Social Graces

by Wendy Soliman

  They arrived back at Grosvenor Square at the same time as the gentlemen.

  ‘Good gracious, what do we have here?’ Lord Torbay asked, eyeing the sartorial disaster that was his stepson with an indulgent eye.

  ‘It’s me, Papa! Don’t you recognise me?’ Tom asked hopping from foot to foot.

  ‘So it is. I thought for a moment that we had acquired a ragamuffin.’

  Tom grinned. ‘We’ve been to the park and I climbed a tree. But I fell out of it. Well no, I didn’t fall. Percy was jealous because he’s older, but I climbed higher than him so he pushed me. I pushed him back though and that’s when we both fell.’

  ‘Well,’ Lord Torbay replied, ‘I am glad you settled my curiosity.’

  ‘No broken bones, Nanny,’ Olivia said to the woman who came to claim Tom. ‘Just a little grime, I’m afraid.’

  ‘We’ll soon sort that out. Come along, Master Tom. I’ll have some hot water sent up.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Tom pulled a doomed face. ‘Must I really wash?’

  The adults laughed as Tom was led away, dragging his feet as he tried to negotiate his way out of being cleaned up.

  ‘He’d make a decent barrister,’ Lord Torbay said. ‘He’s very quick to exploit the smallest opportunity.’

  ‘And he succeeds with me more often than not,’ Olivia admitted with a rueful smile. ‘Fortunately, Nanny is not quite such a soft touch.’

  ‘Luncheon in ten minutes,’ Parker appeared to inform them.

  ‘In that case we just have time to tidy ourselves up, Sophia, then Jake and Otto can tell us how they got on.’

  The news when they joined the gentlemen at the table was not what Sophia wished to hear.

  ‘This is a disappointment for you, I quite realise that,’ Lord Torbay told Sophia with a kindly smile. ‘I am disappointed too.’

  Sophia looked at the food she had placed on her plate but her appetite had vanished and she picked at it distractedly. ‘It seems to me that whatever hold Felsham has over Barton is the key to the whole business,’ she said. ‘Surely there must be a way to discover what that is. Perhaps the police would be prepared to probe.’

  Lord Torbay sighed. ‘I wish that were the case but I don’t hold out a great deal of hope. The brightest minds do not reside in the Detective Department.’

  ‘Constable Salter is the only one I trust to investigate with any degree of diligence,’ Otto said, ‘but he is in uniform and will be disciplined if he doesn’t follow orders.’

  ‘For what it’s worth, Miss Larson,’ Lord Torbay said. ‘I think that Felsham and Barton are up to something, and whatever it is could well be the key to your sister’s murder.’

  ‘Parker has a bright mind,’ Olivia said, ‘and connections in places that might turn up something useful.’

  Parker, who was serving luncheon, nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘It will take time though,’ Olivia complained, ‘and I am mindful of the fact that Lord Riley needs to go back to Eton.’

  ‘He can prolong his absence if needs be,’ Lord Torbay said. ‘Let’s give Parker’s people time to do some digging. I should have set them on it before now.’

  ‘Is there nothing more we can do in the meantime?’ Otto asked. ‘Perhaps another visit to Woodford?’

  ‘I don’t suppose that it will throw up anything new. If he was truthful on our last visit, he has told us everything he knows. If he was not, his story won’t change. Olivia has her doubts about him, but I thought he spoke truthfully.’

  ‘So did I.’ Otto sent Olivia an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, Lady Torbay.’

  ‘Oh, do call me Olivia.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Parker,’ Lord Torbay said. ‘Have some of your people speak with the other members of Felsham’s Repertory. Someone might know something about the history between Barton and Felsham. Barton said he and Felsham have been friends for years, so presumably whatever links them together dates back a long way. Talk to the older members of the company. They are more likely to have heard any gossip doing the rounds at the time.’

  ‘Right you are,’ Parker said with what Sophia was coming to recognise as his customary lack of deference. ‘I could have a gentle word with Tyrell as well, if you like.’ His expression was, frankly, terrifying and at complete odds with his casual tone. ‘He’ll tell me what I need to know.’

  Sophia didn’t doubt it.

  ‘Down boy!’ Lord Torbay sent his butler a mildly castigating glance. ‘We’ll take that route as a last resort.’

  ‘Shame.’ Parker looked disappointed. ‘It’s beyond time someone cut him down to size.’

  ‘I can’t afford Isaac’s outrageous fees if you find yourself up on an assault charge.’

  ‘There’s gratitude for you,’ Parker grumbled.

  ‘Well,’ Sophia said when everyone had stopped laughing, ‘perhaps I’ll add a few innuendos to my article about collusion between a certain agent and the owner of a repertory company, just to see if that draws them out.’ She pushed her barely touched food aside and stood. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall go and make some amendments to it now.’

  The gentlemen made to stand but she waved them back to their seats, impatient to finish her article. Just not the one she intended to show to Lord Torbay.

  Sophia closeted herself in her room for the entire afternoon, writing non-stop. A maid brought her tea. Olivia put her head round the door to see if she needed anything. Engrossed, Sophia was barely conscious of either interruption, and the tea went untouched. She had allowed these illustrious, kind and well-meaning people to take control of matters for too long. She was tired of being kept out of things when she was the one who had more reason than anyone else to see justice done.

  She knew that they meant well and were trying to protect her. It had taken a while to realise that because no one had ever put her interests first and she had become accustomed to looking out for herself. That was why she’d been mildly suspicious of their motives at first, thinking they were offering their assistance in order to protect Chichester. She now knew that wasn’t true, but her inertia had vanished and she felt a burning need to help herself.

  She picked up her pen and corrected a passage that she had worded awkwardly. Finally satisfied with the article, she went in search of Lord Torbay to show him the finished product. She found him with Olivia in his library. They shared a settee in front of the fire as they held hands and spoke in quiet voices. Sophia felt like the intruder she knew herself to be. Fresh determination to resolve Connie’s murder coursed through her. As soon as she had done so she would remove to less salubrious accommodation, before she got used to living in luxury and before she became a burden—an object of pity they were too kind-hearted to forcibly eject.

  Lord Torbay looked up at her and smiled. He released Olivia’s hand and stood. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Olivia tells me you have been toiling non-stop for the entire afternoon. We were getting quite worried about you. Is that the results of your labours you hold in your hand? Do you mind if I take a look?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ Sophia replied, swamped by a fresh bout of guilt by the deception she planned. ‘That is why I came to find you.’

  Olivia looked over her husband’s shoulder as he read Sophia’s article. They finished perusing it at the same time and both smiled at her.

  ‘Excellent!’ Lord Torbay looked as impressed as he sounded. Ordinarily, Sophia would have been pleased by his approval—something that would not, she sensed, be easily earned—but again the thought of what she intended made that impossible. ‘I can quite see why you have made a name for yourself as a journalist, even if the majority of people are unaware that S.S. Larson is actually a woman.’

  ‘Only imagine,’ Olivia said, grinning as she ushered Sophia into a chair. ‘A woman is capable of not only having thoughts and opinions of her own but also of expressing them coherently. You were right to disguise your identity. Society would never recover from the shock. Either that or your
words would carry less weight simply because you are a woman.’

  ‘You have implied that your sister’s death is clouded in mystery. That her killer was known to her. Someone whom she was willing to allow into her apartment. The merest suggestion that her agent—whom you do not name but whose identity everyone will know—and the owner of a down-at-heel repertory company have a common interest that is at least suspicious is so carefully worded that it falls shy of being libellous. Well done.’

  ‘But will your editor agree to publish and risk the possibility of a law suit?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘I shall try to persuade him,’ Sophia replied resolutely. ‘I’ll argue that if Barton and Felsham do resort to the law, then they will have to reveal the truth behind their connection in order to disprove my claim, which is all we really want to know.’

  ‘How very clever of you,’ Olivia said, beaming.

  ‘They might try to fudge the issue, but I expect there are others out there who know the truth and will approach the newspaper, offering to tell their story.’ A brief smile touched her lips. ‘For a consideration, of course. But once we know what they have to say, the facts can be easily checked, I would imagine.’

  ‘And if they do not sue,’ Olivia said, ‘then it will only reinforce our doubts about them—as well as ruining their careers, which is something, I suppose.’

  ‘I think I underestimated you, Miss Larson,’ Lord Torbay said in an admiring tone.

  ‘What a lovely compliment,’ Sophia replied, smiling. ‘Now, if you will excuse me. If you are happy with the article I had best make my way to the newspaper if we want it to appear in tomorrow’s edition.’

  ‘Let Parker go,’ Olivia said.

  ‘Thank you, but Mr Simeon will want to talk to me in person. He doesn’t know…’ Sophia swallowed down her anguish. ‘He is not aware that Connie and I are sisters and probably wouldn’t accept anyone else’s word for it. In his position, he has to be cautious.’

  ‘Very well. I will have a carriage brought round and my driver will take you,’ Lord Torbay said, standing to ring the bell. ‘I won’t have you wandering all over London alone. It isn’t safe for you until we get to the bottom of things.’

  ‘Thank you. You are very kind.’

  By the time Sophia had donned her bonnet and cape, the carriage was at the door. She told the driver where she needed to go and sat back, trying to ignore her conscience, which didn’t seem too pleased with her plans and kept raising objections that had not previously occurred to her. To ensure that she didn’t waver, she had torn to shreds the article that she’d shown to Olivia and Lord Torbay and only the alternative lay nestled in her stocking purse.

  There was no turning back now.

  Mr Simeon was a gruff old newspaper hack who had seen and done it all over the years, rising to the position of editor on a daily popular with the middle classes through a combination of hard work and talent. He greeted Sophia warmly and invited her to take a seat in his cramped office.

  ‘It’s not often that we have the pleasure of your company in person, Miss Larson. What, might I ask, brings you to London?’

  ‘A sad business, I’m afraid.’

  Mr Simeon looked horrified when she related the particulars.

  ‘I had absolutely no idea,’ he said, scratching his bristly head with the end of a pencil. ‘My heartfelt condolences on your loss.’

  Sophia closed her eyes to prevent tears from leaking out. Now was not the time to show any weaknesses. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  She fielded his questions about her family, being brutally honest and earning a scowl of disapproval from the loving father of six children.

  ‘Have you any idea who killed Connie or why?’ he asked.

  Sophia told him most of what she knew, or suspected, without mentioning Lord Torbay’s involvement or how she came by her information. The newshound sat forward, absorbing every word without interrupting.

  ‘A lot of speculation, but no hard facts,’ he said, struggling to hide his disappointment.

  ‘If we had facts then even the Detective Department would have to take action.’

  ‘True.’ He offered Sophia an avuncular smile. ‘But I suspect you have a plan incubating inside that quick head of yours.’

  ‘I know interest in Connie is rife and I wondered if you would like to publish an account of her life and tragic death written by her nearest relation,’ she said, offering Mr Simeon a sweetly persuasive smile as she extracted her article from her purse and handed it to him.

  He read it quickly but Sophia knew he would absorb every word, and their implications. When he reached the end, he cast the pages aside and fixed her with a stern look.

  ‘You are living in your sister’s apartment?’

  She nodded, crossing her fingers yet again as the lies mounted up. ‘For the time being.’

  ‘You could be placing yourself in extreme danger. I’m not sure I can condone—’

  ‘I have protection, but if you feel uncomfortable helping me I could always take this to The Times.’

  His expression clouded and she felt wretched for being reduced to blackmail. Mr Simeon was both mentor and friend to her. He had fought off her detractors, those who disapproved of a woman in a predominately man’s world, and had stuck by her. But, she reminded herself, the guilt she felt at boxing him into a corner was inconsequential. All that mattered was finding justice for Connie.

  ‘Very well,’ Simeon said eventually. ‘You know as well as I do that if I let this slip through my fingers and it finds its way to the opposition, I will be out of a job.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Simeon. You were sufficiently enlightened to give me a chance when others wouldn’t offer me the time of day. This is a miserable way to repay you and I would not have resorted to it, had I not been quite so desperate.’

  ‘There, there. I suppose you know what you’re doing.’ He stood up. ‘Away with you now. You will see this on the front page of tomorrow’s edition.’

  ‘Thank you so very much.’ She stood on her toes and impulsively kissed his cheek. ‘I promise to write a follow up when the murderer has been brought to book.’

  ‘Just so long as he doesn’t get you as well,’ she heard him mutter beneath his breath as she walked away.

  Feeling mildly euphoric, Sophia returned to the carriage and was taken back to Grosvenor Square.

  ‘All settled,’ she told Olivia, who came to meet her in the entrance hall.

  ‘You look tired,’ Olivia replied. ‘This has taken a lot out of you. Botheration! We have visitors engaged to dine this evening, as well.’

  ‘Then I hope you will excuse me if I take dinner in my room,’ Sophia replied, grasping at the excuse. She was unsure if she could sit with these elegant people for several hours, endure their kindness and still keep her guilty conscience at bay. ‘I am, as you say, fatigued and I feel a slight headache coming on.’

  ‘You poor thing. Of course you must take some time for yourself. Have a relaxing bath and I will have a tray sent up to you.’ Olivia surprised Sophia and increased her guilt by kissing her brow. ‘Off you go now. I shall see you in the morning. I almost envy you, having an evening to yourself. I can’t remember when I last did. Not that I am complaining, of course, but sometimes it seems as though…well, never mind. Good night. Sleep well.’

  Sophia scampered up the stairs, feeling wretched. She followed Olivia’s advice and luxuriated in the bath, almost falling asleep in it. Annie helped her into her night attire and then served dinner on a small table in front of the window. It was delicious, of course, but Sophia was too nervous to do more than pick at it. She hadn’t eaten much luncheon and knew she ought to make more of an effort—it was vital that she keep her strength up—but she found it impossible to push any food past the lump in her throat.

  The house was too large for her to hear any sounds from the dinner party taking place on the floor below. She fell into a deep sleep and woke with the dawn, refreshed and determined. Gla
d that Olivia had persuaded her to purchase a smart new walking gown in deep mulberry—one that she could lace herself into without the help of a maid—she dressed in it and felt optimism seeping through a growing burden of doubt. With matching hat and gloves, Sophia examined her reflection and decided that she looked both independent and confident. Looks, she knew, could be deceiving, since her stomach performed cartwheels, her heart raced at twice its regular rate and her head screamed at her not to be so foolish. She couldn’t possibly beat these ruthless people.

  But nor could she live with herself if she didn’t attempt it.

  Thus resolved, she left the room, closing the door soundlessly behind her. She crept along the wide corridor, even though the thick rugs effectively muffled her footfalls, and slipped down the stairs, expecting at any moment to be challenged. Parker always seemed to be prowling about, but at this hour the house was as quiet as the grave. She shivered, reminding herself that the maids would not venture upstairs so early in the morning. But they might very well be going about their duties downstairs, cleaning and relighting fires, dusting and polishing, before the family came down. Getting past them could prove to be challenging. But to her relief, when she negotiated the final stair and set a cautious foot on the marbled floor of the entrance vestibule, no one was about.

  The newspapers had been delivered and waited on a salver to be taken into Lord Torbay’s library, where he was accustomed to perusing them every morning. She searched through them and found the one she was looking for at the bottom of the pile, beneath the more serious publications. A large picture of Connie graced the front page, edged in black. Beneath the picture an indignant headline demanded to know who had deprived the theatrical world of such a prodigious talent and offered a healthy reward for information. Sophia’s article was printed beneath it, but her name wasn’t actually given. She had referred to herself as a close relation of the deceased and the article was attributed to a “staff reporter”. Barton and Felsham would know who she was. Time would tell if her words tempted them into indiscretion.