welcome.
“You must be Lady Frances,” said the young man. “I am sorry we haven’t met earlier today, but with the tragedy . . . I’m Christopher Blake, Miss Kestrel’s cousin, and Mrs. Blake’s son. May I present some guests—Mr. Ezra Hardiman, and Miss Effie Hardiman, his daughter, from America. This is Lady FrancesFfolkes, a close friend of my cousin Gwen. And I see, Lady Frances, you have already met Mr. Mehmet, a guest from London.”
Mr. Hardiman gave her a strong welcome, with a formal speech. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Frances, although I wish it were in better circumstances. Normally, we would leave to give the family some privacy, but your police have asked the guests to stay while they make their investigations.”
Frances said that was perfectly understandable.
Miss Hardiman reminded Frances of some of the American girls she had known in college: robust and healthy-looking, with a friendly voice just a little bit too loud.
“A pleasure, Lady Frances. I understand you come from London? Father and I were staying in Claridge’s. London quite took my breath away. But oh, I do apologize, Mr. Blake; no offense was intended to this house. I have never seen anything like this—words fail me. Nothing like this near Buffalo.”
“Buffalo?” asked Lady Frances. “I was educated in New York, but never managed to make it to Buffalo.”
“Really? May I ask where?” asked Mr. Hardiman.
“Vassar College, a school for women, in Poughkeepsie.”
“I’ve heard of it. And it’s a fine town, Poughkeepsie, right on the Hudson. Important for river shipping and rail. I hope you get a chance to see Buffalo someday, Lady Frances. We’d be happy to play host—we live just outside it. A wonderful city, isn’t it, Effie?”
“Yes, Father,” she said, but with very little enthusiasm.
Pennington stepped out of the dining room to ring the gong, as was typically done in large houses to summon everyone to dinner. Even as he did so, the rest of the party arrived: Mrs. Blake, Gwen, and Tommie. They all had been dressed and groomed nicely for dinner, and Frances was pleased to see Gwen looked rested and composed.
“Good evening, Mother. I’ve made introductions,” said Christopher.
“Very good,” she said with a wan smile. “Shall we go in?”
Dinner was quiet. No one felt they could really talk about Sir Calleford, given the tragic way he died. Mrs. Blake mentioned the work on the gardens, and that led to a brief discussion of flowers. Frances let her eyes dart around the room. Effie Hardiman seemed eager to discuss the gardens, and commented extensively on the house and grounds. Mr. Hardiman said little, but seemed to enjoy his food. Gwen also joined the discussion of gardens, but Tommie was quiet. Mr. Mehmet spoke little but watched carefully.
Christopher supported his mother in her conversational gambits, and was also solicitous of his cousin Gwen, reminding her it was a good idea to eat, and noting no one would think less of her if she wanted to retire early.
Frances studied him. Here was a man not made for mourning , thought Frances. He was made for laughing, not because he was disrespectful, but because it was his nature to be cheerful , Frances concluded. Indeed, he was very handsome, and he couldn’t help the charm coming through, even now. Frances saw it. Miss Hardiman had many questions about the house and grounds, and Christopher responded pleasantly to all of them.
The dinner broke up early, as expected. Mrs. Blake led Gwen away for a few moments of conversation, probably about the funeral plans.
“How is she faring?” Frances asked Tommie.
“Surprisingly well. I don’t know if it has fully hit her yet. Our bedrooms are next to each other, so I’m near her if she needs company in the night.”
Frances said goodnight to everyone, and was about to head to bed herself, when she felt a hand on her arm.
It was Mr. Mehmet.
“I do not wish to be
“You must be Lady Frances,” said the young man. “I am sorry we haven’t met earlier today, but with the tragedy . . . I’m Christopher Blake, Miss Kestrel’s cousin, and Mrs. Blake’s son. May I present some guests—Mr. Ezra Hardiman, and Miss Effie Hardiman, his daughter, from America. This is Lady FrancesFfolkes, a close friend of my cousin Gwen. And I see, Lady Frances, you have already met Mr. Mehmet, a guest from London.”
Mr. Hardiman gave her a strong welcome, with a formal speech. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Frances, although I wish it were in better circumstances. Normally, we would leave to give the family some privacy, but your police have asked the guests to stay while they make their investigations.”
Frances said that was perfectly understandable.
Miss Hardiman reminded Frances of some of the American girls she had known in college: robust and healthy-looking, with a friendly voice just a little bit too loud.
“A pleasure, Lady Frances. I understand you come from London? Father and I were staying in Claridge’s. London quite took my breath away. But oh, I do apologize, Mr. Blake; no offense was intended to this house. I have never seen anything like this—words fail me. Nothing like this near Buffalo.”
“Buffalo?” asked Lady Frances. “I was educated in New York, but never managed to make it to Buffalo.”
“Really? May I ask where?” asked Mr. Hardiman.
“Vassar College, a school for women, in Poughkeepsie.”
“I’ve heard of it. And it’s a fine town, Poughkeepsie, right on the Hudson. Important for river shipping and rail. I hope you get a chance to see Buffalo someday, Lady Frances. We’d be happy to play host—we live just outside it. A wonderful city, isn’t it, Effie?”
“Yes, Father,” she said, but with very little enthusiasm.
Pennington stepped out of the dining room to ring the gong, as was typically done in large houses to summon everyone to dinner. Even as he did so, the rest of the party arrived: Mrs. Blake, Gwen, and Tommie. They all had been dressed and groomed nicely for dinner, and Frances was pleased to see Gwen looked rested and composed.
“Good evening, Mother. I’ve made introductions,” said Christopher.
“Very good,” she said with a wan smile. “Shall we go in?”
Dinner was quiet. No one felt they could really talk about Sir Calleford, given the tragic way he died. Mrs. Blake mentioned the work on the gardens, and that led to a brief discussion of flowers. Frances let her eyes dart around the room. Effie Hardiman seemed eager to discuss the gardens, and commented extensively on the house and grounds. Mr. Hardiman said little, but seemed to enjoy his food. Gwen also joined the discussion of gardens, but Tommie was quiet. Mr. Mehmet spoke little but watched carefully.
Christopher supported his mother in her conversational gambits, and was also solicitous of his cousin Gwen, reminding her it was a good idea to eat, and noting no one would think less of her if she wanted to retire early.
Frances studied him. Here was a man not made for mourning , thought Frances. He was made for laughing, not because he was disrespectful, but because it was his nature to be cheerful , Frances concluded. Indeed, he was very handsome, and he couldn’t help the charm coming through, even now. Frances saw it. Miss Hardiman had many questions about the house and grounds, and Christopher responded pleasantly to all of them.
The dinner broke up early, as expected. Mrs. Blake led Gwen away for a few moments of conversation, probably about the funeral plans.
“How is she faring?” Frances asked Tommie.
“Surprisingly well. I don’t know if it has fully hit her yet. Our bedrooms are next to each other, so I’m near her if she needs company in the night.”
Frances said goodnight to everyone, and was about to head to bed herself, when she felt a hand on her arm.
It was Mr. Mehmet.
“I do not wish to be
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