Read Online Death on the Sapphire by R. J. Koreto - Free Book Online Page B

that Mr. Wheaton is not of the nobility, Mallow, but in my dealings with him, he has shown no prejudices against well-educated, independent women. Or do you think, like my brother, I should only associate with others in the nobility?”
    Frances smiled, but Mallow was too sharp to get caught in that.
    “It’s not my place to comment on your ladyship’s friends,” she said, a little stiffly.
    Most other ladies in London would’ve dropped the subject right then, but Frances persisted. “But I’m asking your opinion, as I would for a dress or hat.” The tone was teasing, but Mallow could see that Lady Frances wanted an answer.
    “I believe Mr. Wheaton is kind, my lady,” said Mallow.
    Frances nodded. “That’s a very insightful comment, Mallow.”
    “Yes, my lady,” said Mallow.
    Frances was still smiling about the exchange as she headed downstairs to breakfast. Then she called Mary to tell her that the police were investigating the manuscript theft. She held back the information that Special Branch was involved—no need to overexcite anyone, she reasoned. Mary said she’d be visiting Kat and Mrs. Colcombe that afternoon and would pass along the good news.

    Frances met Henry Wheaton and his mother at the museum’s entrance, as agreed. Henry surprised her. Instead of the dated black suit he used for the office, he wore a modern cut in a light shade—something her brother might be seen in. His sandy hair was a little ruffled by the breeze, and he looked no different from a dozen other young gentlemen on the street.
    He smiled when he saw her and ushered the women into the gallery. As they walked, Frances received another surprise. She had expected Mrs. Wheaton to appreciate the pictures and Mr. Wheaton to hover in the background, indulging the ladies with their pastime while he wondered about what was happening at the office in his absence.
    But that’s not what happened. As they started viewing the pictures, Henry Wheaton started talking: “Do you see the brushwork here, Lady Frances? . . . The shadowing here is typical of the early Renaissance. . . . Only the Dutch masters could achieve perspective like this. . . . Aren’t those flesh tones astonishing, Lady Frances?” He said he couldn’t stop contemplating the coloring. Mrs. Wheaton smiled and nodded, proud of her son’s knowledge.
    Frances tried to keep up. She had learned a bit about art in college, but nowhere near as much as Mr. Wheaton seemed to know. After about an hour, he suddenly turned to her and said, “Lady Frances, I’m afraid I’ve spent the last hour being theworld’s most frightful bore. I am sorry if my enthusiasm got away from me.”
    She smiled. “Not at all, Mr. Wheaton. I have been honored to have my own private expert guide.”
    Mrs. Wheaton jumped in. “Perhaps Lady Frances would like to see some of your own paintings. I know I am prejudiced, but I think some of them are good enough to hang here.”
    Mr. Wheaton blushed. “Mother, really . . .”
    “I didn’t know you painted in your spare time, Mr. Wheaton.”
    “It’s just a hobby, to relax after a busy week, that’s all. I don’t exhibit or have any aspirations.” His tone was defensive.
    “I think it’s a fine hobby,” said Lady Frances. “A more intellectual and worthwhile one than my brother’s obsession with knocking a little ball into a hole in a lawn.”
    “Thank you,” he said, and seemed very grateful.
    When they were done, Mr. Wheaton took the ladies out to tea at Claridge’s, a hotel where the best people stayed. It was quite lovely; since moving into Miss Plimsoll’s, she had rather gotten out of the habit of elaborate teas, just grabbing the occasional cup in between visits and meetings. They spoke about their favorite paintings, but now Mr. Wheaton did more listening than talking. Over his cup, he looked intently at Frances with those attractive green eyes.
    Talk of art gave way to talk of books and music too.