by R. J. Koreto
DEATH ON THE SAPPHIRE
DEATH ON THE SAPPHIRE
A LADY FRANCES FFOLKES MYSTERY
R. J. Koreto
NEW YORK
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by R. J. Koreto
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-62953-590-6
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-62953-591-3
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-62953-592-0
ISBN (Kindle): 978-1-62953-663-7
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-62953-674-3
Cover design by Andy Ruggirello
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
2 Park Avenue, 10th Floor
New York, NY 10016
First Edition: June 2016
To my daughters, Katie and Sophie, who are as good and brave as Lady Frances
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am fortunate in having been able to work with an excellent team, without whom there would be no book. Many thanks are due to my indefatigable agent, Cynthia Zigmund, for her perseverance and wise suggestions over the years. And no writer has been luckier with his publisher: thanks to the wonderful people at Crooked Lane Books—Matt Martz, Dan Weiss, Sarah Poppe, and Lindsey Rose—for their editing acumen, patience, and humor throughout the process.
And finally, thanks also to my family for their unwavering support as I sat on the couch night after night writing away. Most of all, thanks to my wife, Elizabeth, for years of support and never doubting that my novel would be published.
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 forgot
ten. 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.”