February 8, 1889 Evening
Indeed, the Risewells did not refuse, and neither did the Blayses nor the Renaldis. As such, Mira entered Wynmar Park on Ambrose Sherard’s arm at precisely nine o’clock. A footman greeted them and directed them down the hallway, where another footman received them.
“The ballroom is just through here,” the man said, his voice a little shaky. He ducked his head and extended an arm towards the open door.
The Risewell estate was west of Pucklechurch, a good hour from the city, but that didn’t preclude half the society of Bath from attending.
Perhaps that was an exaggerated estimate, but there were at least a hundred people from what Mira could see.
The Georgian-style ballroom was breathtaking with ceiling roses, decorative plasterwork, columns, and cornices.
Mira adjusted the sleeves of her blue silk evening gown. The gathering was more akin to a soirée than a ball. The guests flitted about between the refreshment tables and conversations. A few tables were set up for cards and there was a young lady playing the piano in the corner.
For the case of the stolen Sherard jewelry, Mira and Byron determined there were five main points of inquiry.
The first was the servants at number eighteen, Royal Crescent.
They had already exhausted that line of questioning earlier in the day and determined it to be unlikely that any of the staff had been an accomplice, due to their long history of service and loyalty.
That left the dinner guests. Specifically the ones who left the group for a period of time: Mrs. Risewell, Miss Risewell, Miss Harris, and Admiral Hoddle.
Any of the four could have slipped up to Mrs. Sherard’s bedroom and unlocked the window.
Mrs. Risewell and her daughter, Theresia, stood greeting guests at the entrance of the ballroom. Admiral Hoddle was gesticulating widely, his drink sloshing around, as he told a story to a group of men near the fireplace. Maureen Harris stood by the refreshment table talking to a young man.
Another footman, standing just inside the ballroom, directed them towards the Risewells.
“—this is my youngest son.” Mrs. Sherard said, making the introductions. “And this is Mrs. Davidson,” she pointed to Aunt Eleanor, “Mrs. Renaldi and her daughter, and Mr. and Miss Blayse.”
Mira nodded. “Thank you for extending the invitation to include us.”
“Oh, we were happy to do so,” Mrs. Risewell said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She wore a blue dress with a frilly bodice and enormous sleeves with a dark choker around her neck.
Theresia stepped forward. She was willowy and wore a red and pink dress with lace detailing and roses along the sleeves.
Her honey-brown hair was piled on her head with ringlets and roses placed around the crown.
She fluttered her fan just beneath her chin.
“I was wondering when we would have the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Sherard. Your sister has told us so much about you.”
“Has she?” Byron chuckled. “I certainly hope you’ve been saying good things about me, Mary.”
“Of course,” Mary said.
“Do you shoot, Ambrose?” Mr. Risewell asked.
“A little,” Byron said. “I’m afraid I haven’t had much time to perfect the sport.”
“I was just talking with Castel. We’re putting together a party to go shooting sometime this week, if you’re up to it.” He gestured to Walker. “You as well, if you’d like.”
“We’d be happy to,” Byron said.
It didn’t seem proper to question the Risewells about the thefts with so many people in line behind them, so after exchanging a few more pleasantries, the group moved on.
“That was advantageous,” Byron whispered to her. “I might find it easier to question him in a more casual setting.”
“I’ll see about talking more with Theresia. Maybe Liza can help with that. They are about the same age.”
Byron nodded. “I believe we’ll need an introduction to speak with Admiral Hoddle. Would you rather we use my family or Maureen?”
“Why not both? He may act differently in front of your family. You and your family can approach him first while I talk with Maureen. Then she can introduce me and we can compare afterwards.”
“Splendid thought. And you can scout out the refreshment table at the same time.” He glanced in that direction. “Although, I believe Walker will be the better informant on that front.”
With that, they separated, each on their own mission. As Mira wound her way through the crowd towards the refreshment table, a bit of conversation piqued her interest. A circle of women she didn’t recognize stood together, gossiping.
“. . . and every year they come back, like birds to nest,” one of the ladies said.
Mira stood far enough away as to not draw attention to herself and half-pretended to admire a painting on the wall. Romantic era. Perhaps Turner.
The same lady continued, “I wonder why the Estfields dislike wintering here so much.”
“In comparison to Italy, my dear, I see their reasoning.”
“No, no,” a third chimed in. “I thought they were in the French Riviera this year.”
“They could be staying in as foreign a place as Chipping Sodbury and it wouldn’t matter to me,” the oldest of the group said. “What I find more curious is how the Risewells are handling the staff situation.” She took a sip of her drink.
“Oh yes,” said the second again. “Didn’t they bring only two servants with them and hired the rest once they arrived?”
“That isn’t so unusual, is it?” the first asked.
“No. But it is unusual for one of the two to be a gardener,” the oldest said. “It is much harder to find good butlers and footmen than it is to find gardeners.”
“Very strange with it being winter too. I would have thought the Estfields would leave their own gardener to take care of the general maintenance.”
“Oh, they did,” the oldest said.
“Why then, what need do the Risewells have for a gardener?”
The third looked towards the piano and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, someone ought to stop Miss Meredeth. She’s so heavy handed with the high notes.”
“At least she plays better than Miss Harris. That piece she exhibited a few weeks ago was simply dreadful.”
Mira frowned. Maureen played the piano rather well—her father had taught her. Perhaps it was a different Miss Harris they were talking about. She stepped away from the conversation as it continued in a more musical direction.
Could the Risewells be working with a thief? A gardener would have better knowledge of where to find a ladder and the use of stakes and gardening wire. They would have to look into it later. For now, she focused on tracking down Maureen Harris.
It was an easy enough prospect, as Maureen hadn’t moved from her conversation with the young gentleman, although a second gentleman had joined their circle. As she approached, Maureen lit up and beckoned her over, her yellow taffeta skirt making a rustling scroop noise as she moved.
“Why, Miss Blayse! I didn’t realize you were invited. It is so good to see you again.” She pulled Mira closer and gestured to the gentlemen. “I don’t believe you’ve met Silas Treadway.”
Silas grinned and some of his brown hair fell into his face.
“And this is Bertie Corbet,” Maureen said.
Bertie gave a slight bow, his dark beard masking his expression. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss..?”
“Samira Blayse,” Maureen answered for her. “We ran in similar circles in London.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Mira said.
“Now, Miss Blayse, what brings you to Bath?” Silas said.
“I’m visiting the Sherards,” Mira said, deciding that was the least complicated way of explaining her stay. “Ambrose Sherard and I are courting, you see.”
“Ah. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet.”
“We just arrived from London yesterday.”
Bertie pursed his lips. “He’s the detective, isn’t he?”
Mira’s eyes widened. They’d been so careful to keep his professional and personal lives separate.
“Detective?” Silas straightened.
“I saw him coming in,” Bertie said, “Doesn’t he work under the name Constantine?”
“I think I know who you’re talking about,” Mira said, mind racing for a way to maintain their story.
“They do have a remarkable resemblance to one another.” She lowered her voice.
“Though you ought to know the Sherards dislike the comparison. They hate publicity and I can’t think of a more conspicuous profession. ”
“Can you imagine?” Maureen said.
“I am sorry for interrupting your conversation,” Mira said, hoping to change the subject. “I only meant to stop in for a moment.”
“We were only talking of Mr. Treadway’s service in the Sudan,” Maureen said.
“You are in the army, Mr. Treadway?” Mira asked.
“I was honorably discharged last year due to an injury.”
“And he won’t tell me anything about what it was like,” Maureen said.
“It wouldn’t be appropriate for a lady to hear.” Silas smiled apologetically.
“The least you can tell me is what General Gordon was like.”
Silas shook his head. “I’m afraid I never had the opportunity to meet him.”
Maureen looked off towards the window, sobering considerably. “I remember hearing the news when he was killed.” She turned back to Silas, eyes brightening. “Did you know, my father was invited to take a trip to interview him about the conflict?”
“He was a journalist?” Silas asked. “I don’t believe I knew that.”
“One of the best,” Maureen said. “He worked with the foreign office, you know.”
“Is that so?” Silas said.
Mira picked up a plate, considering the various refreshments. “I’m sure the society in Bath is much more pleasant than the Sudan.”
“Quite different,” Silas said.
Bertie scoffed.
Silas raised an eyebrow. “You disagree?”
“I know nothing of the society you experienced in the Sudan, but I’ve found society here to be its own kind of warfare.”
“Oh?” Mira said.