Lady Rights a Wrong

by Eliza Casey

  It was a good thing Lady Avebury didn’t know about the notebook in Cecilia’s handbag, the lists of suspects and clues and ideas concerning Mrs. Price’s death. Nor did she know that Cecilia’s main goal in Town was to ask more questions.

  The train compartment was small but comfortable, with room for Cecilia and Annabel on one velvet-cushioned seat and Jack’s basket and Jane facing. The small fold-down table between them was lowered to hold refreshments and cards.

  As the train flew through the countryside, parkland giving way to moors and then fields, Annabel unpacked the hamper Mrs. Frazer had sent for them, spreading out a linen cloth and arranging the cold chicken and ham, salads, and fruit tarts on porcelain plates. She passed Jane a platter of hothouse strawberries and opened the silver flask of wine.

  As she poured it out, she said, “Tell me, Cec. What is our real errand in London?”

  Flustered, Cecilia stared at Annabel, trying to study her pretty face beneath the large, silk-rose-laden lace hat. “I—to find a new dress, of course. None of mine seem quite right for the bazaar.”

  Annabel waved away this excuse with her manicured white hand. There was no heirloom Bates sapphire ring there yet, but Cecilia was sure it was only a matter of time, and then this secretly observant woman would be her sister-in-law. “Cec, you have plenty of new frocks from this last Season. I’m not sure you’ve even worn them all yet, and I do remember you ordering them.”

  Cecilia remembered, too. Visiting the fashion salons and milliners with Annabel seemed like a military campaign in its precision and ruthlessness. One dared not walk out with nothing. “I just thought . . .”

  “And somehow I doubt you are quite as eager to impress that sweet Mr. Brown as your mother is. In fact, you wouldn’t really have to do anything but crook your finger to bring him running, if that’s what you wanted.”

  Cecilia frowned and glanced over at Jane, who shrugged helplessly. “Why do you think that?”

  Annabel gave one of her silver-bell laughs. “Because one thing I do know, Cec dear, is men. Mr. Brown is gaga for you. It would be the simplest thing in the world to bring him up to scratch, if you wanted.”

  Cecilia remembered what little she knew of Annabel’s rumored past, lots of romances, maybe even a thwarted elopement, before she came to Danby. Maybe Patrick was simply too dull for her. “I’m not really sure what I want at the moment,” she admitted.

  “Very wise. No matter what your mother says, there is no hurry. It’s a terribly big decision, and you must be sure to make the right one. Mr. Brown is very handsome, and Lady Avebury says he’s quite respectable. Well-connected, and sure to be a bishop someday.” Annabel took a thoughtful sip of the wine. “But if I was an earl’s daughter, I might set my sights a mite higher. A duke or something. Are there any eligible princes left? You don’t seem interested in all that, though.”

  “I’d make a worse duchess than I would a vicar’s wife,” Cecilia said. She took a drink of her own wine, savoring the sharp-fruity bite of it as she thought about Annabel’s words. It was a big decision, and of course marriage was what she was raised for. But meeting the Prices made her feel restless for something else, something more. “I suppose I do have enough dresses, you’re right. The white-and-purple one would certainly do for the bazaar.”

  “Or the blue silk with those lovely new pagoda sleeves,” Jane said, and Jack made a loud “mrow” from his basket. He did like sleeves with swing to them, all the better for his sharp little claws to grab.

  “Quite so,” Annabel said. “I have just the hat to go with it, too, that cunning little toque with the velvet violets. I could loan it to you. But if we truly aren’t going to London to shop, why are we going? Not that I’m complaining. A trip to the city after all that boring shooting party talk is always welcome.”

  “You’ll just have to get used to shooting parties when you run Danby,” Cecilia said.

  Annabel gave a little catlike smile. “If I decide to run Danby. I admit I may have had some, shall we say, overly romanticized ideas of English country life back in California. But that doesn’t matter one jot now! Tell me, why are we going to London? It must have to do with this terrible suffrage business.”

  Cecilia sighed and exchanged a long glance with Jane. It was clear that not everything could be hidden from Annabel. She had seemed all frothy whipped cream when she arrived in Danby; now Cecilia knew her shrewdness could not be underestimated.

  “Well, yes, I suppose it does,” Cecilia admitted. “It’s all so very strange, and I can’t quite put all the puzzle pieces together. Since Mrs. Price was from London, I thought things might look a bit clearer there.”

  “Fascinating,” Annabel said, and her eyes gleamed with the truth of that. “You don’t think she really fell in a drunken stupor, or that Miss Black pushed her?”

  “Maybe the fall,” Cecilia said. “But definitely not Miss Black. And I do wonder if she could have tripped, really. That bit of her sash is missing, and it looks as if someone might have snatched at it to shove her, or maybe to try to keep her from falling. And Miss Black only wants to protect her mentor’s reputation now.”

  “And so many people disliked her or had arguments with her,” Jane said. “Her family, the other ladies in the Union, Lord Elphin . . .”

  “Well, then,” Annabel said decisively. “If you do think Mrs. Price was murdered, we must do what we can to discover the truth. That poor Miss Black can’t be allowed to take on the burden.”

  “We?” Cecilia asked in surprise.

  “Well, of course. Don’t you think I could be of some help, Cec dear? I am terribly good at ferreting out gossip, you know. It’s like mining for secrets. And a family like the Prices is sure to have a mother lode of those.” She clapped her hands together in delight.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in women’s suffrage,” Cecilia said.

  “I don’t. We ladies have our own kind of power, you know, and we get what we want through that. I don’t think we should give that up. But a lady like Amelia Price, who forges her own path with such panache—I’ve got to admire that. She deserves to have the truth known, don’t you think? And I admit I do enjoy a little intrigue after so long in the countryside.” She poured out more wine. “Now—tell me about everyone you suspect.”

  Cecilia told her about the Union, Cora, Miss Palmer, and their new ideas; Anne wanting more responsibility; the Winters moving to Danby; the ruby ring and Georgie Guff; the cold Mr. Price, who was separated from his wife and didn’t seem to greatly mourn her.

  “Is Mr. Price having an affair, then?” Annabel mused.

  Cecilia was chagrined she hadn’t made more of that idea. “I—well, I’m not sure. I feel quite foolish saying I hadn’t considered that enough.”

  “Oh, it’s the first thing we should consider,” Annabel said. She leaned over to hand Jack a morsel of ham. “He’s handsome for his age. And he must be rich, too, don’t you think? Working for Queen Alexandra and all that. He had a wife who left him and was certainly embarrassing him. Or did he leave her? Either way, he’d be a catch if he was single. Able to marry a pretty, socially connected little thing, maybe even have a son.”

  “He did seem disapproving of his family,” Cecilia said, remembering Mr. Price at the memorial service. So distracted and cold.

  “And the married daughter. What’s her name again?”

  “Mary Winter. Mr. Jermyn says her husband was looking for work in Danby Village, though he’s been a solicitor in London.”

  “Very odd indeed to change careers like that. And the suffrage daughter? Miss Anne?”

  “I think she was rather exasperated by her mother. Anne seems very no-nonsense, practical. I think they had some disagreements about how to run the Union going forward.”

  Annabel sighed. “So—the Price family was at odds, as well as the famous Union. What a turbulent life Mrs. Price led!”


  “Yet she didn’t seem at all ruffled by any of it,” Cecilia said, thinking of Mrs. Price’s serene good humor.

  “Good French wine will do that for people.” Annabel laughed. “There won’t be very much going on in London at this time of year, will there?”

  “No. Almost everyone will be in the country. But I’m sure Mr. Winter’s law office will be open, and maybe Union headquarters. I have a letter from Anne introducing us to them. Aunt Maggie will know where else to go. Maybe the ladies at her club will have met Mrs. Price. It’s a lovely place anyway, full of women who live to travel as Aunt Maggie does. And, as you said, there’s the theater.”

  “Maybe we could find a tea party, or a dance or two. Getting all the Town gossip can’t hurt.” Annabel sat back with a happy smile. “Well, that has certainly livened up my week no end. More wine, ladies?”

  * * *

  Aunt Maggie’s house was in Ebury Street, which Cecilia couldn’t help but remember was also where the Winters lived, though it was a very long street and it seemed the Winters lived at the less-palatial end. Aunt Maggie’s house was a quiet, respectable, substantial redbrick and cream stone Georgian town house in a row of identical houses, four stories tall, muffled with yellow satin draperies. As they stepped out of their cab, the black-painted door opened and Aunt Maggie rushed out to greet them.

  Tall, with sun-burnished dark hair, glowing pink cheeks, and dark eyes that saw everything, Maggie always exuded energy and health and enthusiasm. “Cec, my dear! How wonderful to see you. I was so excited to get your message. And Miss Clarke, what a lovely surprise. Do come in. I just rang for tea.”

  Jane followed the housekeeper upstairs to the bedchambers, carrying Jack with her, and Cecilia and Annabel made their way with Aunt Maggie through the small, black-and-white-tiled foyer to the drawing room. It was a bright, comfortable room, scattered with yellow-and-white-striped chairs and settees and marble-topped tables on a pink-and-blue-flowered Axminster carpet. There were signs of her travels everywhere in paintings from France, mosaics from Persia, filmy embroidered draperies from India, Italian porcelain and Egyptian alabaster statues. The tea table was laid out by the fire, silver and gilt-edged china gleaming.

  Aunt Maggie waved them to chairs across from her and poured out the tea into antique Florentine cups. “Your mother sent me a message, too. She seems quite relieved you decided to leave Danby for a few days. It seems there is some sort of drama happening right now?” She laughed and pushed a loose strand of hair back beneath the red-and-gold silk scarf that bound it back. “I always thought of Danby as an unchangeable island of peace, but first Mr. Hayes and now this? Whatever is the world coming to?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Price, the president of the Women’s Suffrage Union, died at Primrose Cottage in the village,” Cecilia answered. “I had attended her rallies.”

  Maggie clucked her tongue sadly. “Oh yes, of course. Your mother did tell me about that, so shocking. Mrs Price has been quite the cause célèbre here in London.”

  “Have you attended any of the Union meetings, Aunt Maggie?” Cecilia asked, taking another slice of seedcake from the tray.

  Aunt Maggie shook her head. “I’m seldom at home these days; there’s not time to get involved in anything. But of course I support Mrs. Price’s cause. It’s about time women had some freedom to lead their own lives.”

  Cecilia thought Aunt Maggie was one of the freest women she had ever known. But she was that rare, lucky creature—a rich widow of youngish years, whose husband had left her all his unentailed property free of restriction. “I did wonder if perhaps Mrs. Price was a member of your club.”

  Aunt Maggie nodded. “She was, and her daughter Miss Anne Price, as well. We do have all sorts of members, women of a modern way of thinking. But I didn’t meet them often at all.”

  “Perhaps someone else there might have been a particular friend to the Prices?”

  Aunt Maggie narrowed her eyes as she studied Cecilia closely. “Why, Cec darling. Never say you are investigating Mrs. Price’s death?”

  Cecilia laughed nervously. “Not investigating, really. Just asking a few questions, since the authorities don’t seem interested in doing so. Mrs. Price’s secretary, Miss Black, said she had pushed her, but I don’t think that’s true. I think she is trying to protect Mrs. Price. I’d like to help her, if I can.”

  “Why is that? Perhaps the poor girl did push her. I’m sure people would like to do that to annoying employers all the time.”

  Cecilia shook her head. “Not Miss Black. She worshiped Mrs. Price. I think she’s afraid the Union will be damaged if Mrs. Price is remembered as a drunkard. And plenty of other people had quarrels with Mrs. Price.”

  “Interesting. Of course, we can visit the club if you like, though not a great many members are in Town right now. And I had an invitation to a little dance at Mrs. Trentworth’s tomorrow night. She’s very interested in suffrage; I’m sure she must have met the Prices. You’ll enjoy her anyway; she’s quite the artistic bohemian, and she attracts absolutely everyone to her salons.”

  Annabel looked doubtful. While Cecilia knew that Annabel had a skeleton or two in her own American closet, she doubted anything “bohemian” had ever entered Annabel’s orbit. “Are there many ladies’ clubs in London, Mrs. Solent? I never heard of any at home in San Francisco.”

  “Oh, do call me Maggie, please.” She refilled the tea and passed the cake plate. “There are indeed several ladies’ clubs in Town now, though I admit the idea might have shocked my mother, rest her conventional soul. She thought women should only socialize at home. Like men’s clubs, they are usually centered around certain interests. Literature, science, things like that. My own attracts ladies who enjoy traveling, like myself. A bit like a female Travellers Club.”

  “Was Mrs. Price much for travel, then?” Cecilia asked.

  “Only around England lately, I believe, giving her speeches. And speaking tours to America, France, things like that.” She took a thoughtful bite of a strawberry. “When she was younger, I believe she did travel a bit in the East.”

  “With Mr. Price?” Cecilia said, surprised.

  Aunt Maggie frowned. “I’m not really sure. She was a bit older than me, and we didn’t run in the same circles at all back then. I would imagine not. Henry Price is famously busy with his work, and he doesn’t seem the exploratory type, does he?”

  “No,” Cecilia murmured. Mr. Price seemed like an Englishman through and through. “The Prices have another daughter, one who is quite against suffrage. Mrs. Mary Winter. I think she and her husband live on this street.”

  Aunt Maggie tapped her fingertips on the carved arm of her chair. “Winter—Winter. Oh yes, I know who you mean. They live several numbers away, at the end of the lane. I met her at a tea or garden party or something of the sort. She’s pretty, but I think considers herself rather sickly. Not much interesting conversation, I’m afraid. And he’s a rather po-faced attorney, seems to want to make himself into his father-in-law’s image, but without the talent for it.”

  “Yes, that sounds like them,” Cecilia said with a laugh.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about them, but my staff might. They are here more than I am, and they do seem to hear everything. Do you think Mrs. Winter might have done away with her mother? How shocking.”

  “I don’t think they got along very well. Their lives are so very different. And it seems Mr. Winter is having some career troubles. He is trying to get a position with Mr. Jermyn in Danby.”

  “Good heavens,” Maggie exclaimed. “And here I thought coming back to England would be dull!”

  Once they’d finished their tea and were making their way upstairs to their chambers, Annabel asked, “What does one wear to a bohemian dancing party? Or to a ladies’ club?”

  “I’m not really sure,” Cecilia admitted, secretly delighted that even Annabel, who always seeme
d to know everything perfectly in Society, didn’t know this.

  “Maybe there will be time to shop as well as snoop tomorrow,” Annabel said. “I must say, England is proving to be more fun than I thought.”

  Fun, Cecilia mused as she shut her chamber door behind her and found Jack asleep on her pillow. She wasn’t sure that was the word she would have used. But it all was certainly rather intriguing . . .

  * * *

  “So what do you think of a London household, Jane?” Cecilia asked, as Jane brushed and plaited her hair for bed. Jack was exploring the room behind them, crawling under the white-painted, pink toile–draped bed looking for stray objects and stalking across the flowered carpet. Once in a while he would jump up on the pink-cushioned window seat to “mrow” at the busy street outside.

  “It’s different from Danby, isn’t it, my lady?” Jane said. Cecilia knew Jane had worked for an elderly lady in America, and then at a hotel, and now a large country house at Danby, but never a town house. “Just a cook, a kitchen maid, two housemaids, a butler, and one footman. Plus the lady’s maid, Miss Bleeker. And they say Mrs. Solent isn’t even home very much, she just travels with her own maid, so there isn’t much for them to do except keep things clean. The cook says that when Mrs. Solent is home, she only has informal receptions and a few musical evenings. The butler seems a bit let down by it all! But they say the pay is very good, and there’s lots of free time.”

  “Would you prefer a place like this, then?”

  Jane seemed to think this over as she tied off the end of Cecilia’s plait. “I might like the musical evenings, my lady. The housekeeper says all kinds of artists and writers attend, and they have string quartets and opera singers. But it must be boring most of the time. Danby is never boring.”

  Cecilia laughed. “You just haven’t been there long enough. Wait until after Christmas, when there is nothing at all happening. But I admit it’s not dull right now.”