Death Among Rubies by R. J. Koreto

witnesses.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Smith, and without a look back, Inspector Eastley left.
    “I have something for you, m’lady,” said Smith. He handed her a piece of paper. “This is a voucher. Submit it to Metropolitan Police Headquarters to be paid for your services.”
    “Constable—” said an astonished Frances. “I did this to help, not for money.”
    If Constable Smith saw anything odd in paying the wealthy daughter of a powerful aristocratic family, he kept it to himself.
    “I have to give it to you, m’lady. It’s the rules,” he said, and Frances took the paper authorizing His Majesty’s Exchequer to pay Frances Ffolkes for providing translation services to the Metropolitan Police Service. Imagine that—getting paid! She had no intention of submitting it, but as soon as she got back to London she’d have it framed.
    “Thank you, constable. And good day.” She stepped into the hallway. First things first. That French maid was lying, but Frances had no illusions about being able to get her to admit it. She was far too self-possessed for that, and as Frances was not her mistress, there was no leverage. But footmen were another story.
    Jean, the valet, said he was playing cards with three footmen. A house of this size would need at least four. At least one was not at the card game. And Frances knew how to find out without raising anyone’s suspicions.
    With a few false starts, she found the dining room, and as she suspected, maids were already setting the table in preparation for dinner.
    “Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could help me?”
    “Of course, my lady,” said one of the maids, young and wide-eyed. Good—she looked naïve and wouldn’t think too much about Frances’s questions.
    “The footmen were very helpful with our luggage today. I wanted to make sure I gave them all the proper thanks.” Tipping servants in a country house, especially when they had been helpful, was common.
    “Of course, my lady. There are four, Mark, Adam, David . . . and Owen.” She blushed at that last name. “He’s still new, my lady.” Another maid snickered, but quickly covered up. Well, that made it all clear.
    “If you’re looking for them, they might be in the drawing room. Mrs. Blake likes the furniture set up special for after dinner.” Frances thanked them, but didn’t say it was unlikely anyone would feel like gathering after dinner tonight.
    As Mrs. Blake had said, it was larger than the solar. Few houses boasted a drawing room like this, which served as the main social room for all gatherings smaller than a full-fledged ball. Indeed, you could even set up a small orchestra right in this room.
    Two footmen were working on the furniture.
    “Excuse me, is one of you Owen?”
    “Yes, my lady.” His accent, like his name, showed him to be Welsh. His handsome features showed why the maid blushed at his name. He stepped over to Frances.
    “I understand that all of you, and you in particular, were both helpful and careful with my luggage, and I want you to know that I will remember that when I depart.”
    “Thank you, my lady.”
    “Also, since you’re here, I have a quick question. I know you have been keeping company with Leonie, Madame Aubert’spersonal maid, and while I have no interest in your personal life, I would like to know if you saw anything during your evening tryst.” She smiled.
    Frances rather admired him for not buckling immediately.
    “I, ah, my lady . . . I am not quite sure I understand what you mean.” Unlike Leonie, he was a very bad liar.
    “Now, Owen, I have no intention of reporting anything to Mrs. Blake, Miss Kestrel, or to Mme. Aubert. Or the police, for that matter. But I do have a need to find out what you saw that evening. It may have to do with your master’s death, and as a friend of Miss Kestrel’s, I am asking a few questions. This is a family matter, Owen.” She was counting on his loyalty to the Kestrels for cooperation, and his