“That was certainly evident.” Charlotte gave a half laugh … almost a giggle. “They were rather animated, guffawing and talking over each other. Splendid to see after so many months of brooding.” Charlotte glanced toward the door as if she could see through the wood. “The distraction is just what your mother needs.”
“Yes, indeed,” Daphne said with a frown, likely not appreciating the familiarity of the reverend’s daughter. “I’m sure you will be able to discuss the charity event with my mother soon enough. You need not despair.”
“I certainly hope so,” Charlotte nodded, mistaking Daphne’s commiseration for support.
* * *
Once inside the grand entrance hall, Daphne headed down the central corridor to the drawing room to return the repaired pendant to her mother. Sophia headed to her uncle’s study near the foot of the staircase. She hoped that she hadn’t missed too much of the meeting between Mr. Fraser and Uncle Edward. Rapping on the door in a firm but nondemanding manner, Sophia stood back waiting to enter. She had heard the murmur of voices as she had approached the door, but they broke off as soon as Sophia’s knuckles brushed the wood.
“Yes.” Uncle Edward pulled the door open, exposing a medium-size but comfortable paneled room, sporting hound and horse paintings on the walls as well as four wingback dark leather chairs in the center of the room. An ornate George III desk sat against the far wall.
“I was wondering if I might sit in on your meeting, Uncle? Daphne has asked me to help with the investigation.”
Uncle Edward chuckled. It was not a happy sound, but one that was forced and grated her nerves. “Has she? Teasing you, I think. What a suggestion.” He continued to chuckle until he noticed that Sophia had not returned his smile. “Certainly not! What was she thinking? What are you thinking? Young ladies do not involve themselves in murder! It’s … it’s … it’s unnatural.” Uncle Edward turned an unusual shade of red as he huffed and stammered.
A squeak and a tap on the floor tiles behind her alerted Sophia to someone’s approach. Shoes or boots scuffed across the porcelain.
“What would your father say if he knew?” Uncle Edward pounded the floor with his cane.
“Knew what?” Sophia’s papa asked, peeking his head over Sophia’s shoulder. “Are you causing problems again, Sophia?” He patted her arm with affection.
Sophia pivoted to look at him. He grinned at her, looking more relaxed than he had in months; the lines around his mouth had all but disappeared and his folded brow was … well, not folded. Getting out from under the oppression in Welford Mills had done him a world of good.
“Warren, please talk to your daughter,” Uncle Edward insisted. “It is most unseemly for a young girl to want to involve herself in murder. Unseemly and vulgar. Yes, yes, quite out of good character. This is a case for the professionals to investigate.” He started to close the door. “If she needs something to do, there are ladies’ magazines in the drawing room, with dress patterns and hair … suggestions.” And with that final condescension, he closed the door—rather firmly.
“But, Papa,” Sophia began, turning to face her father. “I’m not interested in dress patterns.”
“Yes, I know, my dear. But I have been instructed, as you heard, to tell you that it is most unseemly for a girl to become involved in murder—”
“He said, for a young girl to want to involve herself in murder.” Sophia curled up the corner of her mouth, preparing to debate the issue. “Unseemly and vulgar.”
“Yes, yes, too true. He did say that. And apparently this is a case that requires professional investigation.” He waved at the footman, standing stiff and straight by the front door. “Could you bring us a chair, please?” He turned back to Sophia. “And you should know there are ladies’ magazines in the drawing room, with dress patterns and hair … suggestions. Did I get it right that time?”
“Yes, but—”
“Right there.” Papa pointed the footman, who now carried a Chippendale chair with a green seat cushion, to the right side of the study door. “Now sit, Sophia.”
Sophia sat with a very ungraceful drop and offered her father a scowl.
“Excellent. Now, I direct you to sit here, thinking about everything we have just discussed. You will have to be quiet for a fairly long time. You might hear voices coming from the study…”
Sophia sat up straight and leaned to the left, closer to the door.
“But you will have to ignore everything that is being said within the study and contemplate dress patterns and—”
“Hair suggestions?”
“Exactly.” Then lowering his voice so that only Sophia could hear, he asked, “What are you doing, by the by?”
“I am hoping to help Mr. Fraser solve Andrew’s murder.” Then she touched her father’s arm and met his gaze. “For a purpose, Papa. Not idle curiosity or a burning desire to be a busybody. I must find an occupation, now that my marriage prospects are near zero. And after a great deal of reflection, I have decided that I would like to be an investigator. A Bow Street Runner.”
“That is a rather odd choice, Sophia. For one, you are a young lady, and ladies do not work. And for another, there are no women investigators employed by the Runners, my dear,” her father said quite reasonably. “Your mother would have an apoplexy at the thought.” He chuckled.
“I will be the first,” Sophia said with more conviction than she felt.
“Well, indeed … yes, it’s good to have an ambition.” Sophia’s father patted her shoulder, kindly done but a touch patronizing. He straightened and then he glanced around. “Hmmm, I seem to have lost the drawing room.”
Sophia pointed toward the back of the manor.
“Yes, excellent,” he said as he began to walk away. “You have always had a head for direction. That might be of some use in sleuthing … and the like.”
Sophia shook her head as she watched her father disappear into the drawing room. She knew it was going to be a chore convincing her parents—not to mention the Runners themselves—to give her a chance, to try her hand at investigating. She would need to prove that she was capable, talented, in the ways of detecting … lawks, she had to prove it to herself, too. Rereading Investigating Murder and Mayhem was a must. Perhaps if she used words like “larceny,” “apprehend,” or “judicious,” she would be taken seriously.
“What are you doing?” Mrs. Curtis asked some fifteen or so minutes later. She clicked her tongue in disgust. “That chair belongs in the dining room.”
“It’s just temporary, Mrs. Curtis.” Sophia addressed Miss Curtis as a married woman in the usual tradition for upper servants. She lifted her finger to her lips. “I’ll have it returned as soon as I’m done.”
“And what exactly are you doing?”
Sophia straightened in her chair. She had heard dribs and drabs of the conversation through the crack in the door; Uncle Edward had a loud voice. However, the occupants of the study had been silent for some moments, leading Sophia to believe that it was time to move away; the meeting was over.