Frances got up early and found herself first down at breakfast, although Mr. and Miss Hardiman joined her soon after. Had Gwen and Tommie slept in? Had Gwen had another bad night? Mr. Mehmet wasn’t there either. Had he wandered off somewhere—to his wife? But no, he came down next, and bowed to everyone before getting himself a plate.
The Americans filled their plates, and Mr. Hardiman joined Mr. Mehmet, his hunting companion of the previous day. It seemed they were reliving their shooting. Meanwhile, Miss Hardiman joined Frances, who didn’t think she had ever seen anyone looked as pleased with herself as Effie Hardiman did at that moment. She looked like she was about to explode with mirth.
“You seem to have had some good news, Miss Hardiman?” The girl nodded, not even trusting herself to speak. “Let me guess. Mr. Blake asked to speak to your father, didn’t he, when we were at Blake Court?”
“Oh, Lady Frances. I’m not supposed to say anything to anyone yet. But it seems—”
Frances just motioned for Miss Hardiman to be quiet. “Things are a little different here, my dear. I take it this house will be your dowry.” The house that Christopher had craved since childhood.
“I haven’t asked him, but I’m sure Father would make an offer to Miss Kestrel’s lawyer. Christopher says she doesn’t want to live here.”
“And his mother?”
“Oh. I guess she’ll go back to her house.” Blake Court. But she no doubt thought of the Eyrie as “her” house now. So Christopher couldn’t wait. Maybe he felt Miss Hardiman would take her dowry back to London and find herself the son of an earl if an offer didn’t come through soon. She’d do anything to avoid another winter in Buffalo.
“Yes. I’m sure he’ll work it out. But this is a very big change. These are important families, and you aren’t just getting married. You’re rising to a highly visible position. And it must be done very carefully and delicately if you want to get off on the right foot. Now, do you know if Mr. Blake has told his mother?”
Miss Hardiman looked a little shifty at that. “Christopher said his mother was a little . . . well, being as Christopher is her only son and I’m an American. As we discussed earlier, I may not be exactly what she wants. He said he’d ask my father in a week, as the police investigation should be done by then. And then we’d tell his mother.”
“That sounds very wise. Just be patient. I know all will be well, but don’t rush things, don’t let the word out too soon. It could make your life difficult for a long time.”
Frances felt bad then, spoiling Miss Hardiman’s good news. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to dampen your enthusiasm. Your news is great indeed, and I’m sure you’ll be very happy here. I just want to guide you in English ways.” She spread some marmalade on toast. “You and I will be friends. So I should think, by this point, we can be a little less formal with each other? My friends call me ‘Franny.’”
Miss Hardiman turned pink. “Oh, yes, I entirely agree. I’m Euphemia, but only my mother called me that. My friends call me ‘Effie,’ as you’ve no doubt heard from my father.” Across the room, Mr. Hardiman looked up from his talk with Mr. Mehmet to smile benevolently at the two young ladies.
“Well talk later, I promise. Remember, Effie. Discretion.”
She stepped over to Mr. Mehmet and Mr. Hardiman.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Mr. Mehmet, I recalled last night some friends we have in common. Do you remember the Dowager Countess of Fairhaven?”
Mr. Hardiman took the hint. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to get involved in a discussion of the English aristocracy. He excused himself to sit with his daughter.
Frances lowered her voice. “I want you to know, Mr. Mehmet, I’ve realized it’s clear the buffoons in the local police seem completely out of their depth. My family has connections with Scotland Yard. I think I can bring London pressure on the local chief constable to turn this over to some professionals.”
His face fell. “Are you sure that’s wise, Lady Frances?”
“Wouldn’t you welcome that? So much suspicion in this house. But then again, you were the one who warned me about secrets. We all have them, and they’re not all criminal. Of course, I know one of your secrets. But you have more, don’t you? You were friendly enough with Special Branch. And my brother. But you still don’t want regular London detectives here, do you? And why? Your marriage may be private, but it’s hardly illegal.”
She took what she knew was a childish satisfaction in seeing Mr. Mehmet concerned. But he wasn’t upset for more than a few seconds, and he gave her his debonair smile again. “I said you were the sword of Allah. And I must bow to the will of the Prophet.”
“If you bowed to the will of your Prophet, you wouldn’t be eating bacon, which is forbidden to your people.”
And he laughed, but to Frances’s ear, it sounded forced. “I keep forgetting how much you notice. I will need to be more careful.”
Frances smiled and excused herself. She looked around and began wondering where Gwen and Tommie were—or Mrs. Blake, who never failed to oversee breakfast.
And then Mallow came into the dining room. It was startling—a lady’s maid did not bother her mistress at a meal, and Mallow was practically running. Frances met her for a private word near the door.
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but I think you should come at once.”
Frances excused herself from the surprised Hardimans and stepped into the hallway with Mallow. The maid’s eyes were wide. It took a lot to disturb Mallow’s equilibrium.
“A footman mentioned that the police arrived early this morning, even before you rose, my lady, and they were going at it hammer and tongs in the solar. I thought you’d want to know immediately. The door is closed but you can hear them.”
“You were right to get me, Mallow. Come with me—I was expecting this after breakfast, but Inspector Bedlow has no sense of propriety. You took care of the dress, didn’t you?”
“Of course, my lady. The dress looks completely new.”
“Excellent. Now, let’s come to the aid of our friends.”
Mallow knew that look. Her ladyship wore it when she was planning to deliver a speech in the park or corner a government minister in his office. She scrambled to keep up as Frances shot up the stairs and headed to the solar door. She walked right in and took stock of the situation.
Tommie and Gwen were sitting on a couch looking stricken, as Inspector Bedlow stood over them talking loudly. Mrs. Blake sat in another chair, watching, and in a corner, Constable Dill stood at attention, looking unhappy.
But that was just for a second: Everyone turned to Frances as she entered. Gwen and Tommie looked deeply relieved. Bedlow looked up, angry at the interruption, and Constable Dill seemed almost scared. As for Mrs. Blake—she looked amused.
“May I ask what is going on?” asked Frances.
“Oh Franny, the inspector is coming to arrest Tommie!” Gwen wailed.
“Is this true, inspector? May I see the warrant?”
Inspector Bedlow hesitated. He’s losing control of the situation and he’s trying to save face, Frances concluded.
“I’m not here to arrest Miss Calvin. But she is needed to help the police with their inquiries, and that would be better done at headquarters.”
“May we know what the conversation would be about?”
“The deaths of Sir Calleford Kestrel, Mrs. Genevieve Sweet, and Mrs. Betsy Tanner.”
“That’s beyond belief, Inspector. Surely you have some sort of evidence.”
“In a moment, Lady Frances,” he said, looking smug. What a fool, to go out on a limb before the evidence was even in hand. A moment later, another constable entered the room, carrying a dress—Tommie’s traveling dress from the night they arrived. So someone had tipped him off after all. Frances had to control herself when she saw the inspector vainly look for the bloodstains. He had quiet words with the constable—this clearly was the traveling dress in question.
“Well?” asked Frances.
The inspector just stared at her. Then he realized what had happened, and his face filled with rage.
“You did this. You destroyed police evidence. That is a major felony.”
“Evidence? What evidence?” She was wide-eyed innocence.
“You washed the blood from the sleeve, the blood Miss Calvin got on her when she killed Sir Calleford.”
Tommie and Gwen were clutching each other now, too stunned to speak further.
“Don’t be silly. Why would Miss Calvin kill the father of her dearest friend?”
“So her friend would inherit . . . and because . . .” He looked the around the room. You wouldn’t dare, thought Frances. You wouldn’t dare say why you’re thinking. “Anyway, until you interfered, Lady Frances, I just wanted to have a simple talk with Miss Calvin at the station. But now that you had your maid clean the dress—” He turned on Mallow, but she wasn’t scared. There were worse things in the neighborhood where she had grown up than a stupid rural inspector.
“Accuse my maid without proof and you will regret it, I promise you,” said Frances. “Mallow, did you help Miss Calvin take off her traveling dress at the end of that evening—hours after Sir Calleford had been killed?”
“Yes, my lady,” she said loud and clear.
“Was there any blood on her dress? Indeed, you helped Miss Calvin unpack. Was there any blood on any of her clothes?”
“No, my lady. I unpacked everything. I would’ve noticed.”
Frances gave a triumphant look at the inspector.
“Your maid would swear the sun rose in the west if you asked her. But never mind. The dress isn’t all I have.” I bet it is, thought Frances. Except for rumors about Gwen and Tommie. But unfortunately, that might be enough. “So understand me. Miss Calvin comes back with me now, civilly, or I’ll be back with an arrest warrant and take her away in chains.”
“You will not!” said Gwen, and everyone stopped at that. No one had ever seen Gwen angry before, but there was that sweet face, set in rage. My goodness, thought Frances, love gives us all courage. Tommie smiled warmly at Gwen, and gripped her hand.
Mrs. Blake spoke first, softly but firmly. “Gwen. Your loyalty to your friend does you credit. But you are the lady of the manor now, and you cannot thwart the inspector on a whim. Miss Calvin is sensible, and I know she will go with the inspector to answer his questions.”
So this was how it was going to end. Frances had known Inspector Bedlow was desperate, but hadn’t counted on him coming down so hard, so fast. Well, I’ll give them a real reason to call me Mad Lady Frances.
“Actually, the truly sensible thing would be to wait for an arrest warrant. And inspector, if you do somehow manage to get one, I will have my solicitor, Henry Wheaton, up here on the next train with a barrister, and you will regret this.”
Her eyes darted around: Pride from Gwen and Tommie. Surprise from Mrs. Blake. And rage from the inspector.
“You are encouraging Miss Calvin to withhold cooperation,” he said. “That’s a felony.”
“I doubt it. Go talk to your superiors,” said Frances. “Do whatever you want, inspector. But you have no right to be here anymore. Leave this house. Or I’ll have the footmen throw you out.”
“I am warning you—”
“No need to shout,” said Frances mildly. “Your anger is just a cover for your stupidity, stubbornness, and outright incompetence.”
So, thought Frances, this is what they meant when they said “so quiet you could hear a pin drop.”
The inspector turned to his constable. “Come, Dill. We’re leaving. But we’ll be back, this time with an arrest warrant, and you will be the one to regret this, Lady Frances, when I put your friend in jail.” He started to leave quickly, with the other constables at his heels.
There was a good chance he could convince his superiors to issue a warrant, and there was no way Frances was going let the inspector go after the already frightened Tommie. How hard will I have to push him to arrest me instead?
“So, inspector. You’re not going to arrest me? Do you mean on top of all your faults, you’re also a coward?”
Frances felt almost dizzy with what she had just said. She couldn’t even focus on the other people in the room, and she felt her heart about to explode out of her chest. She had never gone this far.
The inspector said in an even voice, “If you thought your title and connections and wealth would protect you, Lady Frances, you thought wrong. You are under arrest for interfering with police duties. Constable Dill, escort Lady Frances outside. Ladies, good day.”
With a look of deep sorrow and reluctance, Constable Dill approached her. “I am terribly sorry, my lady, but—”
“No need for apologies, constable. I won’t give you any trouble. Mallow, call Mr. Wheaton and explain what has happened. Gwen, Tommie, stay here until I come back and please allow Mallow to attend you.”
Tommie met her eyes—she knew what Frances meant. Mallow would be their protector in Frances’s absence.
And with chin up, and Constable Dill and Inspector Bedlow behind her, Frances marched off to the police station.
There was no talking in the police coach on the way to Morchester. Constable Dill sat next to her and Inspector Bedlow opposite her. He was looking grim. I hope he’s regretting what he did, thought Frances. She was curious about what would happen to her next. She had to drag him away from Tommie, and that was essential. But the repercussions would be substantial.
Oh God—what would Charles say? Could she and Mallow escape to France for a few weeks until he calmed down?
The desk sergeant in Morchester appeared to be on the far side of sixty, one of those men who thought he had seen it all—until today.
“Put her in a cell, sir? You must be joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking? Find a place for her.”
It seemed reasonable to Frances that there would be a place for women. In London, women could be hauled off for disturbing the peace. Also, men were men all over, reasoned Frances, so why shouldn’t Morchester, like London, have its ladies of the evening? My goodness—she’d be meeting them . . .
But a lively night at a local tavern plus the capture of a couple of poachers meant no cells were empty, and there was some discussion of whether Frances could be properly locked in an unused office.
“Oh for heaven’s sake. Do you think I’m going to make a break for it? Or have members of my gang spring me?” She was pleased to see the sergeant hide a smile behind his hand. So she was shown into an office, with nothing but a desk and pair of chairs. Realizing it could be some hours before Hal could get there, she asked for something to read. Constable Dill looked like he would say something, then left and came back with a couple of issues of the Morchester Tribune.
Making sure the two of them were alone, he said, “My lady, if there is anything you want me to tell your maid, that is, Miss Mallow . . . I mean, it’s not strictly regulation, but I’m going back to the village anyway . . .”
“Thank you. That is very thoughtful, constable. However, that won’t be necessary.” She could swear he looked disappointed. “Tell me, constable, just between us—have you become attached to Mallow?”
Constable Dill reddened. “Well, my lady, that is to say, we have managed to speak, that is—”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Mallow is difficult to impress, and she seems to trust you. And you appear to have some common sense. Indeed, you look like a bright young man who wants to make his way in the world. I will give you some information. Someone connected with the Kestrel estate killed Sir Calleford, and Mrs. Sweet, and Mrs. Tanner. Your Inspector Bedlow is absolutely wrong about outside gangs, but he knows that—and I think you do too. That’s why he turned his attention to Tommie Calvin, who is about as likely to commit murder as the Archbishop of Canterbury.” She paused. “You and I will talk later.” This man could be a useful ally.
“Thank you, my lady. Whatever I can do to help.” And then he left her before they could be overheard. Frances, quite pleased with herself now, proceeded to make her way through the back issues of the Morchester Tribune.
The newspaper kept her occupied for a while, and later the sergeant came back with lukewarm tea and sandwiches for lunch. Then she sat back and closed her eyes, weaving the threads of what she knew into one pattern after another. She felt so close.
She was startled when the door opened again to admit Hal. He looked down at Frances, then started to laugh.
“Oh, I am so sorry, dear Franny. I promised myself all the way down here I wouldn’t laugh, but seeing you here . . .” He sat down.
“I suppose it has its ridiculous aspects,” said Frances a little stiffly. “Do you laugh at all your imprisoned clients?”
“How wide do you think my criminal practice is? I’m occasionally sent to make arrangements for young bloods who come up to London from Cambridge or Oxford and have a too-lively night in the big city. But you’re my first lady.”
“And probably the first of my family,” she said with a sigh.
“You would think so,” said Hal. “But in the seventeenth century, Sir Reginald Ffolkes was personally arrested by Oliver Cromwell during the Civil War. Your brother pointed that out to me.”
“My brother? Surely you didn’t tell Charles?” She had thought she’d have a little more time. But telephones and trains made sure gossip spread far more quickly than it used to.
“Oh no. He found out on his own. All your aunts are up in arms and it was all I could do to talk your brother out of coming down himself. My God, Franny, you really did it this time. Now, the local justice is waiting to see us, so a quick summary, if you please.”
She described the situation succinctly, as Hal took notes.
“So let me understand this. You deliberately provoked a member of His Majesty’s constabulary to keep him from arresting your friend Miss Calvin?”
“Yes. That’s exactly it. I didn’t really lose my temper—although I was close to it. I had to do something to derail his attempt to arrest Tommie.”
“You know he’ll come back.”
“But not for a while. He’s made too much of a scene arresting me. Whatever I did, the chief constable and local justice will be very unhappy with a daughter of the House of Seaforth in the dock. I did it to save Tommie. Things would come out . . . I couldn’t bear that for them. Gwen would be destroyed. But they won’t dare create more of a fuss bothering anyone at the Eyrie until they have a lot more evidence, so I bought myself some time. I know Bedlow will be back and he’ll use whatever information he’s gathered about Gwen and Tommie, twist it, and use that to humiliate Tommie and drive her away, even try to arrest her again. But I’m almost there—I only need a day or two. Just get me off.”
She looked into his eyes, then leaned over and softly kissed him on the cheek.
“Well if you put it like that.” He blushed. “Franny, I reviewed the details of the arrest. It was vague enough to topple over on its own weight. But as for your brother—you’re on your own.”
Hal told the sergeant they were ready, and they were ushered into the office of the justice. Like so many justices in rural areas, he was a local squire with a manor to run and other things on his mind. The last thing he wanted was a problem with a highborn lady from London and her well-connected solicitor.
The justice invited them to sit. “I understand you are her solicitor, Mr. Wheaton. Have you briefed a barrister to come up should there be a trial?” Only barristers, not solicitors, could represent a defendant in a trial.
“Yes, your honor. Sir Edwin Culpepper has told me he’s prepared to travel down here.”
The justice looked startled. Even in these rural parts, they had heard about him. One of the finest barristers in England, he was frequently mentioned in the press. The great Sir Edwin would no doubt make the local crown prosecutor look like a fool.
“However, I see no need for that,” continued Hal smoothly. “The charges would not stand up to strict examination. And Lady Frances was a bit overwrought. I was hoping she could quietly apologize, here in chambers. And then she’ll resume caring for her close friend, Miss Kestrel, who is still distraught about her father’s murder.”
Frances bit her lip. She hated apologizing, but it was for the greater good.
“That would seem to be a satisfactory solution. What say you, my lady?”
“I am sorry if I inadvertently thwarted the police in the exercise of their duties,” she said.
“You also deeply insulted the inspector, Lady Frances. You publicly embarrassed him.”
Frances took a breath. “I am also sorry for losing my temper and calling the inspector an imbecile and coward.” She paused. “It was rude of me to publicize those facts.”
She felt Hal tense up next to her, and the justice glared at her.
“I suppose I’ll have to accept that, my lady,” he said dryly. “Case dismissed.”
They were escorted out to the street, and Hal just looked at her.
“Franny—”
“Yes?” She looked at him with wide-open eyes.
“Never mind. Anyway, I called the house and asked the butler to send the car for us.”
“Excellent. When does your train leave?”
“In about thirty minutes.”
“Then I will keep you company until it leaves.”
When the car arrived, Frances told the chauffer to take them to the train station. He clearly strove to remain as passive as possible, and Frances smiled to herself. He’s doing his best to pretend he doesn’t know that I was just arrested.
Hal was the only one heading to London, so they had the waiting room to themselves.
“What next, my lady? As I said, they will be back for Miss Calvin, even if they have to use her friendship with Miss Kestrel against her. I told you that someone had to be convicted for this. I’ll come back with a barrister if it comes to that, but it’s going to be unpleasant.”
She turned her gray eyes on him. “I know, Hal. But what I’ve been learning is that someone is desperate. And desperate people overreach and make mistakes. I have some ideas about what to do next. But don’t worry, Mallow will be there to protect me.” Hal laughed. “Also, I’ll be under the care of Special Branch. I need to get Inspector Eastley back down here. He knows who Mr. Mehmet is. And that may be the key.”
“You think he may have killed his host? The Muslim believes hospitality is sacred.”
“I’m not sure that Mr. Mehmet is a very good Muslim. He secretly married a Christian woman who lives on the estate. He drinks alcohol and eats pork. The sultan is not just the sultan, you see. He is also the caliph, the supreme religious leader in Islam. One wonders if Mr. Mehmet has any respect for him, if he is so irreligious. And there’s more: I do know Sir Calleford was murdered. I know a gossipy old servant was killed. And a widow who lives next door to Mr. Mehmet’s secret wife, who may’ve heard something. Mrs. Blake wants Gwen as a daughter-in-law so she can keep running the Eyrie, and that means getting rid of Tommie. But why kill Sir Calleford? She had what she wanted. Christopher Blake would kill for the Eyrie. Mr. or Miss Hardiman might, but his gold could buy his daughter another husband with a grand estate. And did you know Sir Calleford had a pregnant mistress?”
“He isn’t the first. I’m just glad that I’m not representing any of the suspects.”
“Or prosecuting. There’s so little evidence. I wish I had half a dozen constables to check alibis.”
Hal laughed. “I can see you, Inspector Ffolkes of the CID,” he said, referring to the Criminal Investigation Division. “I’m not making fun of you, believe me. I’d pity any miscreant you were chasing.”
“First the vote. Then the police service,” said Frances. “I’ll live to see women detectives at the Yard. But getting back to Mr. Mehmet—he’s friendly with my brother and Special Branch.”
“Surely that speaks well of him?” asked Hal.
“Not necessarily. I learned something growing up in a diplomatic family. You are cheerful and charming to those you distrust the most. And England and the Ottoman Empire are not on good terms right now. Does Mr. Mehmet serve his sultan—his caliph? He was vague about that. But this is the interesting point: he doesn’t want me to bring in Scotland Yard. He was upset when I said I could use my influence to bring London detectives to the Eyrie, professionals who would go over everyone’s movements. But not all secrets are criminal.”
“That’s it!” cried Hal theatrically. “Mr. Mehmet didn’t commit a crime, but he saw something which he can’t reveal without implicating something he was doing.”
“Bravo,” said Frances. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. He encouraged me to solve the crime, hoping no doubt I could do so as an ‘insider,’ someone who already knows the players. Someone who wouldn’t—who couldn’t—check alibis and locations. But I need leverage to get information from him. That’s why I want to visit Inspector Eastley. Also, there is another slender clue.” She related to Hal her near kidnapping and the overheard English phrase, “Our friend in London.” “Maybe Inspector Eastley knows who this ‘friend’ is. If I knew who this friend was, I think I could convince Mr. Mehmet to tell me what he knows.”
Hal just grinned. “My God, Franny, how your mind works.” He gave her a sharp, lawyerly look. “You know who killed Sir Calleford, don’t you? And you can’t prove it yet, can you?” Frances just raised an eyebrow.
Hal nodded. He put his hand on hers. “Be careful.”
“I told you, Hal. I always am. But to change the subject, I see you are wearing one of your modern, new suits. Why not your formal black one? Magistrates are very old-fashioned in the country, you know.” She had a teasing tone.
“I no longer own a suit like that. I gave it to a junior clerk with the same build as I have. He was very pleased to have it. I have fewer clients who expect me to dress like that; more captains of industry, modern men. Times change, and I change with them.”
“When I first met you, I wouldn’t have expected it.”
Hal leaned over. “And when I first met you, I never would’ve thought I’d be spending a country house weekend painting you half naked, or extracting you from a jail.”
“Touché,” she said.
She felt an unexpected pang as she heard the train roll into the station. Did I miss him more than I thought?
“I’m afraid I have to board the train, my love. Good luck.” Those liquid green eyes of his held hers for a moment, then he stood and headed out of the station.
Lost in thought, Frances slowly headed out to the back to where the motorcar was waiting for her. Then she stopped and turned, and gathering her skirts, she ran out to the platform where Hal was boarding.
“Hal!” He turned. She stepped up to him, threw her arms around him, and kissed him hard. He started to say something, but couldn’t speak.
“Dear Hal. Astonishing men is my raison d’etre.”
She waved him off as the train began chugging, then turned to face a rather astonished stationmaster. Between her arrest record, and public and passionate kissing, she knew she was going to be gossip fodder throughout the long country winter.