CHAPTER 11

It had been a while since Frances had been to the shore. She had always liked what the waterfront did for her senses—the slap of water against wooden boats and the rattle of anchor chains, the smell of the salt air and the taste of fresh fish. As Frances alighted from the train, she turned her face to the sea and closed her eyes, feeling the damp breeze on her cheek.

Mallow was very skeptical, however. She liked the train trip, but the smells and sights were unfamiliar, and there was nothing like a London hansom cab in sight.

“I’ll see what I can do about some sort of transportation, my lady.” At an inn by the station, a serving girl told her that for a modest fee, a local deliveryman would take Mallow and her mistress to wherever they needed to go in the village.

“I’m sorry, my lady. It’s the best I could arrange.”

“Quite all right, Mallow. When we were young, Charles and I would grab rides from farmers and fishmongers all the time near our country estate. It’ll be fun.”

“If you say so, my lady.”

The driver was polite and welcoming and helped the ladies onto the seat beside him. Then, whipping his team, he headed to Bluefin Cottage on the Rye Road, where Mrs. Tregallis lived. They passed through the village proper, where almost every house sported nets in various states of repair and the smell of fish was so pervasive, the residents probably didn’t notice it anymore.

Bluefin Cottage was small and neat. Frances thought it looked like an oversized dollhouse. It was well lined with flowers and the house itself had been painted recently, white with blue trim. The whimsical brass door knocker was shaped like a clam.

“Charming, isn’t it, Mallow?”

“Yes, my lady.” Charm was well and good, thought Mallow, but she couldn’t imagine living in a town so small that it lacked a music hall.

As they watched the door, a little boy in a sailor suit ran out and stopped, looking at the women curiously.

“Hello. My name is Lady Frances. This is Miss Mallow. What is your name?”

“Crispin. Crispin Tregallis, ma’am.”

“Good day to you, Master Tregallis. Is your mother at home?”

Frances looked up and saw the answer to her question—Dorothy Tregallis was standing in the doorway.

Danny Colcombe favored a certain type of woman, as Franny knew, because she would quietly listen to the men talk when they didn’t know she was around, laughing about the women they fancied. His type was a dark-haired woman who had a generous mouth and full figure and who viewed the world with what Franny’s mother had disparagingly called “a bold eye.”

But Dorothy didn’t fit that at all. She was a tall, spare woman with soft, brown hair. She wasn’t what men would call a pretty girl, but her face was welcoming and full of good humor. It seemed a surprise, but on second thought, the recuperating Danny hadn’t wanted a beautiful or charming woman; he had wanted a sympathetic one.

“You must be Lady Frances Ffolkes. Please come in.”

“Yes,” said the boy. And he reached up to take her hand in his and bring her inside, with Mallow following.

“Your son is quite the gentleman.” Frances looked at him to see if she could find anything of Danny in him, but no, at least not yet.

“Thank you. I can’t help but be proud of him.”

Inside, the cottage was simple, and its cleanliness was a testament to Dorothy’s profession.

“Please, both of you sit. You must be weary from your long train journey.”

“We are weary—weary of sitting. Anyway, the sea air is invigorating. I suppose that’s why you nurses are always telling us to recuperate by the sea.” Dorothy laughed as Frances began slicing bread and Mallow filled a kettle.

“There’s no need to do that—you’re my guests.”

“Oh, but we can’t just sit and watch and let you do all the work. When I was in college, I learned how to make and serve a very nice English tea for my American friends, and very impressed they were.”

Dorothy laughed again. “You are just as Danny described you. Cheerful, brisk, and kind—Danny said no one would guess you were the daughter of a marquess, and he meant that as a compliment. Now let’s all of us have some tea, and then—and then we’ll talk.”

Dorothy talked about the village over bread and jam, and young Master Crispin proudly showed his shell collection to Mallow, who wondered how clean they were.

“Mrs. Tregallis,” said Mallow, “if you would like, I will take Crispin for a walk around the harbor so you and my lady can talk in peace.”

“That would be lovely, Mallow. Thank you. Do go to the coast guard station—you can’t miss it. The district officer is an old Royal Navy hand, and when Danny came for visits—” Her voice broke for a second. “—he’d take Crispin there. The men would chat, and he’d let Danny play with his telescope.”

A quick cleanup and Mallow and Crispin were ready to go. But before they left, Frances quickly whispered in Mallow’s ear. “The coast guardsman knew Danny. See if you can draw him out.” And Mallow nodded.

The two women sat again at the table with their cups of tea. “You’re like your brother. I could see right away when you looked at me. He was so kind to me, both before and after Danny died. Most men would see me as no better than a tart. But not your brother. And I see the way you look at me—not you either. You must be a remarkable family.”

Frances was full of pride at her brother—she so wished they could talk about this together.

“We try,” she said modestly.

“I know Mr. Wheaton told you the full story at my insistence. Although you don’t judge me for what happened, do you think me a fool for not accepting his marriage offer? We could never have made each other happy, not over the years, as husband and wife.” She paused. “Danny was always seeking something. Even after the war, once he recovered, he was talking about everything from running his own theater to returning to Africa and farming to setting up a tea plantation in India. I wanted a more settled life—I am not looking for more adventures. We’d only end up with resentments. Danny was not meant to marry me. Perhaps he was not meant to marry anyone. You probably think me ridiculous, however, to turn down such a good man, so well set up.”

But Frances shook her head. “I don’t think you’re a fool. I do think you are very brave.” She thought about Gareth, and Dorothy’s eyes were so inviting. She was so full of sympathy, she could see what had attracted Danny. Dorothy would understand.

“I loved a man. And had he . . . had things been just a little different, I might’ve. But I won’t pretend that I would’ve refused a marriage proposal from a man who I now know could not have made me happy. I don’t know if I would’ve had that much courage.”

Dorothy looked at her with understanding and nodded.

“I don’t want you to think I put all the blame on Danny,” said Dorothy. “I don’t want to cast him as the evil, lecherous master and me the innocent, young girl.” She smiled wryly. “I’m a nurse. I know where babies come from.”

Frances laughed, and Dorothy joined her. “I accept your reasons for not marrying Danny, but you would’ve been very good for him. You are remarkable, Mrs. Tregallis.”

Dorothy smiled. “Thank you, but since Tregallis isn’t really my name, please just call me ‘Dorothy.’” In Society, it was a little early in their relationship to call each other by their Christian names, but with Dorothy, it seemed a genuine invitation to friendship.

“Very well. But you must call me Franny.”

Now that they knew something about each other, Dorothy felt she could come to the reason Frances was there: Although there was no more passion between them, Danny had visited frequently and seemed genuinely pleased with his son. It had been awkward at first, but they did enjoy each other’s company, and they gradually fell into the roles they had made up for themselves, friendly cousins. She looked forward to his visits . . . and when she heard he had died, under those strange circumstances, it was devastating. There was no one she could talk to about it and tell the whole story, no practical way to go up to London, nothing to tell Crispin.

“So when Mr. Wheaton told me about you, that you had made it your business to find out the truth, it seemed like a godsend. He was too careful to die by accident, and suicide was unthinkable from the Danny I knew.”

“What did he tell you about a book he was writing, war memoirs?”

“Not much more than that. I gathered from his tone there was something secret, but he didn’t discuss it much.”

“Then I have a story to tell you,” said Frances. She summarized the mystery of the manuscript, the idea that it threatened powerful figures and caught the attention of an elite Scotland Yard inspector and men like Colonel Mountjoy, a keeper of secrets. Dorothy’s eyes got wider and wider, and she almost cried when Frances told the story about Danny’s heroism.

“That explains so much,” she said.

“So you see, this is about a concealment, a conspiracy. And I will find out why and who is involved and where the manuscript is.”

“If you can—and I do think you will. As I said, it seems that you’re the remarkable one, Franny.” She leaned over the table—the sadness was gone and she seemed eager. “Now tell me how I can help.”

Dorothy provided details about Danny’s unguarded moments, when he had first become her patient. He had been moody and feverish and hadn’t slept well. The shoulder wound wasn’t healing and gave him continual pain.

“At night, in his dreams, he’d call out for the ‘men who rode by night.’ I guess those were references to battles, to the men he commanded. From what you say, they traveled and fought at night.”

They weren’t the only ones. The Secret Service, the “Shadow Boys,” also worked at night.

“What about General Audendale, his commanding officer? Did he discuss him at all?”

“Yes, he mentioned him a couple of times, that they had visited several times after the war.” Dorothy paused to gather her thoughts. “I got the sense that Danny liked and admired him but felt sorry for him. There was a sadness when he spoke of him—but not anger.”

Frances found that interesting. “But was he angry with anyone?”

“The fools at Whitehall,” said Dorothy, referring to the warren of government offices in London. That had become a favorite expression of Danny’s, she said. He had contempt for all of them—except for Frances’s brother, Charles. And that’s why he didn’t share certain things with Charles, Frances realized yet again. He knew Charles would do what was right and didn’t want him to damage a promising political career. Charles would’ve done anything for Danny—and Danny knew it.

Frances mentioned Lord Crossley and the reference he had given her, Mr. Bramwell—but neither Crossley nor Bramwell were familiar to Dorothy. She even took out the list of funeral attendees she and Kat had drawn up—again, Dorothy recognized none of them except for a few brother officers he had mentioned.

“But I can tell you this. Danny visited us a month before he died. He was in excellent spirits and seemed hopeful. He told me he was finishing the book and eventually would see about publication.”

“Was he fearful?”

Dorothy vehemently shook her head. “Not at all. He didn’t feel threatened by anyone. He was excited. He did say his book would ‘stir the pot in Whitehall.’ That was his expression. But he wasn’t frightened. He said the War Office could be damned. He didn’t care what they did.”

Frances couldn’t think of anything else to ask, but their talk had been useful. Danny had known something about the manuscript’s importance to men of power in London—he was not naïve.

The coast guard ran its operations out of a shingled cottage right on the water. Crispin was clearly thrilled at visiting and ran ahead to knock on the door. It was opened by a man in a half-buttoned uniform, who grinned widely when he saw who was calling. “Well, if it isn’t young Admiral Crispin. Do come in. And who’s this? Don’t tell me you’re old enough for a governess already?”

“I’m Miss Mallow. I’m personal maid to Lady Frances Ffolkes, a friend of Mrs. Tregallis. I’m serving as a nanny so my mistress and her friend can have a visit.”

“You are more than welcome, too, Miss Mallow. Come in. District Officer Faroe at your service.”

Mallow couldn’t judge the man’s age. He was in good shape, but his face was so heavily weathered, he could be anywhere from thirty to fifty. But one thing was certain—the cottage was so clean and neat that the strictest housekeeper in London couldn’t have found fault.

Faroe noticed her look. “You’re impressed, Miss Mallow? I was navy trained. Everything in its place and a place for everything. I’m glad I meet the approval of a personal maid to a titled lady.”

“You do indeed, Mr. Faroe,” said Mallow, and he laughed. He gave some brass instruments, including a compass and telescope, to the delighted Crispin and then made some tea for Mallow in a mug that was cheap but clean.

“If I may, I want to say how glad I am that a friend is visiting Mrs. Tregallis. So tragic, first losing her husband, and then we hear that nice cousin of hers who used to visit, Major Colcombe, dying like that.”

How would my lady draw him out? wondered Mallow. It shouldn’t be too hard. This man obviously likes to talk. “Lady Frances knew Major Colcombe in London and was also upset at his death.”

“He was a fine man. We had some very good talks. Glad to have another military man here.”

“What kinds of things did you talk about?” she asked, and Faroe gave her a curious look. What could a lady’s maid want to know about two veterans’ conversation? She realized she had gone too far. “It’s just that if there were any talk about my lady, it would be a comfort for her to know.”

“Oh I see,” said Faroe with a knowing look and winked at her. “Your mistress wants to know if the major spoke about her. She was sweet on him. Don’t worry—I won’t tell a soul. But I’m afraid we didn’t talk much about the ladies.” Mallow felt her heart sink. That’s not what she meant to indicate. And she had so wanted to help her ladyship. Then he grinned. “Except for one girl, a real live one, he said, name of Ursula. Said he wanted to see her again, had some things to tell her.”

Oh! That was the nickname Major Colcombe gave her ladyship.

“She was a friend of my lady’s,” said Mallow. “If he told you, and you told me, I could have Lady Frances pass on the words.”

“A friend, was she?” asked Faroe, and he gave Mallow a shrewd look. “Very well then, something for your lady, a friend of Ursula’s. Now I can’t remember the exact words, you know, but we were talking about men of honor, and he said, ‘I’ll tell you, Mr. Faroe, they’re the worst. The greedy, selfish, and cowardly, you can see through them. But those obsessed with honor are the most frightening and dangerous of all. There’s no one like a fanatic, Mr. Faroe. Men like you and me, we fought with them and against them.’ He shuddered at that and then suddenly laughed. ‘My dear Ursula has her causes, but she’ll never be a fanatic; she has too much humanity in her.’ Well, that’s the long and short of it, Miss Mallow.”

“Thank you, Mr. Faroe,” said Mallow.

“If you want, I can give you paper and pen to write this all down.”

“I’m a lady’s maid,” said Mallow. “We don’t forget things. Now, thank you for your hospitality, but I should be getting this young man back to his mother.”

As expected, there was fresh fish for supper, and Frances found it delightful that they shared the table with Crispin. In better London homes, children were not welcome at the table until they were much older.

“He’s a bright lad,” said Frances afterward as she prepared to leave.

“I’m pleased you think so. I agree—but I’m his mother. I am fortunate: Mr. Wheaton explained that Danny left sufficient money for us in his will. I haven’t had much experience with lawyers, but Mr. Wheaton seemed, well, kinder than one expected.”

“Yes, very much so,” said Frances with more enthusiasm than she intended, and Dorothy gave her a moment’s look before continuing.

“It seems there is enough money to either set up Crispin in business someday or to be trained in a profession, as a physician or for the law. I would be so pleased to see him as a local doctor in a town like this.”

“Oh—a boy that bright should be a specialist in Harley Street,” said Frances, referring to the neighborhood where the very best London doctors had their practices. Dorothy laughed.

A neighbor said he’d drive Frances and Mallow to the station, but before they departed, Frances promised to write often and keep Dorothy fully posted on her investigations.

“You’ve given me hope,” Dorothy said, and she gave her new friend a hug before waving her off.

“That was very enlightening,” said Frances when they were on the train. “Did you get anything from the coast guardsman?”

“Yes I did, my lady,” said Mallow, full of pride. She repeated the conversation Mr. Faroe had with Major Colcombe. Frances listened closely without interrupting.

“Well done, Mallow. This shows us something new. We haven’t seen much in the way of honor so far, outside of the major himself. Unless . . . there seems to be multiple motives at work. I’ll have to think that over. But good work.”

“Thank you, my lady. But just one more thing. I am afraid that District Officer Faroe may have realized that you are the ‘Ursula’ the major talked about. And, well, he thought that you and the major were . . . involved.” She was affronted.

“Oh dear,” said Frances. “But no matter. Major Colcombe is dead, and who is Mr. Faroe going to share any gossip with anyway?” She sighed. “I’ll tell you a secret, Mallow, when I was a girl, Danny Colcombe quite stole my heart.”

“Oh, go on, my lady!”

“He was quite dashing. He never did anything improper, of course. He was my brother’s best friend. And I was just seventeen. My mother and I had just convinced my father to let me study in America, and Danny was devoted to the army. Also, he was not the kind of man, especially then, who was looking to settle down . . .” She shook her head and didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.