Behind the Shattered Glass: A Lady Emily Mystery (Lady Emily Mysteries)

by Tasha Alexander

  “That her punishments always fit our crimes. She doesn’t have to be truthful if it doesn’t suit her. There’s no one in authority to question her.”

  Institutions like Mrs. Chelmsford’s preyed on families who could not afford better educations for their daughters but wanted to be able to say the girls had been to some sort of finishing school. The fees were, most likely, lower than the cost of keeping them at home, a great temptation for many struggling parents. These were girls who had a station too high to work, but too low to be certain of being looked after properly.

  “What would have happened to you if you had known of Miss Gifford’s plan to flee?” I asked.

  “I would have been locked in this room for two days with nothing but water.”

  “So I imagine your friend wanted to protect you?”

  “That’s just it, Lady Emily,” Helen said. “That’s what she said when—” She stopped again.

  “It is all right, I promise.”

  “I woke up when she was leaving. Our door creaks just enough to disturb my sleep. She didn’t take any of her belongings, only herself, and she begged me not to admit that I had seen her because she knew I would be in fierce trouble if Mrs. Chelmsford ever found out. Fanny told me I was the best friend she had ever had, and that the only reason she hadn’t confided in me was that she did not want to risk getting me punished.”

  “She didn’t tell you where she was going?” I asked. “You are quite sure of this? It is so important that you be honest now, Helen.”

  “I swear she didn’t. I begged her to, because I knew I would worry about her, but Fanny thought it was smarter not to. That way, no matter what Mrs. Chelmsford tried, I wouldn’t have anything to tell her. Fanny did promise, though, that she would write to me once she was settled.”

  “Have you had a letter?”

  “I have not.” Her voice was very small, and she gave a little sniffle.

  “How were her spirits when she was leaving?” I asked.

  “She was excited,” Helen said. “She couldn’t wait to be on her way. I hadn’t seen her smile that much since I’d known her.”

  “Do you think she was meeting someone? A gentleman, perhaps?”

  “I couldn’t really say. I hope so, because I don’t know what else she could do. It is not as if she can support herself, and I don’t think her brother would have been pleased for her to leave school.”

  “Have you opportunities while you are here to meet young men?”

  “Very rarely, yes,” she said. “We are, in theory, being groomed for marriage, and Mrs. Chelmsford hosts dances at the end of every term. We also go on outings once a month, usually to a museum, and we take walks in the park every Sunday afternoon.”

  I dared not imagine how deathly grim any dance hosted by Mrs. Chelmsford would be. “Did Miss Gifford seem to have an attachment with anyone she had met?”

  “Not that I was aware,” Helen said, “but she was always popular at the dances.”

  “Would she have hidden such an attachment from you?”

  “I really don’t think she would have. Not at first, anyway, because she wouldn’t have been planning to run away then, would she?”

  “I would think not,” I said.

  “I wish I could be of more use, Lady Emily. I am truly worried about Fanny.”

  “I know you are,” I said, “and I will do everything I can to try to find her. You must promise me that the instant you get word from her, you will get in touch with me.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  “Thank you, Helen. I hope to hear from you soon.”

  I spoke to Mrs. Chelmsford again, briefly, on my way out. “I must say you keep your girls in appalling conditions. Do their parents have any idea how they are treated here?”

  She bristled and scowled, then leaned closer to me, narrowing her eyes. I think she meant to intimidate. “Their parents are quite pleased with my results and would not deign to criticize my methods.”

  “Is that so?” I stepped closer to her, unafraid of a woman who was used to bullying young girls. “You shall be hearing from me in the very near future, Mrs. Chelmsford, and I warn you to be prepared. I am not going to stand by and let you torment your students. This will stop.”

  “High and mighty ladies of your kind pretend to care about people like these girls, but you don’t really,” Mrs. Chelmsford said. “Their families have enough money to take care of them, and they are not in need of your charity. Why don’t you go to the East End, where people really need help?”

  “What goes on in the East End does nothing to justify what you are doing here,” I said. “As I said, you will hear from me again.” I slammed the door to her office on my way out and, full of righteous indignation, was marching down the hall when one of the youngest students, who could not have been more than eleven, tugged on my arm.

  “Madam, may I speak to you for a moment?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Can we go somewhere else?” Her eyes darted nervously. I took her hand and led her outside, to the barren garden behind the school.

  “Will you be in trouble for having left your classroom?” I asked.

  “I am already bound to be in trouble,” she said. “I know you’re here about Fanny Gifford. I saw her the night she left, in the street below my window. She was with the most handsome gentleman I’ve ever seen. I think they were going to be married.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Why else would he have come to collect her?”

  “Did he have a carriage?”

  “Not in front of the school, but there was one down at the end of the street,” she said. “They walked to it.”

  “Could you see livery or a coat of arms on it?”

  “No, it was too dark.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “You’ve done very well to tell me this. Did anyone else see her?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “No one else has mentioned a thing about it. Not that any of us would, I suppose. If she is found, you won’t make her come back here, will you? Mrs. Chelmsford would do I don’t even know what to her.”

  “I don’t think Miss Gifford would choose to return here under any circumstances,” I said, pressing a packet of sweets into the girl’s hand. “You are very brave to have told me all this. Let me bring you back inside and make sure that you aren’t in any trouble as a result.”

  *

  Colin, who had stayed behind in Park Lane, was suitably horrified when I returned home and described for him the conditions in Mrs. Chelmsford’s School for Young Ladies. “Do these parents visit?” he asked. “Do they not care?”

  “I believe she convinces them the austere conditions allow the girls to focus on their studies and to learn a sort of discipline appreciated by the average husband. Many boys’ schools are as bad, if not worse.”

  “It is reprehensible nonetheless.”

  “I am glad you feel that way,” I said, “as I am going to see our solicitor before we return to Anglemore. I want to buy the school, fire Mrs. Chelmsford, and move it to more suitable premises.”

  “Continuing your pursuit of social reform, my dear?”

  “How can we not fix this situation?” I asked. “If we do nothing, we are as bad as that wicked woman withholding food from growing girls.”

  “Have you any idea what this will entail?”

  “We will need a building, obviously, and a staff. What’s the best way to find a good head teacher, do you think?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea, my dear, although I have not a doubt in the world that you will not only find one but mold the school into a model of enlightenment.”

  “Of course I will,” I said. “Would either of us stand for anything less?”

  “Never,” he said. “I assume ancient Greek will be a cornerstone of the curriculum?”

  “You know me too well,” I said. “Whoso neglects learning in his youth, loses the past and is dead for the future.
”

  “Homer?” he asked.

  “Euripides.”

  “I should have known, but the fact is, my dear, you are the expert on all matters classical in this household.”

  “I have been toying with the idea of learning Egyptian,” I said. “How do you feel about visiting the pyramids?”

  “Let’s get the matter of Archibald Scolfield settled first,” he said.

  “Of course. So long as you promise me a midnight excursion to Giza.”

  Downstairs

  xiii

  Alice got up a quarter of an hour before she had to each morning to ensure that she never completed any of her tasks late. She made a point of being conscientious, asking for additional work, and doing everything in her power to keep Mrs. Elliott happy. This was not simply to pacify the housekeeper. Alice had aspirations of her own. She wanted to be a housekeeper someday, and Mrs. Elliott’s recommendation could go a long way to getting her there, especially if Alice stayed on at Anglemore until Mrs. Elliott retired. That would be years and years from now, of course, but it would be worth the wait. Mrs. Elliott’s position was much envied, even by housekeepers at other great estates, in part due to the very fine accommodation she had at Anglemore. Her rooms were nothing short of beautiful. In particular, Alice was fond of the Pug’s Parlor, as junior servants called the housekeeper’s sitting room. It had high ceilings, walls painted a lovely pale green, and, being up six stairs from the level of the kitchen, windows with a sweeping view of the gardens behind the house. Alice rarely had any trouble from Mrs. Elliott, and as a result had no negative associations with the room. Today, however, she felt the tug of nerves as Mrs. Elliott pulled the door closed and stood in front of her.

  “I have heard some very disturbing things this morning, Alice,” she said, “and as you are friends with Lily, I wanted to see if you can elaborate on them before I speak with her. I will need the truth, of course. Your continued employment in this house relies upon it.”

  “I would never lie to you, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “That is as it should be,” she said. “Someone has reported having seen Lily in an inappropriate embrace with one of Mr. Hargreaves’s guests. Do you know anything about this?”

  “Lily would never do that, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “Do you know the guest to whom I am referring?”

  “Yes, Lord Flyte.”

  “Why is it that you can identify him if there is nothing inappropriate going on between him and Lily?”

  “It’s not like that, Mrs. Elliott,” Alice said. “Lord Flyte was kind to her, and he spoke to her while she was working, but nothing else ever happened between them.”

  “So I am to believe that another member of the staff has concocted a vicious lie?”

  “I don’t know anything about that, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “It would be best for Lily if you tell me the truth.”

  “I am telling the truth, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “Go find Lily and send her down to me,” the housekeeper said. “I will not tolerate loose morals in this house.”

  *

  Alice did her best to warn Lily about the reason for Mrs. Elliott’s summons, but she did not have the opportunity to say much. Lady Bromley was in the cinnamon drawing room, and as Alice was to take over Lily’s duties there while she went downstairs, she could not hope for the privacy of the back stairs. The maids were able to exchange a few quiet sentences, enough to give Lily a serious bout of nerves as she descended the staircase, but they were not able to have a frank conversation. Lily took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She knew Pru must have gone to Mrs. Elliott, but whatever the girl had told the housekeeper had to be a lie. Lily had not let her morals be compromised, but the realization that deep down she desperately wished Lord Flyte would compromise her was terrifying, and she scolded herself for having such an inappropriate thought at such a moment.

  Mr. Davis nodded at her as she passed him in the corridor along the kitchen. He didn’t look angry; Mrs. Elliott must not yet have spoken to him. Lily’s knees knocked together as she rapped on the door of the Pug’s Parlor.

  “Enter.” Mrs. Elliott liked to behave like the lady of the house. Lily stepped into the room. “Close the door behind you, girl.”

  “Alice said you wanted to see me,” Lily said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

  “I have had a very alarming report about you, Lily,” Mrs. Elliott said. “Is it true you permitted Lord Flyte to embrace you in the white drawing room yesterday evening?”

  “No, Mrs. Elliott, absolutely not,” Lily said, finding her voice stronger than she had expected. “I would never do such a thing.”

  “You do not admit to having a special friendship with Lord Flyte?”

  “He has been enormously kind to me, if that is what you mean, but he has never crossed a line that threatened my virtue.”

  “You have no business engaging any of the family or their guests in conversation. It is wholly inappropriate.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Elliott.” Lily bowed her head.

  “So why did you converse with Lord Flyte?”

  “I didn’t know what else to do, Mrs. Elliott,” Lily said. “It would have been impolite not to answer his direct questions, wouldn’t it?”

  “You volunteered nothing to him on your own?”

  Lily’s face was hot and her palms were starting to sweat. Under the scrutiny of the housekeeper, she could hardly even remember the times she had talked to the gentleman. “I do not believe so, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “I shall have to speak to Mr. Davis about this, and I can assure you he will not be best pleased. As we have no corroborating evidence for either your version of the event in question or your colleague’s, I shall leave the matter as it is at present. Do understand, though, Lily, that I shall be keeping a close eye on you. One step out of line and you’ll be out with no character.”

  “I understand, Mrs. Elliott,” Lily said. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  If she had been shaking when she entered the Pug’s Parlor, she was trembling twice as much when she left, but this time it was from anger, not fear. Lord Flyte had never embraced her. Neither the footmen nor the other housemaids could have seen anything alarming in the exchanges she had with him. Only one person in the house bore her a grudge, and that was Pru, who had no business being above stairs under any circumstances, let alone in the white drawing room.

  Lily paused at the entrance to the kitchen, but stopped herself from going in to confront her enemy. Instead, she poked her head inside and called to Cook.

  “I have never seen Lady Bromley look so pleased with a meal as she did the tray you sent up for her breakfast,” Lily said, forcing a wide smile onto her face. “I thought you would like to know.”

  Cook flushed and grinned. Pru, bent over a pile of unwashed dishes, her arms in steaming water to her elbows, glowered. Lily simpered at her.

  She was happy to have passed on the compliment and to have brightened Cook’s day. More, though, she was sending a message. She would not let Pru think she was worried or scared, and certainly not give the girl a hint at the depth of her anger. So far as Pru could see, nothing she had done troubled Lily in the least.

  14

  I called on Matilda the morning after we returned from London, having finished reading Charlotte’s diaries on the train back to Anglemore. The butler led me up the many turns of the staircase to a long gallery on the top floor of the house. Rows of ancient weapons hung from the bare stone walls, and the vaulted ceiling was at least fifteen feet high. Beneath it, Matilda and Rodney had taken their bickering to a new level. They were fencing.

  Literally. Matilda was charging at him, épée in hand, and I think she might have stabbed right through him had he not been wearing a thickly padded vest.

  “Well done, Boudica,” Rodney said, once she had lowered her blade and stepped away from him. “You do your namesake proud.”

  “The Empress Matilda did not fight with swords, so my namesake ha
s nothing to do with it. I fence because my grandfather taught me,” Matilda said. “You must stop this ridiculous habit of calling me Boudica.”

  “My dear girl, having witnessed firsthand your skill at swordplay, I have yet another reason I must call you Boudica.”

  She raised the mask covering her face, stepped right up to his chest, and glared at him.

  “Do I need to be worried about another premature death in the line of Montagu?” I asked. Neither of them had noticed my entrance into the room until I spoke.

  “No one is safe around this warrior queen,” Rodney said, taking a dramatic step away from Matilda. “Boudica’s temper is legendary. Any man not terrified of her is a fool.”

  “How refreshing to see that at last you have admitted you are a fool,” Matilda said. “It was getting increasingly awkward to be the only one in the family in possession of that undeniable fact.”

  “Your cruelty might sting others,” Rodney said, “but not so much as you’d like it to. As for me, I am immune to all your criticisms. Your every word is like music to me.”

  “You are immune to all sensible discourse,” Matilda said, lowering her mask and lunging at him again with her blade. Rodney stepped neatly out of the way. Matilda, too far forward to catch herself, started to stumble, but managed to get her balance in check before she fell all the way.

  “This is intolerable,” she said, pulling the mask from her head and flinging it to the ground. “Emily, please tell me you have news for me.”

  “I do, although not anything about Archibald’s death,” I said. “May I speak to you in private?”

  “Of course,” she said, tossing her sword to her cousin. “I have been trying to get him to leave for hours. He is implacable. That is why I turned to violence.”

  “You have not once asked me to leave,” Rodney said, hanging both swords on a wooden rack at the southern end of the room.

  “A gentleman would have been able to tell from any number of my comments that I was desperate for you to go,” Matilda said. “Which simply confirms my suspicions that you, Mr. Scolfield, are not a gentleman.”