he found the right page.

He handed it to Frances, who read it out loud. “‘The patient was fevered and didn’t seem to recognize me or his familiar servants. He spoke incoherently, and the names he mentioned sounded like towns in South Africa. He mentioned sapphires repeatedly.’” Frances looked at the date in the doctor’s medical diary: two days after the murder of Private Barnstable. Just enough time for the news to make its way to the general. She handed back the book, trying to keep her hand from shaking.

“Did you ask anyone about the sapphires?”

“Is this a case of jewel theft, my lady? I asked Mrs. Scotley, thinking if I could give him the sapphires he wanted, he’d calm down. But she said any jewelry belonging to the late Mrs. Audendale had long been sent to their daughter. And she remembered no sapphires in particular. Tredwell knew nothing either.”

“Really?” said Frances.

“He’s an odd one, isn’t he?” said Mallory. “Don’t laugh, but he almost behaved more like a wife than a servant, so protective he was. Ah well, they’d been together most of their adult lives. Is there anything else? I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help—Lady Frances, are you quite all right?”

Frances blinked. She realized she had slipped away for a moment, completely lost in her thoughts. A murdered private. An obsessively loyal servant. A visitor the housekeeper didn’t want anyone to know about.

“My deepest apologies, Dr. Mallory. You have been extremely helpful, more than I can ever tell you. Now I must send you back to your wife; I’ve kept you late enough. I’ll have Tredwell drive you home.” And she bid good-bye to a thoroughly bemused Dr. Mallory.

Oh dear
, she thought.
They’ll be gossiping about me all winter
.

Mrs. Scotley put Gladys to work wrapping up some fine ceramics for storage, with severe warnings about being careful.

“I can help,” said Mallow. “I finished with the linens, and from my days as a housemaid to the Marchioness of Seaforth, I learned how to care for fine objects.”

“Well then, Miss Mallow, that would be a great help. Gladys, follow Miss Mallow’s lead in this.”

“Yes, Mrs. Scotley.”

And soon the two young women were busy. Mallow saw the inquisitive look in Gladys’s eye, and it didn’t take long for her to start asking questions.

“It must be very exciting, working in a great house,” she said.

“Oh, yes. It was very strict, of course. We had to do everything just so. But it was exciting when the King came to dine.”

“The King came?” Gladys almost dropped a vase in her astonishment. “Did you serve him at dinner?”

“A maid serving the King? Of course not,” she said with a complete air of superiority. “Only footmen served at formal dinners. But I helped collect the ladies’ cloaks. And I was as close to the King as I am to you now. And the Bishop of London and the prime minister also visited.”

“I would give anything to work in a house like that, Miss Mallow. Nothing ever happened here. No one ever visited. And now, I’m out of a job,” she said with a frown.

Mallow remembered how Gladys had started to gossip when they first arrived, only to have Mrs. Scotley silence her. Lady Frances would want to know what happened—who had come.

“Didn’t you say earlier that someone had come? When we first arrived?”

“Mrs. Scotley said we’re not to gossip,” Gladys said. “And I need her to give me a good reference.”

“If it’s gossip about your late master, you can say it now. You’re allowed to talk about the departed,” said Mallow.

“Really?” said Gladys. She wrinkled her nose as she contemplated an apparent loophole she had never heard of. But Miss Mallow was a lady’s maid from an aristocratic household, no less. She should know.

“If it turns out to be unimportant, my lady will forget it and tell no one. But it may be something important about the Audendale family, and in that case, she needs to know. She’s a great lady and knows about things.” She tossed her head. “And Mrs. Scotley may be cook and housekeeper, but she’s just a servant, too.”

Mallow heard the cart outside. Tredwell was bringing the doctor home, and that meant her ladyship was available to hear the story.

“As my mother used to say,” said Mallow, “tell the truth and shame the devil.” And taking the reluctant housemaid by the hand, she led her to the general’s suite.

Frances was still thinking furiously about the doctor’s revelations when Mallow entered with a nervous-looking Gladys.

“My lady, Gladys has realized she has something to tell you.” And she gave the housemaid a look that was half encouraging, half commanding.

The girl looked so miserable, standing there, Frances felt her heart go out to her. She had been given strict instructions by Mrs. Scotley and now was supposed to disobey them on the words of a titled lady she hardly knew.

“Gladys, you were quite right to listen to Mrs. Scotley. She represented the will of your master. But now, he has gone. And until other arrangements are made, I am the mistress of Egdon Hall. You may tell me anything without any fear of doing wrong.”

Gladys relaxed a little. “Well, putting it like that, my lady, I do have something to tell you.”

“Good. Now both of you take a seat, and I’ll hear your story.”

Gladys sat on the edge of one of the chairs and started to talk. “We had a visitor, a soldier, my lady. At least that’s what he said. But we’ve had soldiers here, and he didn’t look like one.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Yes, my lady. We have few enough visitors here. Mountjoy. Colonel Mountjoy.”

Frances felt herself tense up but tried to act casually so as not to upset Gladys. “Do you know if he was a friend of your master’s?”

“I don’t know, my lady. The general was a friendly man, but with Colonel Mountjoy, he was just reserved, like one gentleman meeting another. But not angry. Mrs. Scotley brought them some tea, but that’s all I know about the meeting.”

“Did you see Colonel Mountjoy leave?”

“Oh, yes, my lady. The general came down to say good-bye and seemed cheerful. We liked the master and were glad when he had a visitor. That seemed to perk him up.”

There was a hesitancy there. That wasn’t the whole story.

“What happened then, Gladys? It’s all right. You can tell me.”

“You see, my lady, the kitchen is sort of under the front of the house. We were baking a lot that day, and it was very hot, so I stood on a chair and opened the little windows. They’re at ground level, my lady; you can hardly see them if you’re outside.”

Ah. The girl had been eavesdropping on what went on at the front of the house. There were worse sins.

“Of course you did. That was very sensible. And it wasn’t your fault if you heard anything outside. It wasn’t like you were listening on purpose.”

Gladys looked relieved she wouldn’t be criticized and then began haltingly. Frances was so frustrated at the hemming and hawing that she wanted to shake the girl. Gradually, it came out. “Mr. Tredwell had seen the master back up to his room, then came down to drive Colonel Mountjoy to the station. And then the two men had words, my lady. It started soft and then it seemed as if Mr. Tredwell was asking the colonel something and didn’t like the answer. They got louder, and Tredwell kept using words like ‘honor’ and ‘duty,’ and the colonel said ‘government’ and ‘responsibility.’” Frances sensed there was a lot the girl didn’t understand. “Oh, and they said something about soldiers—what was it? Yes, the Empire Light Horse. And a man named Major Colcombe. I remember that name special, my lady, because it was just a month later that the general went to his funeral in London, and he rarely left his house.”

That was all she could drag out of Gladys, but it was enough.

“Very angry they were at the end. The colonel cursed Mr. Tredwell for his impertinence, and that stopped him. It was so odd; Mr. Tredwell was usually so well spoken. Anyway, they drove off, and Mrs. Scotley told me it would be very embarrassing
for Mr. Tredwell if their argument came out—embarrassing for the general, too.”

Frances couldn’t blame Mrs. Scotley. An old and experienced servant, she wouldn’t want the hint of a scandal to mar the family name, and if it got out that Tredwell had argued with a guest . . .

“Thank you, Gladys. We can do what Mrs. Scotley suggested and forget the whole episode now. I shan’t discuss it with anyone else, and I see no need to tell Mrs. Scotley that you and I discussed it. Now, I imagine you’ll be out of work shortly. Would you be willing to move to London?”

“Oh, yes, my lady. I’ll stay with my married sister for now, but I would like to work in a great house. Mr. Tredwell, Mrs. Scotley, and the groundskeeper all received nice remembrances from the general and will retire, but I’m young, and I’ll still need to work.”

“I have many relations, and there’s always someone looking for a housemaid. Leave me your sister’s address, and I’ll write you. Thank you for telling me the story.”