Page 17 of Solving Sophronia

“I apologize.” Sophie winced at his sharp tone. “I didn’t intend—”

“Lady Sophronia,” Mr. Leonard called to her.

She was glad for the interruption. She left the overly detailed picture with Mr. Potts and returned to the editor’s desk.

“The Hyde Park balloon launch tomorrow—you’ll be there?”

“I planned on it.”

“Good.” Looking pleased, he nodded. “There’s a real story for you, my lady.”

As she left the office, the bit of self-doubt dissipated and was replaced by resolution. She was capable of so much more than sharing gossip about beauty regimens, fashion, and social blunders, and she’d prove it.

Instead of returning directly home, Sophie opened her notebook and gave the driver the list of names from the modiste, directing him to take her to the ladies’ houses. She had a murder to investigate.

Za

Two hours later Sophie returned home, surprised to see a functional-looking carriage in front of her house—surely it must be for a delivery, but it was strange that the unsightly conveyance was not parked more discreetly in the lane near the servant’s entrance.

She removed her gloves and hat, feeling extremely satisfied by her outing. Fortunately she’d not had to speak with Charlotte Grey at all. Apparently the young woman’s lady’s maid had gone missing, and Charlotte was not receiving guests until she could find someone to arrange her hair before the picnic in Hyde Park.

The Grey’s housekeeper had identified the young woman in Sophie’s drawing as Jane Duffin, the missing lady’s maid, but could give no further information about the young woman’s whereabouts two evenings before.

Sophie considered which avenue to pursue next. She might call on Dr. Peabody to see whether examination of the body had provided any new clues. Or perhaps she would return to the neighborhood around the Porky Pie and question potential witnesses, but either way, she ought to change her clothing. The dress she’d worn before had stood out far too blatantly in the rookery. And, of course, she could use a cup of tea and perhaps a croissant.

The butler, Holloway, met her in the front hall. “Lady Sophronia, you have visitors.”

Sophie smiled at the idea of her friends paying her a call. It was new to have women as friends. She’d been taught by her mother to consider other ladies as competitors or rivals. But Elizabeth, Hazel, Vivian, and Dahlia’s support and friendship felt like an unexpected gift. Over the past weeks she’d grown surprisingly close to the four Orchids, as they called themselves. They were more like sisters to her than Prissy had ever been.

Sophie touched the brooch on her lapel. Dahlia had presented one to each of the young ladies a few weeks earlier as they’d congregated in yet another library. “If the Casanovas can have their silly tiepins, then the Blue Orchid Society shall have our own emblem,” she’d declared.

It was no surprise that an article of jewelry chosen by Dahlia Lancaster would be exquisite. Surrounded by filigreed silver and hand-painted on a mother-of-pearl background, the deep-blue flower was stunning.

A clearing throat pulled her from her train of thought, and she realized the butler was still awaiting an answer. “Thank you, Holloway. Who are the visitors?”

“A Detective Graham and Sergeant Lester, my lady. They are with your grandmother in the drawing room.”

She blinked, and a wiggle of apprehension moved through her middle as Sophie remembered Detective Graham’s dismissive attitude at the murder scene. What could the man want? Had he learned she’d continued her investigation and had arrived to reprimand her? The thought of the man’s disapproving frown made her hesitate.

But Sophie intended to be a news reporter, and of course, such a profession required perseverance. Detective Graham was not the first person to resent her investigating—nor, she feared, would he be the last. Besides, Mimi would be there, and Sergeant Lester was friendly enough.

As she climbed the stairs, Sophie lifted her chin and took a deep breath, blew it out slowly, and adopted an expression of calm confidence.

When she entered the drawing room, the men rose from their seats on the sofa, and Dorrit lifted her head from her napping-pillow in the sun and barked.

Mimi smiled widely as if it were the most natural thing in the world to entertain two policemen. “There she is now. Come and join us, my dear. I’ve already sent for tea.”

Detective Graham inclined his head. “Good afternoon, Lady Sophronia.” He spoke her name with a hint of exasperation, and she wondered if he was bothered she’d not told him her title before.

Well, that was entirely her prerogative. She’d decided even before meeting the men that her investigative work would go much smoother without the extra attention her title garnered. “Detective. Sergeant.” She nodded at the men and sat on a chair beside her grandmother.

“Pleasure to see you again, miss... I mean, my lady,” Sergeant Lester said.

She smiled at the man, noticing in the light of day that he had a thick scar on his cheek, cutting through his reddish side-whiskers. “And you as well, Sergeant.”

Mimi clasped her hands. “And what a merry coincidence, don’t you know. The detective here is the very same constable who arrested me at the suffragette demonstration in front of Westminster Palace all those years ago.” She smiled at the detective. “How long has it been, Detective? Eight, nine years at least, I believe.”

Detective Graham cleared his throat, looking decidedly uncomfortable at the revelation. “Yes, your ladyship. And as I said earlier, I apologize for the wrist shackles, but it is a policy of the constabulary.”