Free Death on the Sapphire by R. J. Koreto Page A

know this Colonel Mountjoy. But Frances knew who would.

    Major Clive Raleigh occupied what he felt was a very pleasant suite at the War Office. His work taxed him enough to keep him from getting bored but not so much that it exhausted him. He had time for theater and dinner parties, as well as overnight house parties in the better homes. His aide, a young lieutenant, knocked and entered.
    “Excuse me, sir. Lady Frances Ffolkes wishes to have a few minutes with you.”
    Unlike Superintendent Maples, Raleigh didn’t get at all upset. He had served with Charles Ffolkes and had met Frances several times. Rather pretty girl, he thought, always well turned out. Those big, gray eyes of hers had a way of looking right at you—a little disturbing, but she had some spirit, and those were the girls who were most entertaining, he had found. And as a practical matter, his family was pushing him to get married—having the Marquess of Seaforth as a brother-in-law would be no small advantage, and the dowry was likely to be substantial.
    Not being particularly introspective or aware of what others thought about him, Raleigh didn’t know that Ffolkes and his friend Colcombe used to joke about him behind his back, saying that the best way for the British to win the war would be to promote Raleigh to general—in the Boer army. For the same reason, it never occurred to Raleigh to wonder why Lady Frances was visiting him in the War Office—it was enough that she was.
    “Thank you, Lieutenant. Please show her in.”
    Frances met Major Raleigh’s broad smile with one of her own.
    “Dear Frances, it’s so good to see you. It’s been months since we danced at the Henshaw’s house party.”
    “I remember. It was a very pleasant evening. I was in the area, and I had a question I couldn’t answer. I said, ‘I know, I’llcall on Clive Raleigh.’ I heard you had been given a post here. I imagine this is good for your career?”
    Raleigh preened a little. Let him, thought Frances. She believed a truly competent officer would be leading troops somewhere, not pushing papers around in a forgotten corner of a government building.
    “But you must be very busy, so I’ll ask my question, although it seems so silly now. A friend of mine is having a cheery little party and was asked to invite a certain officer, a colonel, but doesn’t know anything about him. It will be so embarrassing for her not to know anything about his regiment or experiences, and I said I could help her find out, so, well, you understand, she doesn’t look foolish.”
    Raleigh thought Frances’s friend was being a little fussy—there were always a few odd people out there, and half the fun was finding out about them. Probably some old spinster, set in her ways. Anyway, the thing was to oblige Frances.
    “What’s this man’s name? I may be able to check.”
    “Oh, could you? He’s a colonel. Colonel Zachery Mountjoy. I know the officer corps in London was a rather small group, so I’m hoping you may know him, or at least know of him.”
    She watched Raleigh closely as he leaned back and frowned.
    “I, ah, do know him. He has a . . . well, he sort of has a general HQ assignment.”
    You’re a horrible liar , thought Frances.
    “Do you know if he served in South Africa? Which regiment was he attached to? I know a little bit about military affairs. My brother and father served in the Life Guards. My ancestors served under Wellington. Even going back to Marlborough.”
    Raleigh smiled. “Of course. I had forgotten what a distinguished military family you come from. The colonel was attached to the Royal Reconnaissance Battalion.” Frances looked at him expectantly, hoping to learn more. “Sort of involved in mapmaking, various charts and so forth, descriptions of the terrain. Important work, if not particularly exciting.”
    “I see. Well, thank you for your time, Major. Just one more thing—do you know the motto of the Reconnaissance Battalion? Or perhaps