Free Death on the Sapphire by R. J. Koreto

Mr. Wheaton listened very carefully to what Frances said and seemed to think deeply before making a thoughtful response. Mrs. Wheaton said little, content to listen to the young people.
    During a pause, while the waitress served the little cakes that Mrs. Wheaton delighted in, Frances changed the subject.
    “I hope you don’t mind talking business during such a lovely lunch, but as you’re a solicitor, I was hoping that you could throw some light on a particular issue. I was wondering what you knew about the Scotland Yard division called Special Branch.”
    He laughed. “My goodness, Lady Frances. Don’t tell me you’ve run into them. I’ve occasionally had to arrange for a barrister to represent one of my clients in a court of law, but never involving Special Branch.”
    “Not me at all. A friend of mine was the victim of a crime, and it turns out the inspector in charge of the case is with Special Branch. Perhaps because my brother is in government, she thought I might know about it, but he’s Foreign Office, of course.”
    Mr. Wheaton frowned. “Lady Frances, you can tell your friend this is very serious. Special Branch involves itself in the security of the realm. If she was a victim—well, without the details, I can’t really give advice. But if you’d like, you can tell your friend to visit me, and I will treat the matter in strictest confidence and without obligation. If Special Branch is involved, there may be serious implications.”
    “I had no idea,” said Lady Frances. She knew Special Branch was serious, but his words almost made her shudder. “That is very kind of you, Mr. Wheaton. I will tell my friend.”
    “For my part,” said Mrs. Wheaton, “I don’t think your friend came to you because of your brother. It’s probably because she knew you were so well educated. You took a college degree—in America, I believe?”
    Some approved, some disapproved, but everyone was curious about Frances’s novel education. It was a school founded expressly for the education of women, with a very progressive agenda. After much begging and pleading, and the not inconsiderable support of her mother, her father agreed to send her there. It was a splendid four years.
    “My father finally was convinced because the founder was an Englishman who had moved to America. His name was Matthew Vassar, and the school carries his name.”
    “How exciting for you, Lady Frances,” said Mrs. Wheaton. “Henry, don’t you think such an educational experience for women is a wonderful thing?”
    He put down his cup and spoke slowly and deliberately. “I am not an authority on education, for men or women, but I can say that it would have been a great shame if someone with your aptitude, Lady Frances, had not received an education commensurate with your intelligence.”
    And Frances was touched.

    Mr. Wheaton saw her to her home. She felt good about the afternoon. A professor had once instructed her to turn surprises into lessons, and she had been surprised that a man seemingly as dry as Henry Wheaton could speak of artwork with such knowledge. No, not just with knowledge—with passion. And he spent his free time painting, a hobby usually associated with young women sent to finishing schools in Italy. Perhaps, she thought ruefully, she needed to be less quick about jumping to conclusions about people.
    There were no visitors waiting for her, but there was a note. Mrs. Beasley’s manner indicated that this was a message from an acceptable person.
    Lady Frances,
    I understand you have an interest in a missing manuscript written by the late Daniel Colcombe. I have some information that may be helpful to you. I can be reached through the Military Club.
    —Colonel Zachery Mountjoy
    The name was completely unfamiliar to Frances, but the club was not. Only well-born army and navy officers belonged, such as her brother. However, Charles didn’t attend much, preferring more political clubs, so he probably wouldn’t