CHAPTER 5

Frances made the next day fun for Mallow. That evening was the Moore dinner party, and Mallow was delighted to dress her ladyship up. Frances rarely attended formal events, so Mallow hardly ever got to help Frances get into an elaborate ball gown and choose jewelry.

For Mallow, the day started early, choosing the right dress and thinking about her ladyship’s hair, which was enough to drive Frances to distraction.

“It isn’t until evening, and we haven’t even had breakfast yet.” Mallow looked so disappointed, Frances took pity on her. “How about this? I have another committee meeting this morning and then—” and then a meeting with the mysterious Colonel Mountjoy, but no need to tell Mallow that. “And then I’ll be home. So go through all my clothes. Consider jewelry. And we’ll have all afternoon to choose.” And happily, Mallow agreed.

That morning’s meeting with the Ladies’ Educational Improvement Club focused on trying to increase opportunities for education and training for poor youth in London. Frances remembered her cousin Susan had married a man “in trade,” to the family’s shock. He was a builder and had made lots of money. Perhaps he could be persuaded to lend some of his carpenters and bricklayers to teach the unfortunates? Frances reasoned he’d want to oblige his noble-born in-laws. After some discussion, of course.

“Oh really, do you think he’d listen to you?” asked the committee chairwoman, Lady Anthea Trent.

“Yes,” said Frances, thinking of Superintendent Maples. “In the end, people usually do.” She wrote it down in her notebook and then, with the meeting adjourned, left for the Military Club.

The club porter gave her full deference, or as much deference as even a well-born woman would ever get at a gentleman’s club. She asked for Colonel Mountjoy. The porter said he would check if the colonel was present and then showed her into a room for visitors. It was comfortable but separate from the main rooms. Now here was something to change, thought Frances. These clubs, as much as Parliament—perhaps even more—served as seats of power. How about opening these clubs to women?

Parliament would probably be easier. She reflected on when Charles would talk about the Crimean War, a war fought before high-powered rifles in the days of cavalry charges. But there were old officers in this club who fought in that war, and they would not change easily.

The door opened to admit an impeccable man. His suit was beautifully cut for his large frame. He sported a neatly trimmed military-style mustache that partially covered a generous smile, and when he spoke, his voice was a warm baritone.

“Lady Frances? I am Colonel Zachery Mountjoy. Thank you so much for coming. But first I owe you apologies for dragging you here. For propriety’s sake, I thought this would be better than your residence or mine.” The colonel knew his manners. “Your brother is also a member here, although I know his government duties spare him little time. I only know him by sight, but he enjoys a reputation here as a fine officer and a highly effective member of the government.”

The words poured out smoothly. Frances thought to match them. “How kind of you, Colonel. Actually, although we haven’t met, your face is familiar. I recall that you attended Daniel’s funeral.” He had been noted as an “unidentified officer” because of his bearing—Kat hadn’t been able to remember his name.

He seemed surprised, but only for a moment. “Very good, Lady Frances. You have a good eye for faces. Yes, I believe the military fraternity should turn out when a brother officer passes, especially when he was a hero like Colcombe. I paid a condolence call later as well to Mrs. Colcombe.” His name had probably gone in one of Mrs. Colcombe’s ears and out the other.

“All that does you credit. Thank you for attending, on behalf of the Colcombes. But I admit I was a little surprised to get your note, and I look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

“To start with, I just want to say, on behalf of so many soldiers, thank you for all the help you’ve given the Colcombe family. I’m afraid I knew Colcombe only by reputation, but I was aware of his exploits in South Africa. His family deserves well. I am glad they have friends like you. I understand you’ve been helping them with a manuscript Colcombe lost?”

“Did you speak with the Colcombes? I didn’t know anyone else was aware I was helping them.”

Mountjoy smiled, a little paternally, which irritated Frances.

“It’s very hard to keep secrets in as tight a community as London. I’ve heard a certain Inspector Eastley has been searching for it.”

“I hadn’t realized that. Would it be rude for me to ask what your interest is?”

Mountjoy laughed. “A perfectly fair question. My interest is purely philanthropic. As an old soldier myself, I keep an open ear and open eye for any of the King’s men who have run into difficulties. There was much talk about poor Colcombe. I made a few inquiries, quietly, of course, to make sure he hadn’t left them in financial trouble and that they were being well advised.”

Charles had done that, Frances knew. He went over family affairs in their solicitors’ offices. It was interesting that Mountjoy had looked into it as well. Purely out of goodness? He was in the Secret Service after all.

“But about the manuscript. Frankly, I don’t know what happened to it. But Colcombe had been talking about war memoirs, and that doesn’t always please everyone. Many things didn’t go well in South Africa. I don’t need to tell you, Lady Frances, that by the end, the public was disgusted with the war, with its cost not only in money but in soldiers’ lives and the devastation it had wreaked in that country.”

“The Seaforths have always been in public service. I remember the talk in our house.”

The colonel nodded. “Men in the government saw careers damaged or ruined. And no one wanted to be reminded of what had happened. And perhaps, if Colcombe’s manuscript came out, it would cause more damage. No telling what was in it, and no telling whom it would upset.”

“Are you warning me to stop looking for it, Colonel? To not cooperate with the police?”

Mountjoy threw up his hands and laughed again. “Warning you? This is England, my lady, not some mythic land in a gothic novel. Of course not. It’s really just a matter of tactics. Personally, I don’t think it was destroyed—it’s too valuable. Someone may want to read it—and then return it or even publicize it. If you chase it, and they know you’re chasing it, it becomes more valuable. Someone may hold onto it longer, thinking he can make even greater use of it for political purposes, sale, or even blackmail. When I was a boy, my lady, my grandmother had a ginger tabby. When I chased him, he ran. But when I sat quietly, he’d come and crawl into my lap.”

Frances nodded.

“So that is my advice—and not my warning—Lady Frances. You called in Scotland Yard, and while in retrospect that might not have been the most strategic move, what’s done is done. There’s no point, however, in encouraging them, if you get my drift.”

“So you’re saying that the sooner this calms down, the sooner the manuscript might make its way back?”

Again, Mountjoy threw up his hands. “I couldn’t phrase it better myself, my lady. I am so pleased that we understand each other.” He stood to indicate the discussion was over. “I won’t keep you any longer. But if you or the Colcombes have any questions, here is my card. It has just my club address, since this is where I can usually be found, but I wrote my home address on the back, just in case you need to reach me urgently. And one more thing—if you do hear anything, just let me know, without acting first, of course, and I’ll have a discreet word around town.”

Frances pasted a smile on her face and gave Colonel Mountjoy her hand. “You’ve been too kind,” she said.

“Please, let me see you into a hansom,” said Mountjoy.

“That’s quite all right. I’m sure the club porter can get me one.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Frances. Your brother is a fellow club member—I can do no less.”

He indeed hailed a cab for her. The door slammed, and she was off, back to Miss Plimsoll’s. The exchange played again and again in her head. He was Secret Service. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t genuinely being thoughtful. Two serious agencies—the Secret Service and Special Branch—with interest in the same manuscript. But unlike Inspector Eastley, Colonel Mountjoy didn’t question her. He didn’t seem to care about finding it, so maybe he really did want to help out.

Part of her confusion centered on social class, she realized, thinking now about what her brother said about agency rivalry. Men like Mountjoy, the officer class, in the same club as her brother. It wouldn’t be a surprise to see him at a social event. Should she tell Eastley about Mountjoy’s interest? Or would that make it worse?

Frances wasn’t sure why, but she found it irritating that Mountjoy had sought her out to discuss the manuscript. He seemed to know a lot and was vague on how he came by this knowledge. Simple kindness didn’t seem sufficient for his interest, but maybe she was being cynical.

Once home, Frances forced herself to put the Colcombe manuscript out of her mind and catch up on both her personal correspondences and letters on behalf of various clubs and committees. After lunch, she took a nap; these parties lasted well into the night, and she wanted to be fresh. Mallow gently woke her in plenty of time and then helped her into the waiting dress and did her hair. Mallow had a lot of opinions on what would best work for her ladyship’s complexion, hair color, and face shape and wasn’t shy about vocalizing them.

“Oh, my lady, you do look grand, if I say so myself. You’ll turn all the heads.”

“It’s your work, Mallow. Nicely done.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said Mallow. Frances glanced at her maid—she was all pink, the way she was when she was pleased with herself. Why shouldn’t she be pleased—she had done her mistress proud.

“I will admit that every once in a while, it is fun to get you truly dressed up, my lady.”

“And I admit, every once in a while, I like getting dressed up. I am sorry I don’t give you a chance to dress me up more often. If you worked for another lady, you’d have more of an opportunity.”

“That’s quite all right, my lady. There’s plenty to keep me busy.”

Frances laughed. “But what if I meet a duke tonight, Mallow, and because I behave myself, for once, he proposes. I become mistress of a great house, and you become lady’s maid to a duchess. A huge town house and a country estate instead of a little hotel suite and balls every week. Oh, but I’m just being silly. Now what about a hat . . . ?”

But she had put some ideas into Mallow’s head. She enjoyed the prestige of being a maid to an aristocratic lady, but it might be nice to be in a great house. What if Lady Frances did marry well? Mallow imagined herself in a London town house, full of junior maids who had to defer to her. Maybe someday she would even become a housekeeper, the highest rank a female servant could aspire to. She’d be Mrs. Mallow then—housekeepers were always called “Mrs.” as a mark of great respect. A housekeeper in a ducal household—then maids in the house would have to serve her tea while she sat . . .

“Lost in thought, Mallow?” said Frances with a smile.

“I’m very sorry, my lady,” said Mallow. It didn’t do to daydream.

“Not at all, it was entirely my fault for starting it. Yes, that goes nicely with my dress. Good choice.” Frances glanced at herself in the mirror again. Then she sighed.

“Remember when we went to my cousin’s country party in Lincolnshire last summer?” she said. “It was so hot, and I persuaded you slip outside with me so we could cool our feet in the pond late at night.”

Mallow remembered. She had been afraid at first. A city girl born and bred, she found the country so dark and too quiet. She imagined wolves hiding behind every tree. But oh, it was so delicious in the pond, and she followed her ladyship’s example, lifting her skirts and slipping into the water up to her knees. Lady Frances had gossiped to her maid about the other guests, and Mallow had giggled as Lady Frances mimicked them.

“Oh, go on, my lady,” she had laughed.

“It’s true, Mallow, every word.”

Frances looked at her maid and brought her back to the present. “You do know, Mallow, that if I became a duchess, you and I could never cool our feet in a pond again.”

Now Mallow sighed, too. “Yes, my lady.”

A cab dropped Frances at the elegant Moore home, and the butler announced her. Lady Moore found her quickly, and the two women caught up with each other. Lady Moore was delighted to hear about all of Frances’s achievements and the committees she worked on. She seemed shocked when Frances mentioned her suffrage work, but Frances guessed she was more titillated than upset.

“Maybe it was the old Queen’s death,” said Lady Moore, “but things seem to have changed so much. Women especially seem to have more . . . well, more choices today. But some things haven’t changed.” She smiled. “People still get married. Have you met the Honorable George Ralston? He’s the eldest son of Viscount Wellchester . . .”

Frances had no interest in meeting the Hon. George Ralston. “Not yet. I really must meet him. Meanwhile, I seem to have lost sight of my brother and sister-in-law. I’ll call on you very soon, Lady Moore . . .”

Charles and Mary were part of a knot of other Foreign Office couples. They welcomed her, but Frances quickly snatched her sister-in-law away “for sister gossip,” she told the group, to much amusement.

“Thank you so much,” said Mary when they were by themselves. “I do accept the responsibilities of being a political wife, but it’s getting so tiring hearing about the kaiser in Germany, the emperor in Austria, and the sultan in the Ottoman Empire. But enough—you look lovely tonight.”

“As do you, dear sister.” They giggled. “Now tell me,” said Frances, “I’ve not been as closely tied to Society as you these past months—even these past years. Tell me who is who.”

Mary pointed out the bishop’s nephew (who was engaged to the second daughter of a baron), the grandson of a duke (who was being sent to India until that mess in Oxford blew over), and the young earl (who was engaged to an American woman, but the money was needed and Americans seemed to have so much of it).

They weren’t alone long. First Charles found them, and then another man about Charles’s age sauntered over. He had a handsome face—no, more than that, decided Frances. He had a face out of another era, from the regency at the beginning of the nineteenth century, not the beginning of the twentieth. His eyes showed some merriment, as if from an earlier, wilder London, and his suit was a little livelier than what most of the other men were wearing.

“Seaforth, don’t you think you’re being just a little bit selfish, keeping the two loveliest women here to yourself?”

It was a signal for Charles to introduce them, but he hesitated for a few seconds, and his smile seemed artificial. How odd, thought Frances. No man had better manners than Charles.

“Allow me,” he finally said, introducing his wife and sister to Lord Gareth Blaine in a toneless voice. “You’re something in the Home Office, right, Blaine?”

“Yes—something,” said Blaine with a grin. “A pleasure to meet both of you.”

The Home Office. It was the ministry that had overall authority over policing functions and security of the realm. Her decision to attend this party was already paying off.

“I imagine your work must be very interesting,” said Frances.

“My sister would like to be a police inspector,” said Charles.

Blaine laughed. “If it were in my power to do so, I would appoint you today. Unfortunately, supervision of Scotland Yard is not in my remit. But your name is familiar to me—tell me, Lady Frances, do you know my cousin, Genevieve Ballentine?”

“Of course. She is a very active member of the women’s suffrage committee.”

Mary grinned, and Charles rolled his eyes.

“I imagine you don’t share your cousin’s views,” said Frances with a hint of challenge in her voice.

Charles interrupted at that point, saying he would happily leave them to their political discussion, and he wanted to introduce Mary to some people from the Exchequer. Mary gave Frances a quick wink as she left with her husband.

“If I may say, you imagine a lot,” Lord Gareth said when they were alone. “But regarding my politics, you imagine wrong. Please ask Genevieve about me, and you will find I am one of the few members of our family talking to her. Because of her stance, her mother is beyond furious. But I still visit with her. Indeed, I have great sympathy for your cause, and I support universal suffrage.”

“Do you really, Lord Gareth?” So many men said so just to make fun of her. Others tended to hedge so as not to offend her. It was rare to find an outspoken supporter like Lord Gareth.

“Again, Genevieve will happily confirm my views.”

“May I ask what convinced you?”

“I like to think I am well read. Certain philosophical writings . . .” And that led to a discussion of favorite authors and favorite philosophers. Lord Gareth had taken a degree at Cambridge, and Frances lost no opportunity in telling him about her unusual education in America. Lord Gareth was curious and asked many questions. The conversation was a challenge—and although Frances worked at it, she had a sense Lord Gareth had to work at it too.

“So tell me, do you really want to be a police inspector?”

“I think I’d be very good at it. Are you sure you don’t have anything to do with the police at the Home Office?” she said with a smile.

“My dear lady, if it were up to me, to please you, I’d appoint you commissioner. But my work is so dull, I can’t tell you about it, as it would spoil your good opinion of me.”

“Isn’t it rather arrogant of you to assume you already have my good opinion?” But her tone was mocking, not serious.

He mimicked her. “I’d be very wounded if I did not.”

Frances eyed him. “But I don’t think you have my brother’s good opinion.”

“So you noticed,” he said dryly. “My politics and beliefs sometimes upset even my progressive colleagues among the Liberals. And as a second son, I don’t have expectations of becoming a duke like my father and influencing the world that way. But don’t think the feeling is mutual between me and your brother. I admire your brother as a man of principle and intelligence, even if we disagree sometimes.”

Blaine then waved his hand as if to clear the air. “As entertaining as this has been, I’m in danger of monopolizing your evening and causing a dreadful scandal. But I wonder . . . are you familiar with Lord and Lady Heathcote?”

Even people who didn’t know the Heathcotes—and their circle of intimates—knew of them. They held fashionable parties where the liveliest members of Society mingled with poets and artists. Perhaps too fashionable: Frances had never been to a Heathcote event but had heard the rumors of behaviors that were never discussed in polite drawing rooms . . .

“They are quite notorious. I did not know you were a member,” said Frances.

“A member? You make it sound like being a member of a political party. It isn’t that formal. One simply shows up.”

“My brother and late father said they weren’t to be trusted.” There had been whispers of papers stolen, secrets passed, scandals hushed up . . .

“We’re just a lively group of friends assembling a little theater party with a reception beforehand. Don’t believe society gossip. Care to join us? Unless you’re afraid.” His eyes were inviting, but there was also a challenge.

“I never said I was afraid,” she snapped back. She was not subject to her brother’s approval. “It sounds pleasant. I love the theater. I saw one of Mr. Shaw’s latest plays, Major Barbara. Very thought provoking.”

“I agree . . . and I look forward to discussing it with you when next we meet. But I should tell you that this evening of theater will be a little different. May I reach you at your brother’s house?”

“Actually, I now reside at Miss Plimsoll’s Residence Hotel for Ladies.” She tripped it off proudly. Lord Gareth raised an eyebrow.

“How independent of you. This has been very interesting. Good evening, Lady Frances.”

Frances made the rounds for the rest of the evening, catching up on gossip and enduring comments, sarcastic and otherwise, about her work with the suffrage movement. She found Mary as the party wound down. Charles was just finishing a conversation in another room.

Mary smiled slyly. “You seem to have made quite a conquest this evening.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Lord Gareth and I were talking politics.” But she reddened nonetheless.

Coaches waited outside, but not for the Seaforths. Charles had traded in the family coach for a motorcar. Frances had never thought about the sound of iron-shod horses on pavement, but now it was startling to hear the hum of a precision engine instead of the clop of hoof beats. It was very smooth. Charles said that in twenty years, there wouldn’t be a horse left in London. It made Frances feel very modern to be in an automobile. She was sure the Heathcotes would approve. She suppressed a shiver at the thought of being at a Heathcote event. She felt guilty at not telling Mary, fearing her sensible friend would try to talk her out of it.

They drove to Miss Plimsoll’s, and Charles got out with Frances, waiting until the night porter came to open the door. The porter grumbled as usual, and Charles gave his sister a kiss on the cheek and told her not to run herself down with committee work.

The porter bolted the door behind her. Frances was looking forward to bed. She had told Mallow not to bother waiting up, but the loyal maid was knitting in the lounge and rose to greet her mistress as soon as she came in.

“A good evening, my lady?”

“Yes, thank you. By the way, would you like to live in Norfolk? Lady Moore seems determined that I become the next Viscountess Wellchester.”

Before Mallow could respond, they heard the knocker on the door. Another resident at a late-night party? Through the heavy door, they heard a muffled voice. “It’s the chauffeur. Left something in the car, my lady.” Frances was surprised. She had her wrap and her little bag—there was nothing else.

But the porter was already opening the door before Frances and Mallow could stop him, and it was barely cracked before a man pushed himself inside. He was tall and lean with an outdoor complexion.

The women and the porter froze. The porter was neither young nor fit, and there was no one in easy call.

The man gently closed the door. Then he grinned. He pulled himself up and gave a mock salute. “Private Alfred Barnstable, late of his majesty’s colonial force and the Empire Light Horse.” The twang was unmistakable—he was an Australian. Frances had never actually spoken with an Australian but had heard the accent, often mocked by Englishmen.

“Sorry, ladies. Would you be Frances Ffolkes? Or know where she is? This is Miss Plimsoll’s, isn’t it? She left a note that she’d like to speak with anyone who had served under Major Colcombe.”

Frances gathered her wits. “I’m Frances Ffolkes. And your entrance here is rather abrupt and unusual. How do I know you are who you say you are?”

The soldier considered that. “How about this? The major had a scar on his left hand—a fencing accident, he said.”

“That’s true,” said Frances.

Then the soldier grinned. “I have one more. He liked to talk about his women. And if you’re Frances Ffolkes, he called you ‘Ursula.’ I got that right, didn’t I?”

Frances was speechless, but Mallow jumped in.

“Mr. Barnstable, this is Lady Frances Ffolkes. She is not anyone’s ‘woman.’ And when you address her, you will call her ‘my lady.’ Is that clear?”

He didn’t look at all abashed. “Sorry about that. Now what might you be called?”

“Miss Mallow to you. I am her ladyship’s personal maid.”

“You have a pretty face, Miss Mallow. Would you be interested—?”

“Mr. Barnstable,” jumped in Frances, “flirt with my maid on your own time. It’s late, and I sense we have a lot to discuss. Go sit in the lounge, and I’ll be along shortly.”

“Right you are, my lady.” He bowed and headed into the lounge.

“Well,” said Frances.

“Well indeed, my lady,” said Mallow. “He’s Australian.” That explained everything.

Frances turned back to the porter, who was looking a little stunned himself. “This man fought with my brother in South Africa. I don’t suppose you have any beer I could buy off you? I’ll pay you double what it cost.”

A rare smile lit up his craggy face. “Quite all right, my lady. You can have them at cost.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely.” She drank very little during the evening, but the thought of a beer was suddenly welcome. The porter said he’d bring along the bottles while she saw to her guest.

Private Barnstable had made himself very comfortable in the best chair. She doubted his lodgings had overstuffed leather chairs.

“I am glad to see you settled here,” she said with a wry smile. “I thank you for responding to my note. But it is a little surprising to see you sneaking in like this at such a late hour.”

“I’m sorry I startled you, my lady. And this one here, too.” He winked at Mallow, who did not give him the pleasure of a response. “But being in the war, being in that war, has made me a very cautious man, and when I tell you what I have to tell you, maybe you’ll see why. I’ll give it to you straight. Daniel Colcombe was the finest man I knew, and when I heard he died, I almost died myself—but what’s this?”

The porter carried a tray with three bottles of beer and three glasses. He placed them on the little table between Barnstable and the women and made as if to pour.

“You looked thirsty,” said Frances.

“Well you’re a lady, no mistake—but don’t pour that out, man. No need to get a glass dirty.” He snapped the top off and drank from the bottle. “That’s good. But don’t mind me, ladies, go ahead and use your glasses.”

And then, to Mallow’s astonishment, Frances snapped the top off her beer and took a drink. What would Frances’s mother have thought? But then, feeling there was nothing to do but follow suit, Mallow sighed, opened her own bottle, and took a sip herself.

The porter shook his head and left. Barnstable took another swig and told his story.

He had grown up in Australia and said he had learned to ride before he could even walk. Enlisting in the army was a way to get some adventure before settling down, and he found himself in South Africa. His skill on horseback had landed him in the newly formed Empire Light Horse under Colcombe.

“I won’t bore you ladies with the details, but we raised some hell, I can tell you, pardon my language.”

“But it ended badly,” Frances prompted.

Barnstable nodded. “And that’s what this is about, my lady, what I wanted to talk to you about. But now I don’t know if I should tell women—”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Mr. Barnstable, you’re keeping me up after a long day. I’ve not been as sheltered as you think, and Mallow grew up in one of London’s livelier neighborhoods. Get on with it.”

He grinned. “That I will.” He took another long drink. “We’d been harrying Brother Boer and were heading out for another patrol when some red-tabbed officers from HQ showed up. The major received them in his tent, but the discussion became an argument, and although we couldn’t hear all the words, it was clear they wanted the major to do something with us he didn’t want to do. We kept hearing references to the War Office, but that was all we could make out. Still, we found out what happened soon enough.”

Barnstable’s cheerful face suddenly looked grim, and his eyes lost focus as he went back to the African veldt. Frances was reminded of the older soldier at the soup kitchen, the veteran of the Sepoy Mutiny.

“On that last day, we didn’t do what we had been doing. We didn’t attack the way Major Colcombe had us do in the past. We bit off more than we could chew, and that’s a fact, and we got hit hard. As the sun fell, a couple dozen of us found ourselves stuck between an exposed ridge and a Boer force twice our size by the Sapphire River. Our lieutenant was killed.

“We dug in, but it was only a matter of time. Night fell, but that meant nothing to the Boer. Ammo almost gone and worse yet, water gone. You don’t want to be without water in Africa. The full moon rose, men said their prayers, and we fixed bayonets and prepared for one last charge. But we heard some Boer shots just to the left of us. They were shooting at Major Colcombe, half-running, half-crawling in the dark and carrying canteens and ammo. Two trips he made, a quarter mile each way, dodging bullets and carrying water and ammo. He even carried a wounded man on his back to bring him to the field hospital. On his second trip back, he was shot in the shoulder but made it anyway.”

“Oh! May God bless him!” cried out Mallow.

Barnstable just smiled sadly at her. “Yes, Miss Mallow. May God bless him indeed.”

Frances was lost for words, however. She tried to imagine the horror, with bullets in the dark, an unseen enemy, and a score of men whose lives depended on him.

“We thought we were dead men, but with water and enough bullets, we held them off. The major had sent the fastest rider with two horses to bring back reinforcements, and shortly after dawn, a score of mounted troopers appeared on the ridge to pin down the Boers long enough for us to escape. I’m not what you’d call a religious man, but whatever Major Colcombe did in life, his sins were wiped clean by what he did that night. And I take some comfort from knowing that he’s in a better place.”

Barnstable leaned back to finish his beer while Frances and Mallow contemplated the story. No one had ever doubted Colcombe’s physical courage, Frances knew well, but this seemed beyond comprehension. Two trips, a mile under fire.

“But why didn’t anyone know about this? My brother? The general staff?”

“Well, that was the thing. The senior officers came back and told them that because of extensive casualties, and with the Boers on the run anyway, we were being disbanded. Everyone was given an honorable discharge. We got what they called a bonus, and they told us not to discuss what had happened. We could be prosecuted, they said, for causing a loss of morale. Well I was having none of that. Major Colcombe was the only officer left who knew what had really happened. So I told him, and not just me, all of us who owed our lives, we said that we’d throw away the money and go to prison, but the major ordered us to keep quiet. He said someday, when things had quieted down, he’d tell the story and told us not to hurt ourselves by disobeying his orders. So we left, back to England or Australia. A few stayed to make new lives in Africa.”

That explained a lot—the book was no doubt about that tragic battle, which was apparently covered up. It was a travesty, and she felt herself getting angry. Danny couldn’t even tell his friends, and he should’ve received the Victoria Cross, the highest decoration in the army.

“Tell me why you’re in London—and why you seem so cautious.”

“Well, I wanted to see the home country after I was mustered out, and the major said to come back to London with him and he’d find me work, and so he did; he was that kind of man. I wasn’t really cut out for city life, but the major wrote a friend and found me work handling sheep up in Scotland. It was good, but I decided it was time to go home, look up my brothers, and think about getting a place of my own. I thought to look up the major but then heard he was dead and how it happened. I was going crazy trying to figure out who could help me. And then I see your note, my lady, and it was a godsend. The major could disassemble and reassemble a firearm in absolute darkness. He never would’ve had an accident like that. And any man who tells me he killed himself is a damn liar. Again, pardon my language.”

He started asking around—other veterans he had known all expected the major to tell the full story eventually, and Barnstable didn’t want the major’s death to silence the truth about the Empire Light Horse forever. From his time in London, he had become friends with a Colcombe footman. He said the staff knew that the master had been writing something but that the manuscript had disappeared sometime after the master’s death. This footman had said a family friend was helping them look for it—and when he heard who it was and then saw the notice in the club, that decided things for him.

“The major was an easygoing sort, my lady. I remembered your name from talks around evening fires. And he said how your brother was a mate of his. I never served under your brother, but I knew many who did, and there was no one to say anything against Major Ffolkes. He was a right good man and officer. I figured if you were a Ffolkes, I could speak with you. But like I said, South Africa made me a cautious man, and I wasn’t taking any chances I didn’t need to. Especially with the way the major died.”

“You mean you thought Major Colcombe was murdered?” Frances spoke quietly, almost afraid of the words.

“I’m saying that an accident was impossible, and he never would’ve killed himself. If you have another choice, my lady, then I’d like to hear it.”

Frances leaned back in her chair and contemplated Barnstable. He was a frank man, and she sensed no dishonesty there.

“Thank you for your kind words about my brother and for trusting me. I am trying to find the manuscript. Can you tell me if Major Colcombe ever said anything to you about it?”

“Not in England. But we were laid up together in a field hospital in South Africa right after we were relieved. He told me again not to worry. He wanted to give things a chance to calm down and then he’d tell the whole story, the truth, for all our sakes. ‘All of it,’ said the major, ‘more than you men know. But not now—later, when feelings aren’t running so high. And I promise the bastards who sent us to be slaughtered on the Sapphire River will pay.’”

Barnstable finished his beer.

“That was all the major told me,” said Barnstable. “But I’m glad I could pass the story on to you. I know I promised the major I’d be quiet about this, but now he’s gone, and I don’t care what they do to me. I’ve been shooting my mouth off all over London. If they want to find me in Australia, good luck to them. Now you’re titled, my lady, you and your brother. I hear he’s a marquess. You know the right sort. Maybe you could talk to your brother—”

“Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Barnstable, but I think I’m capable of doing what needs to be done.”

Barnstable wasn’t offended. He grinned.

“You sound just like my mother, God rest her soul. She was a fine woman and did not take well to being crossed.”

“I’m sorry I never met her,” said Frances.

Barnstable stood. “I think I told you all that I could, my lady, and feel better for getting it off my chest. But I’ll tell you to watch your back, if I may be so bold. There’s a lot of talk about this. As for myself, I’ll probably be in London another month, then off to Australia. But I’ll call in again if I think of anything else before I go. I’m staying with a mate in Rotherhithe, and I wouldn’t send a lady there.”

“What you did tonight was good and brave and a testament to Major Colcombe,” said Frances. Barnstable just blushed and stammered. Frances pulled out one of her calling cards and gave it to him in case he needed to write or even telephone her. “I just want to make sure you’re settled. Now, my note said any veteran who came to be would be rewarded.” She reached for her bag, but Barnstable just got annoyed.

“No need for that. I came here out of duty and respect, not for a handout. I took your beer as you’re my hostess. Visit me in Australia and I’ll make you welcome and serve you one in return. But no money.”

Embarrassed, Frances apologized.

“You have a good heart, and I know you meant no harm. Thanks for listening, and for the beer, and God be with you.” Barnstable stood and made for the door, but Mallow suddenly stood up.

“It was wicked, Mr. Barnstable. Wicked what they did to you and the major. My lady and I won’t let this go.”

Frances was astonished. She had never seen Mallow angry like that, but it made a certain amount of sense. People like Barnstable and Mallow served people of quality, gave them loyalty, and in return received care and protection. It’s the way Mallow believed the world worked. And when the system didn’t work, when loyal men like Barnstable were abandoned and great men like Major Colcombe had to give so much to save them and then die, what hope was there?

“I’m sure you won’t, Miss Mallow,” he said, and then he was gone.

Mallow took a moment to control herself. “My lady, I apologize most deeply. I spoke without thinking, and I assure you it will not happen again.”

“Don’t apologize, Mallow. You were completely right. It was wicked, from beginning to end. Why were those men sent to their deaths? Who sent them and why? Forget propriety, Mallow. Take a seat and let’s work this out.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“So Danny—that is, Major Colcombe—knew what had happened and why. But he wanted to wait for the right time, when passions had cooled. He was too thoughtful to even tell my brother, because Danny didn’t want let Charles hurt his own political career doing the noble thing.”

“Mr. Barnstable said they were talking about the War Office, my lady. You must know people there.”

“You’re right, Mallow. I do. Let’s start with General Audendale. He was Major Colcombe’s and my brother’s superior in South Africa. Charles always spoke of him as a man of honor—one of the old school, he had said. He now lives in family manse about a two-hour train ride outside of London. I’ll write to him and ask for a visit. If the War Office had interfered in South Africa, Audendale would know.”

“Very good, my lady.”

“And we’ll just hope my brother doesn’t find out what we’re up to. Come Mallow. It’s time for bed. We’ll take a fresh look at this in the morning. We have a lot to do and think about.”

Frances quickly got into bed. She was exhausted but couldn’t stop thinking about Danny. His death was tragic, but she thought of the men he had saved, and no one could have a better epitaph. Tomorrow was soon enough to plan.

She forced herself to stop focusing on South Africa and instead thought about the party. Frances had enjoyed it more than she had expected. The conversation with Lord Gareth had been entertaining . . . no, make that stimulating. He’d be introducing her to Lord and Lady Heathcote and their lively set! And feeling rather warm inside, she fell asleep.