CHAPTER 1

London, 1906

The surprising coda to the tragic death of Major Daniel “Danny” Colcombe, a restless war hero, capped what was already an especially busy day for Lady Frances Ffolkes. The morning had been taken up writing a speech on women’s suffrage in her capacity as chair of the outreach committee of the League for Women’s Political Equality. Next was following up on arrangements for the Ladies’ Christian Relief Guild soup kitchen in the East End. She had also made an appointment for what would no doubt be a tedious meeting with Henry Wheaton, the family solicitor—ever since moving out of the family home and into Miss Plimsoll’s Residence Hotel for Ladies, she had started taking care of her own finances. A dull task, but rather liberating nonetheless for an independent woman.

But moving out hadn’t meant cutting ties, and she had just finished dining with her brother and sister-in-law. The three were relaxing in the drawing room of the Ffolkes house in London. Cook had made several dishes Lady Frances especially favored in honor of her visit, and now Frances sipped a little port, feeling good about all she had accomplished that day and well rewarded to be lounging in comfort with close family.

It was so delightful to see Charles and Mary exchanging fond looks three months after their wedding. That Frances had introduced them to each other pleased her on several levels: a loving wife for her dear brother, a devoted husband for her great friend Mary—plus the fact that Frances was now able to resign her job of running the family household. She had done it with great efficiency, as she did all her tasks, but did not particularly like it. Mary, by contrast, stepped cheerfully into the role of marchioness, happily managing the Seaforth estate with both pleasure and competence. As Charles, the consummate diplomat, would put it, everyone won.

Charles was talking enthusiastically about politics, as his father used to before him. His marriage wasn’t the only thing making him happy—with the twentieth century barely begun, the Liberals were back in power in Parliament, and the new prime minister had given him the much-coveted position as Undersecretary for European Affairs.

Cumberland, the butler, entered the room. No doubt he’d start clearing, and soon Frances would collect her maid from downstairs and head to her rooms at Miss Plimsoll’s.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, my ladies,” he said. “But Miss Colcombe has called.”

“Miss Colcombe? Kat Colcombe? She’s downstairs—at this hour?” asked Charles.

“Yes, my lord. She indicated it was a matter of great urgency.”

“It must be. Show her up at once.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Mary and Frances looked at each other. Kat’s older brother, Daniel, had been one of Charles’s closest friends. They had served together in the Boer War in South Africa, and he had died about two months ago in what was officially listed as an “accident” but some called suicide—although Charles refused to hear of that possibility.

Cumberland ushered Kat into the drawing room. She was still wearing full mourning, an elaborate and awkward black dress, and her hair was in disarray—a striking contrast to Mary and Frances, who were wearing the latest styles in dress and had their long hair done up perfectly by skilled maids.

Kat looked around the room, and before anyone could move, she ran and practically threw herself at Frances, bursting into tears.

“Oh Franny, it’s just too awful. It’s the final blow.”

“Here, my love, have some port. Steady yourself,” said Frances. She held the glass while Kat sipped it, as tears poured down her smooth cheeks. The poor girl really was quite young, and it was just her and her mother bearing the brunt as chief mourners.

“You’re so kind . . . I feel like such a fool, but there was nowhere else to go, and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Just relax, you’re with friends now,” said Charles, showing a comforting smile that had charmed everyone from foreign diplomats to young ladies of society. Gradually, Kat calmed down, still holding onto Frances. The eminently practical Mary had realized that the wan Kat probably hadn’t eaten recently and asked Cook to send up a tray with toast and butter, plum cake, and tea.

“No man was dearer to me than your brother,” said Charles after Kat had eaten a little. “If there is any way I can help, you must let me know. I’ve always told you that.”

“This is going to sound so silly. I don’t have to tell you how hard the war hit him, but in recent months—until he died—he had seemed better in many ways. He had been writing a great deal, alone in his study. And one evening just a few weeks before he died, he said to me that if anything happened to him, I was to take the manuscript to you and see about publishing it. It was a war memoir, something he said was important. That scared me, I have to say, but he said it was just a precaution.”

Charles nodded. “He hadn’t said how far he had gotten, but he had mentioned to me and some of the other lads that he was putting something together.”

“Actually, he told me he was almost done,” said Kat, “And I agreed to his request, of course, thinking he was being a little dramatic.”

Then Danny had died, and in the grief and confusion, she had forgotten. First the police sealed off the study. Then, after they were done, the solicitors had taken over the room to organize the estate’s paperwork. It was only then that Kat had remembered the manuscript.

“I knew there had been gossip about my brother’s writing, so the police might’ve been looking for it, but it seems it had already disappeared,” she said with a sniffle. “He showed me where it was kept—on a shelf apart from other items. When I went to get it yesterday morning, it wasn’t there. There were hundreds of pages—it couldn’t be easily missed.” She had searched diligently and followed up with the police and solicitors, but they both were clear they had taken nothing.

“He asked me for a promise—and I let him down. I feel like I’ve lost him again.” And out came a fresh wave of tears.

Time to stop this, thought Frances. Kat was too young to be handling this, and her mother, Mrs. Colcombe, was a kind but vague woman who had been taken care of by her father, then her husband, and then her son.

“A fresh pair of eyes will help,” said Frances. “Here is what will happen. I will return with you tonight and stay over. And I’ll bring my maid Mallow.” The Colcombe household might still be in disarray, and an extra servant could be helpful. “Tomorrow we’ll have a look at the study together and see what we can find.”

Mary looked on with sympathy and Charles with relief. His little sister could be maddeningly unconventional and stubborn, but you could always count on her in a crisis.

“Oh would you, Franny? That would be so wonderful.”

Arrangements were quickly made. A footman was sent to inform the Colcombe coachman that they’d be leaving soon. Mallow, who was chatting with her fellow servants downstairs, was recalled, and Mary telephoned the Colcombe household to say Kat would be returning with a friend and maid.

Frances kissed Charles and Mary good-bye and promised to keep them informed, and then they were on their way. Kat and Frances sat next to each other in the coach, and Mallow sat opposite. Emotional exhaustion quickly hit Kat, who fell asleep on Frances’s shoulder.

“Mallow, Miss Colcombe has some problems she’d like me to help her with and is not entirely well. We will be spending the night at her house. I’ve asked the coachman to stop at Miss Plimsoll’s so you can pack an overnight bag for both of us.”

“Very good, my lady.” Perfectly agreeable, even cheerful, in the face of change.

“Did you have a nice evening downstairs with your old friends?”

“Yes, thank you, my lady. It’s always pleasant to see them again.”

“But they don’t call you ‘June’ anymore, do they? You are now ‘Miss Mallow.’”

Mallow preened. “Yes, my lady. It takes a little getting used to.”

And you love it, thought Frances. It had been quite a promotion for Mallow when Frances had elevated her from housemaid to lady’s maid upon their relocation to Miss Plimsoll’s, with an increase in wages to match her new job. Housemaids wore uniforms and were called by their first names. They shared a room with another maid. A lady’s maid wore her own plain dress and had her own room. She was called by her last name by her mistress and “Miss” by other servants. Mallow was young for such a promotion, but Frances had wanted someone she could train, as opposed to the “middle-aged dragon” her brother wanted her to hire, to watch over her, almost as a nanny.

“You won’t mind sleeping tonight in whatever accommodations they have at Colcombe house?”

“Not at all, my lady.” Mallow was affronted that any aspect of serving her ladyship could be a problem. Frances smiled in the dark, and Mallow mentally packed a bag so she could be in and out quickly.

Such last-minute travel changes were not usual among well-bred women. Lady Frances was the daughter of the previous Marquess of Seaforth and sister of the current one. As a young unmarried woman, her life should’ve been a series of afternoon visits and evening parties, but Lady Frances’s life was a little more . . . unpredictable.

Kat didn’t wake up even when the carriage stopped at Miss Plimsoll’s and Mallow jumped out. It was only a few minutes before Mallow came back down again, and they continued to the Colcombe House.

When they arrived, Frances quickly took charge, entering the house like a bolt of lightning. Her disconcertingly frank eyes took in everything, and a knowing smile played across her sensuous face.

Mrs. Colcombe, also festooned in black, fluttered around like a little bird and was proving incapable of coping with the return of her daughter and a guest. Apparently, she hadn’t even known Kat was gone until Mary had called the house. Of course, the Colcombe house, like most of the wealthy London homes, had recently installed a telephone, but women of Mrs. Colcombe’s generation tended to forget about it. The call had been a shock, and she had had to get smelling salts from her maid.

Frances ordered one maid to see the sleepy Kat to bed. Then she greeted Mrs. Colcombe. “Kat was visiting and became a little unwell. I’m sure she’ll be fine after some bed rest. You have been so overwhelmed, Mrs. Colcombe, I will stay the night to help in the morning.”

Briskly, she gave orders to make up the little settee in Kat’s room so she could spend the night with her.

“But the settee is so short, my lady,” said a maid.

“So am I,” said Frances with a smile.

A spare bed was found for Mallow with a pair of maids who, rather than being disturbed, were excited about the upheaval and curious about Mallow and her mistress. Mallow was scarcely older than they were but at a higher station—and working for the daughter of a marquess, no less.

“Rather nice of her ladyship to assist Miss Katherine like this when she’s so upset,” ventured one, hoping for some gossip and juicy details.

“Her ladyship’s brother, the marquess, was a close friend of the late Major Colcombe. It was only natural she should come to help Mr. Colcombe’s sister when she is . . . distraught.”

“I’d think a nurse of some kind would be better. I mean, what good can a marquess’s daughter do?”

Mallow glared at her. “Lady Frances knows many things. She has been to university,” she said grandly. A lady’s maid did not gossip about her mistress, but Lady Frances was proud of her education and didn’t mind who knew it.

“Go on!” said the other maid. “Ladies don’t go to university.”

Mallow glared again. Who do you think you are? her eyes said. The maid turned away. “I’m sure I’m sorry, Miss Mallow,” she said.

Mallow took off her dress, climbed into the makeshift bed, and extinguished the light. Tomorrow would be a busy day, if she knew anything about Lady Frances.

She remembered being like those girls when she first went to work for the old lord and lady, the parents of Lady Frances and her brother Charles. Mallow’s mother had sent her into service young, noticing that her eldest daughter was quick-witted and didn’t need anything explained twice. And June—Mallow was still known by her Christian name then—found herself placed in a doctor’s house, thanks to a family friend who was a cook there.

The work was dull, and the small household had no other servants her age, but it was delightful to finally be always warm and well fed. Unfortunately, after a year, the doctor suddenly died and the household was to be broken up, with his widow planning to move back with her people in the country.

She had held Mallow to high standards but was not unkind. “Let’s see what we can do about getting you a new place. You’ve been a good, hard worker and progressed very nicely here.” She looked at Mallow speculatively. “You have a pretty face, and the really fine houses like a handsome housemaid. My cousin owns a coal delivery company that serves the better neighborhoods, and sometimes word about open positions in the great households gets back to him . . . I will ask and provide you with a reference.”

Mallow hadn’t dared hope to work in a great house! But a week later, her mistress told her there was an opening at the household of the Marquess of Seaforth and that she had already written a letter of recommendation. So Mallow ironed her one good dress and, with equal parts fear and excitement, presented herself at the servants’ entrance at the Seaforth home.

She remembered the day still. The servants’ hall seemed enormous, and the butler, Mr. Cumberland, was so grand and imposing, Mallow first thought he was the marquess himself.

He turned a critical eye on Mallow, and she thought he could see every small sin she had ever committed. Then he frowned and said, “Come.” He led her into his private pantry while the other servants looked on curiously. Mr. Cumberland sat but left Mallow standing, and he proceeded to ask her questions about her duties. He frowned again, and Mallow thought she hadn’t passed. But then he said, “Follow me.”

They went up the stairs into the main foyer and then into the drawing room. The opulence astonished her; it was like something out of a fairy tale from an old illustrated book that belonged to Mallow’s mother.

Mallow focused on the handsome, middle-aged woman sitting at a small desk. She was reading a sheet of paper.

“I have your reference here. Your mistress says you work hard, are of sober temperament, are careful with fine items, and learn new tasks quickly. You apparently are also talented with needle and thread. Is all this true?”

“Y-yes, my lady.”

An elegant eyebrow arched up. “Why did you call me ‘my lady,’ child? Weren’t you trained to call women of my age ‘madam?’”

Mallow was dumbstruck. Had she somehow gotten it wrong and ruined her chance? “I . . . I heard the kitchen maid say she was getting the tea tray ready for ‘her ladyship’ and so I thought you would be ‘my lady . . .’” Her voice trailed off lamely.

The marchioness gave a small smile. Mallow had first thought her eyes were hard, but now they seemed warmer, softer.

“Clever child. You are engaged. You will learn your duties from Agnes, the head housemaid. Cumberland, please explain the house rules and terms to June.”

“Thank you, my lady.” She had not realized she was grinning in a most inappropriate way, but it only charmed Lady Seaforth, who smiled again.

“This is your place of employment, June, but it is also your home. I wish you a long and happy stay here.”

She took tea in the servants’ hall that afternoon, and although Mr. Cumberland was severe, the younger servants were welcoming and even chatty. They told her the marchioness was strict but not cruel, and the marquess was very busy and took no notice of the servants, except the butler and his valet. The young lordship, Charles, was away in the army, and then there was the daughter of the house, Lady Frances, about whom everyone was a little quiet.

Indeed, the only confusing moment was when Agnes, the older maid who was to train her, asked Mr. Cumberland if June would be taking care of Lady Frances, who still lived at home.

“Why do you ask, Agnes? Is your work so onerous you are already pushing your assigned tasks onto your new junior? You will continue to care for Lady Frances as head housemaid. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Cumberland,” she said. And then she muttered, “Lucky me.”

Mallow didn’t understand. She knew it was a mark of distinction to care for the young lady of a noble house. Why didn’t Agnes want that job?

The next few weeks were spent learning her job and getting used to the pattern of life in a great house. The other maids shared gossip when Mr. Cumberland was out of earshot. She heard the young lordship, who only visited occasionally, was handsome and charming.

“But he doesn’t . . . I mean . . .” Mallow had enquired. She had heard about households where young men took advantage of servant girls.

“Oh no, never here. Lord Charles is the perfect gentleman.”

“Worse luck,” said another, and they laughed.

“And what about Lady Frances?” That didn’t get an immediate response.

“She’s not your typical young lady,” said one maid finally. “Runs around a lot, God knows where, and God knows with whom.” Indeed, Mallow had only caught sight of her a few times, briskly walking in or out of the house. “She argues with her parents a lot.”

“She argues with everyone a lot,” said another.

That made Mallow curious. The other maids may indulge in impossible daydreams about marrying the young lord and becoming the next Lady Seaforth, but Mallow wanted to meet Lady Frances.

And so she did.

Late one evening Mallow was the last one in the servants’ hall. Being the junior maid, she had the job of tidying everything before morning. She heard scratching outside the servants’ entrance, and thinking the noise came from stray cats, she unbolted the door to reveal Lady Frances trying with little success to draw the bolt from the outside with a hatpin.

“Oh!” they both said, staring at each other.

“You must be the new girl—June, isn’t it?”

“Yes, June Mallow, my lady.”

“This probably seems rather odd to you.” She didn’t wait for an answer, which was just as well, as Mallow had no idea how to respond. “You see, I was out with friends for dinner, and we were going to see some works by an artist someone knew and hear a poet. Mother said I had to be home after dinner, but the evening was so interesting. I thought I could slip back in unnoticed.” She sighed. “Cumberland will see how late I came in and tell my mother. I’ll never hear the end of it. My spending allowance will be cut off for a month.” She looked forlorn. “Well, there’s no helping it. I’ll go upstairs and see if I can talk my way out of it. Anyway, thank you, June.”

She took a few steps into the servants’ hall, past an astonished Mallow, then turned. “June, you know what the other servants are doing now. Could you sneak me past them into my bedroom?”

Now Mallow realized why the other maids were a little leery of Lady Frances.

“I . . . I suppose, my lady. But you can just stay here, my lady. In a little while, Mr. Cumberland and the rest will go to bed and you can slip upstairs.”

“But before that happens, my mother will knock on my door. If I’m already there, I can say that I let myself in earlier through the front door and no one saw me. But if I’m not there . . . couldn’t you help?”

Later, Mallow couldn’t say exactly why she did it, but Lady Frances had such a pleading look, and the sense of adventure tickled her. Also, she was curious about this young lady who visited artists and poets. It had been Mallow’s understanding that young ladies did nothing more than attend well-supervised parties until they found a husband.

“Just follow me, my lady.”

It was indeed a bit of an adventure. Mallow told Lady Frances when to make a run for it when Cumberland’s back was turned as he checked the hall clock and then when to slip past the footman the second he went into the morning room to make sure the lights were extinguished. Once upstairs, Frances thought she was clear, but before she could reach her room, Mallow suddenly grabbed her and dragged her into an unused guest bedroom.

It was hard to tell who was more surprised—Lady Frances that a servant had laid hands on her or Mallow that she had shoved a lady of the house.

In the dark room, they heard the purposeful tread of a woman leaving the room of Lady Seaforth—it was Pritchard, maid to Frances’s mother.

“The tigress always lays out your mother’s night clothes at this time,” said Mallow.

“The tigress?” asked Frances.

Mallow flamed in embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, my lady. It is Miss Pritchard’s nickname among the maids. Please don’t tell—”

But Lady Frances was desperately trying to stifle her laughter. “June, that is too funny. Yes, she is as fierce and sleek as a tigress. It is perfectly fitting. But don’t worry—your secret is safe.”

When Pritchard was safely out of the way, the two women made a final dash for Frances’s room. Clothes went flying, and Mallow quickly found a nightgown for Frances, so when her mother looked in a few minutes later, she found her daughter in her night clothes, with Mallow brushing out Frances’s hair.

“Franny, why isn’t Agnes tending you? And this should’ve been done more than an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I was so busy writing letters I lost track of time. Then I saw June on the stairs, and she offered to help.”

Lady Seaforth raised an eyebrow. There was something wrong here, but she couldn’t tell what. Mallow hid her surprise that Lady Frances could lie so fluidly.

“June, I’ve heard good reports of you from Cumberland.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“But don’t let my daughter take advantage of your good nature. Good night to both of you.”

Both girls went limp with relief when Lady Seaforth left.

“June, you are priceless. Now go to bed, I’ll brush my own hair—although you do a fine job.”

“It’s quite all right, my lady. It needs a good brushing.”

“I always get too bored to let Agnes finish. So never mind, it’s late.”

“When I’m done, my lady.”

Frances spun around. She wasn’t used to being thwarted, especially by a servant.

“The sooner you turn back, my lady, the sooner I’ll be done and the sooner you can go to bed.”

Frances started to say something—then stopped, smiled, and obeyed the maid. The brushing finished in silence.

“Thank you. You were quite right.” Her copper hair gleamed as it hadn’t for a while. “Thank you again—for everything. Good night.”

All pink and feeling pleased with herself, Mallow went to bed. She thought that was the end of it. She didn’t see Lady Frances for a few days, except coming and going. But one evening, while she was putting her clothes away in her little dresser, she found the drawer jammed, thanks to a large bag someone had stuffed in it. Astonished, she pulled out skeins of the finest wool, which she never could’ve afforded.

A note fluttered to the floor, and Mallow picked it up.

June,

I am sorry for involving you and thank you most deeply. I inquired with Agnes, who mentioned you enjoy knitting. I was told this is the very best wool and enough for mittens and a muffler to keep you warm this winter.

With thanks,

Lady F

It was a final bit of wonder. If a few coins had been left for her, that would’ve been kind, thought Mallow. But that Lady Frances had taken the trouble to find out what she liked and to shop for her—Mallow was inclined to believe Lady Frances was a rare one indeed.

That night had eventually led to her current position as lady’s maid. She thought about Miss Garritty, lady’s maid to Mary, the current Marchioness of Seaforth—Frances’s friend and sister-in-law. When Mallow was promoted, Garritty had congratulated her but warned her life would not be predictable working for Lady Frances—something Mallow had already realized. Lady Frances was going to live in a sort of hotel, and everyone heard his lordship express reservation about some of the organizations Lady Frances was involved with. And not to criticize, but it seemed to Miss Garritty that Lady Frances had picked up some strange ideas and manners during her years in America. Well, America—what could you expect? “I wish you success, June, and I will say your promotion was well-deserved, but I wouldn’t have your job if they doubled my pay.”

Kat and Frances slept through the night. In the morning, Frances was pleased to see Kat looked refreshed.

“Thank you so much, Franny, for last night. I still feel like such a fool.”

“Nonsense. Let’s get dressed, have a solid breakfast, and tackle the study.”

Kat smiled a little uncertainly. Frances reflected that she didn’t really know her all that well. Although her brother Charles and Danny had been close, Kat was several years younger than Frances, just a girl when Frances went off to school. She hadn’t realized how Kat looked up to her, so pleased to see her the next morning, giving her a hug.

Mallow came in to help Frances get dressed, and a Colcombe maid started to help Kat get into the black monstrosity that was the mourning wear.

“Miss Colcombe will not be needing that today,” said Frances. “Find something simpler, in a muted color; she and I have work to do today, and she can hardly move in that garment.” The maid looked a little shocked—full mourning was still indicated. She turned to Kat, who just shrugged. “Very good, my lady,” said the maid with a sigh.

It was just the two of them for breakfast; Mrs. Colcombe was having hers on a tray in her room. Eggs, sausage, and toast, washed down with a lot of sugared tea, put some color into Kat’s face. As they finished, Mallow, who had breakfasted in the servants’ hall, joined them in the dining room.

“Ready to help, my lady,” she said. It was likely no other lady’s maid helped her mistress with paperwork, but this was Lady Frances.

“Very good, Mallow. Kat, lead us to the study.” It was an old-fashioned room. Unlike other rooms, which had largely been changed to reflect more modern tastes, this one didn’t seem to have been updated since Danny’s late father had been a young man. The furniture was dark and heavy, including a large desk and cabinets and shelves that ran from floor to ceiling around most of the room.

Kat explained the organization of the room. “My brother was very particular and explained it to me the week before he . . .” She took a breath and then described the layout: Business files and correspondences were in the desk and filing cabinets right next to it. The solicitors took most of that away. Personal items, such as letters from friends and many other manuscripts, were opposite the desk.

“It was right here,” said Kat, showing her a blank space.

“Are you sure? There seem to be so many manuscripts on the shelf.”

“Yes. It was that spot, set a little aside. As for the rest of these—” She laughed lightly. “In recent months, he had the idea of getting involved in theater, perhaps producing plays. He had friends who were writers and artists, and he was collecting plays to see if something amused him. Mother was horrified.”

“I’m sure she was,” said Frances. It was fine to attend plays, but theatrical work was not quite respectable. “I know Charles mentioned it to me, and he encouraged it. He was pleased to see Danny take an interest in something. Anyway, we have our work cut out for us. We’re going to search every inch of this office. Kat, look at that side. Mallow, over there. I’ll look here.” The three women began, sorting through whatever papers were still in the office.

“You sound so . . . organized,” said Kat admiringly.

“I’ve pored over manuscripts in libraries and sought out obscure books on shelves when I was at college,” she said. Kat looked even more impressed.

They worked in silence for a while, carefully reviewing each sheet of paper but not finding any sign of the missing manuscript. However, at one point, Mallow came over to Frances.

“I found something, my lady, stuck between what seems to be a pile of statements from Major Colcombe’s wine merchant.” She paused, to make sure Kat was absorbed in her own papers and not paying attention. “There were a lot of them, my lady.” Mallow came from a family that frowned on drink, but Frances was aware that Danny, like his father before him, appreciated fine wine.

Frances looked over the torn scrap of paper Mallow handed her. It was clearly not a liquor bill—perhaps it had been shoved into the untidy pile by accident. The heavy ecru paper was commonly used in law offices, Frances knew from her own dealings with solicitors. And the beautiful, masculine handwriting could only have come from a well-trained clerk: “Confirmation of transfer of £500 from the account of Daniel Colcombe to the account of D. Trega—”

It was a pity that so much had been torn away—it might’ve had the solicitors’ name and address and the rest of the payee’s name. Danny probably had meant to just read the confirmation and then throw it out after tearing it up. But one part got shuffled into his wine merchant accounts instead of the wastepaper basket.

“Good find, Mallow. If we hadn’t searched, it would’ve been disposed of with these old bills.” She stepped over to where Kat was working. “I found a mention here of someone who may have been a friend of your brother’s, D. Trega. Maybe ‘Tregallis,’ an old Cornish name.”

“Danny had a lot of friends,” she said, and then turned a little pink. “A lot of lady friends.” He certainly did, thought Frances. “There was also Captain Dennis, but his surname was Burden. And when he came back from South Africa, he had a nurse named Dorothy. Nurse Dot, we called her. But her surname was Jones, not Tregallis. And neither was Cornish.”

Frances decided to keep the paper for now. The office search yielded nothing else. Frances then marched everyone up to Charles’s bedroom, but it was very spare, and a search there showed nothing either.

“I’m so sorry to have put you to all this trouble,” said Kat.

“I didn’t expect to find anything,” said Frances. “I just wanted to be sure.” Frances had wanted to assume that Kat had simply been confused, but the manuscript was quite obviously gone.

“We are going to sit and be logical,” said Frances, and the two women followed her lead and took a chair. Mallow was used to that expression from Lady Frances, which Frances had picked up from a philosophy professor at college.

“We can conclude the manuscript did not disappear while Daniel was still alive, or he would’ve said something. So it disappeared after his death. But how soon? Kat, when was the last time we are sure the manuscript was seen? I know this brings back unpleasant memories, but we need to establish that.”

Kat thought silently, and Frances was grateful she was mastering herself and not getting upset.

“I never went into the study after that day when Charles showed me the manuscript.”

“Very well. Have you spoken to any of the servants—to your butler, Bellman?”

“Bellman? No. You mean he might—?”

“Servants know all kinds of things. Could you ring for him?”

Bellman had been in Colcombe service for a long time. Too long. He walked slowly and a little stiffly. But his back was straight and his eyes still seemed sharp. The master’s violent death had probably hit him very hard. Frances wondered if it might be time for a dignified and pleasant retirement—perhaps a cottage in the country on Colcombe land.

“Bellman, Lady Frances is helping me find Mr. Daniel’s manuscript. As I mentioned yesterday, it has gone missing.”

“And I am very sorry for that, miss.”

“Oh, no one blames you. But you can help.”

But there was no need for a crowd, concluded Frances. “Mallow, why don’t you take Miss Colcombe back to her room? Go through her clothes with her and choose several sober outfits for around the house. Then call my dressmaker and arrange for her to come here so she can measure Miss Colcombe for a new black outfit, dignified but simple and suitable to receive callers in.”

Kat looked a little surprised but said nothing.

“Yes, my lady,” said Mallow.

“I will speak with Bellman.”

Mallow and Kat left, and then Frances caused another shock by asking the elderly man to sit. Servants did not sit in the presence of their employers or their employers’ guests.

“But, Bellman, as you see, I am rather short, and it is difficult to talk up to you,” she said with what she hoped was a welcoming smile. Bellman rewarded her with a ghost of a smile too and then perched on a chair, trying not to make himself too comfortable.

There was nothing wrong with the man’s memory. After the police were done, he had taken a look around the room and had particularly noted the manuscript. He was sure, because Major Daniel had made it clear that the maids were not to touch anything on the “personal” shelves, not even to dust. Major Daniel said he didn’t want those papers disturbed, and at the time, Bellman had made a particular note of the manuscript.

“And my eye went to it, my lady, I am sure of that. Usually, Major Daniel only had a few letters there. But that large manuscript could not be missed.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

“May fifteenth, my lady.”

“How can you be so sure of the date?”

“The solicitors were very formal, my lady. They needed Mrs. Colcombe to sign papers acknowledging that they were done with Major Daniel’s room. Two witnesses were needed, and Mrs. Habbers—our cook—and I served in that capacity.”

Poor Kat. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask Bellman, who could’ve reassured her that neither the police nor solicitors had removed it. The advantages of a college education—Frances hadn’t been allowed to say, “I don’t know.” She was sent to the college library until she did know.

Bellman had made sure the manuscript was still in the personal section when the solicitors had left. He had locked the door and told both Mrs. Colcombe and Miss Katherine he had the key should they ever want access to the room. The key was kept in his pantry, but no one asked for it until earlier in the week, when Miss Katherine requested it and, as he found later, the manuscript was missing.

“What did you think happened to it?”

“I couldn’t say, my lady. A professional thief, perhaps, though nothing of value was removed from this house at any time.”

“Could one of the servants have taken it?”

Bellman seemed a little ruffled at that, thought a moment, and said, “They have all been with us some years and have good characters. Besides, my lady, the manuscript had no financial value. Its loss only disturbs the family.” He paused. “We are all very fond of them, my lady.”

It was a matter of reasoning. Danny’s writings disappeared between May 15 and June 20, when Kat walked into the room. It was possible someone from the outside had broken into the house and then into the study, but breaking into an occupied house was no easy feat. And Frances had noticed that the study windows were well bolted. She always saw things like that. The way her eyes would dart around had driven her nannies and governesses mad, but for Frances, it had just been a way to relieve boredom. Her mother had once cheerfully asked her father, “Dear, you’re in the Foreign Office, and as Frances seems to notice everything, couldn’t you get her a job as a spy?”

So if servants and burglars were ruled out, that meant the manuscript was taken by someone who had been admitted to the house. Frances had no illusions about that study door lock. It was a worn, old-fashioned piece of hardware, like one she remembered in her grandfather’s house. At age fifteen, her cousin Stephen had managed to pick it and sample the good brandy. For the boy’s sake, Frances had hoped it had been worth the beating grandfather had administered. No, a lock like that would keep out someone casual, but not someone determined.

“Just one more thing, Bellman. Would it be possible to assemble a list of people who visited the house during this period? That is, after the master’s death but before Miss Katherine noted it missing?”

Bellman sighed. “I’m afraid, my lady, that that the house was in something of a turmoil in the days and weeks following the master’s death. Large numbers of people came and went, often to pay their respects to Miss Katherine or the mistress, and it was hard to keep track of everyone. At times, things were a little more . . . informal than expected.” He thought for a minute. “Major Daniel led a somewhat unceremonious life, my lady, and we adjusted accordingly. Indeed, it was the master’s practice to receive late-night visitors by opening the door himself, and I’m afraid that set a certain tone.” He sounded a little aggrieved that things should be so. No doubt when Danny’s father had been alive, it had not been so.

Frances saw her nice system crumbling. There was no telling who came and went. Frances had long known Danny Colcombe—this casual life was not all that surprising and no doubt had put its stamp on the way the house was run. She imagined a steady stream of people coming in and out of the house, with Kat letting people in herself, or more likely guests themselves letting other guests come and go, with the aged Bellman unable to keep up or even keep track. It would be easy for someone to sneak away, pick the lock quickly, and grab the manuscript.

She stood, and Bellman creakily stood too. “Thank you, Bellman. You have been very helpful.”

“I am glad to be of service, my lady. And if I may be so bold, thank you, on behalf of the staff, for helping Miss Katherine in these difficult times.”

Bellman went about his duties elsewhere in the house, and Frances stayed a while longer in the room. Very well, a little setback, but not a fatal one. She closed her eyes and found herself back in her old dormitory room. It could be anyone, couldn’t it? No, it would have to be someone who knew the house and where to find the manuscript, not a casual thief. Someone who knew the family, a friend, or at least an acquaintance. Someone who had been there before . . .

Upstairs, Kat and Mallow had made great progress in the brief time. Mallow had identified three outfits that, while not actually passing a test for “mourning,” were somber enough for wearing around the house. And her ladyship’s dressmaker would be coming around tomorrow. God knows what ancient and unfashionable establishment Mrs. Colcombe patronized for herself and her daughter. Kat seemed at peace.

“Your butler was of great help, and now I just need a few more things from you.”

“Do you think you can find it?”

“I will have to do a little research.” She saw pen and paper on a small desk in the bedroom. “Kat, you and I are going to make a list of everyone who came to the funeral.”

It took about an hour, recalling names. It became a sort of game, because Frances’s sharp eyes had taken in faces, which she described to Kat, who often could put a name to them, such as brother officers, old school friends, more Bohemian types, and so on. It wasn’t absolutely complete, of course, but very good. Kat had fully cooperated but seemed rather mystified. No matter, thought Frances.

One man stood out in particular in Frances’s memory, a middle-aged man in a somewhat wrinkled suit that no decent valet would’ve let out of the house. Frances had assumed he was one of Danny’s friends from a less fashionable part of town, but although the man watched everyone keenly, besides a quick murmur of sympathy, he had seemingly spoken to no one. Kat remembered him too but had no idea who he was.

“We’ll put him down as Mr. Rumpled for now,” said Frances, and Kat giggled. They finished the list, then made an extra copy—Kat didn’t ask why and Frances didn’t explain.

“And now, Kat, we’re going to take our leave. But I’ll keep you informed.” Kat showered Frances with gratitude, and Frances realized it was as much for the companionship as for the help with the manuscript. She resolved to visit again soon and knew that Mary would be pleased to come as well.

“I am glad we can help, Kat. Your brother . . . well, Danny was special to all of us.” She paused. “He was special to me.”

Then she turned to her maid. “Come, Mallow. Time for more research.” She was full of energy. Yes, she’d need help, but she knew the right direction.

Bellman had found them a hansom cab and helped the women into it.

“Please take us to Scotland Yard,” she said to the driver.

“I beg your pardon, miss?”

“Scotland Yard, the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police Service,” she said. “Surely you know where that is?”

“Yes, of course, Miss. Straightaway.” Fancy that, this young woman, a real lady, he could tell, asking to go to Scotland Yard. Wait till he told the missus tonight . . .

As the cab started up, Lady Frances leaned back and smiled at Mallow. “We did a good morning’s work. And won’t Superintendent Maples be delighted to see me again.”