Page 3 of A Murder in Mayfair
“How many wish to petition Parliament for a woman’s right to vote?”
Out of twenty ladies present, fifteen raised their hands.
Even though it was a foregone conclusion which side would carry the day, procedure required I ask, “How many want to plead for the right to manage her own finances?”
Four palms shot up.
With a great deal of satisfaction, I banged down the gavel one final time. “The right to vote petition carries the day.”
A round of applause and huzzahs circled the room.
Miss Moore seemed so crestfallen, I had to say, “Don’t lose heart, Miss Moore. Once the women’s suffrage matter is successfully concluded, we’ll petition for women’s financial independence. In the meantime, would you like to draft what you would like to see in it?”
Miss Moore brightened up. “Thank you, Lady Rosalynd. I’ll do that.”
“But how will we petition Parliament?” Lady Barlow asked. Married less than a year, and by all accounts deeply in love, she’d been too occupied with her wifely duties to attend our last meeting. They seemingly had been successful as she appeared to be increasing.
The dowager patted her hand. “It’s already been decided, dear. Lady Rosalynd will write the plea and see that it’s delivered to the House of Lords.”
“Anyone in particular?” Lady Barlow asked.
“It will be sent to the Legislation Committee, where it will be assigned to one of its members,” I explained.
“Let us hope it’s a peer with a liberal mindset,” Lady Whitworth asserted. “A conservative would kill it stone dead.”
“Indeed,” I said.
After the meeting adjourned, I proceeded to the morning room to write the first draft of the petition. I wanted to note the points raised during our meeting while they were fresh on my mind. I entered the space to find one of our downstairs maids holding one of the miniatures on my desk.
“Begging your pardon, milady.” Her face turned a bright shade of pink as she returned it to its place.
I offered her a smile to show I was not offended. “Maisie, is it not?”
“Yes, milady.” She curtsied. “I didn’t mean to pry. They’re so beautiful, the little paintings.”
“Glad you like them, Maisie. The miniatures of my family are very dear to me.”
“I wish I had one of my mum. She was quite beautiful when she was younger.”
If her mother resembled Maisie she indeed would have been quite stunning. Even in her maid’s uniform and her dark hair tightly pinned into a bun, she couldn’t hide her beauty. “Maybe it’s not too late for a likeness.”
The corners of her mouth turned down. “She’s quite ill, milady, and not expected to live much longer. She would not want one taken of her now.”
“I’m so sorry.” I knew the pain she felt. My mother, along with my father, had been tragically taken from us six years ago.
A fearful expression rolled over her face. “I should go before Mrs. Bateman catches me jabbering.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” I agreed with a laugh. Our housekeeper wasn’t a martinet by any means, but she was strict about preserving a certain distance between the Rosehaven family and its staff. Familiarity was not allowed. “She’d likely frown at us both.”
“Indeed, milady.” One more curtsy, and she was gone.
During the next while, I worked diligently on the petition. So much so, I lost track of time.
I would have remained at my task for hours if not for my youngest sister, Petunia. Without so much as a knock on the door, she burst into the room, a disgruntled expression on her gamine face. “It’s teatime, Rosie. Aren’t you coming?”
I glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “Heavens! Is it four already?”
“Yes, it is. We can’t start without you, and I’mstarving.” She flashed a grin that was lacking a tooth.
