Let's Talk of Murder by Joan Smith Page B

He should have gone east on Piccadilly.”
    “Only to be expected,” Coffen said, and rolled down the window to holler at his coachman.
    After an unwanted and unintentional tour of the west end, they eventually arrived at the familiar building in Lambeth. Mrs. Bruton’s jowls firmed to perfect right angles in displeasure to see them back so soon. She stated firmly that Fanny was busy, but under Coffen’s badger-like persistence, she finally put them in the visitors’ parlor and sent for her.
    When Fanny came, her eyes immediately turned to the parcel Coffen carried. “Is that the gowns?” she asked, her face glowing in anticipation.
    Coffen handed it over. She placed it on the sofa table and ripped it open on the spot. “It’s just muslin!” she said, with an angry scowl.
    “The gowns are underneath,” Corinne explained. “I put in the muslin for the tea towels and so on that you mentioned.”
    Fanny tossed the muslin aside and rummaged down until she came to the lutestring gown. She held it up in front of her and danced to the window to catch her reflection, as there was no mirror in the room. “It’s lovely!” she cried, and darted back to pull out the gold moire.
    “There’s a wine stain on the front!” she said, a frown drawing her eyebrows together.
    “Yes, but yards of good material in the skirt,” Corinne pointed out.
    “But the top is ruined!”
    “Since it’s to be made into smaller articles, I don’t see that that matters,” Corinne said, becoming annoyed at this disparagement of her gift.
    Fearing a ruckus, Coffen leapt in. “It’ll make a dandy apron or curtains,” he said, choosing these unlikely items quite at random. “Any chance of a tour of the place, Fanny?”
    “Not this afternoon,” Fanny said, with a last scowl at the stained gown. “We’re expecting a call from Lord Clare.” She cited the name proudly, with a little toss of her head and a smile.
    Corinne’s eyes lit up. “Is he the patron of the home?” she asked. She had met this wealthy young man-about-town at a few parties. She was frequently surprised at the generosity of the nobility, particularly that they made no show of their good deeds. Luten thought it was only the nobility’s sense of responsibility to their tenants that saved England from the sort of revolution France had suffered. Lord Clare was considered quite a dashing fellow, not at all the sort she would have suspected of secret good works. Arranging horse races and boxing matches and flirting with the ladies were his known pursuits.
    “Yes, he practically runs the place,” Fanny said. “Doctor Harper does the work, but Lord Clare donates ever so much money, and oversees everything. He should be here soon.”
    “Was he a friend of Henry’s?” Coffen asked.
    Fanny directed a sharp stare at him. “Why do you ask that?”
    “Since it was Henry that brought you here, I figured he might have dealt with Lord Clare.”
    “It wasn’t Henry who arranged for me to come here. It was Doctor Harper. Henry didn’t know Lord Clare.”
    “Oh, I see. Just wondered.”
    “Would it be possible for me to see Beth?” Corinne asked.
    “What do you want to see her for?” Fanny asked.
    “I’d just like to talk to her. She looked–lonesome.”
    “That’s her fault, isn’t it?” Fanny said with a sniff. “Thinks she’s too good for the rest of us. Lord Clare will have a word with her. He always interviews the new girls to see how they’re going on. I daresay he’ll put her in the annex, then she’ll be all right.”
    Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a carriage arriving. “That’ll be Lord Clare,” Fanny said, and hopped up to go and meet him.
    Mrs. Bruton bustled out from her alcove and said, “Go back to your guests, Fanny. I’ll tend to Lord Clare.”
    Fanny got her look at him all the same. When Lord Clare saw Coffen’s carriage standing in the forecourt, he asked Mrs. Bruton who was calling, and insisted on being