Tasha Alexander: A Crimson Warning

“I’m not surprised.” I slouched deeper into the supple leather chair. My S-posture was made much easier in the Liberty gown that I’d changed into upon arriving home, with its soft, draping fabric and lack of need for a corset. Its lighter boning offered greater flexibility and range of motion than that to which I was used. I liked being able to slouch.

My mother, however, did not share my opinion.

“What on earth are you wearing?” she asked, barging past Davis as he opened the door.

“Mother, don’t be so dreadful to poor Davis. You didn’t even allow him to announce you. You know I value him above everyone else in the household. I can’t have you scaring him off.”

“I know, madam, that should I ever leave your service, you would no doubt replace me with a man of lesser character,” my butler said. “One who might not keep you from your husband’s cigars. You can’t possibly think I would stand by and allow such a thing to happen.”

With that, he exited the room, leaving my mother sputtering in disbelief. “Emily! You are conversing with your servants. Have you lost all of your breeding?” She lowered herself into the chair across from me, keeping her own posture pointedly erect. “Stop slouching. It’s unbecoming.”

I straightened my spine, pulled back my shoulders, and sighed. “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, Mother?”

“I have heard the most scandalous rumor. Talk in the park is that you attended a meeting of the Women’s Liberal Federation this morning. Surely it must be a falsehood.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I did attend, and enjoyed it greatly.”

“I will not have it, Emily. I will not be embarrassed by you. Not after the lengths I’ve gone to in what will undoubtedly prove to be a vain attempt to preserve the tattered shreds of your reputation, given all your eccentricities.”

It would be difficult to discern which of my so-called eccentricities most vexed my mother. She objected to my study of Greek (I adored reading Homer in the original), was appalled when I set to cataloging the works of ancient art housed in England’s great estates (it was mortifying for her to see her daughter apply for admission to her friends’ houses for such a purpose), and despaired at my involvement in criminal investigations. That I was good at it held no sway with her, and no one could suspect my enjoyment of the work might soften her views on the subject.

Colin cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology, Lady Bromley. It was my own mother who invited Emily to the meeting. I had no idea allowing her to accept the invitation would upset you.” He met my eyes and grinned while my mother sputtered for the briefest of moments before pulling herself taller and composing herself.

“Mrs. Hargreaves is involved in such groups?” she asked, her mouth very nearly hanging open.

“Oh, yes. A founding member, in fact,” Colin said. “Perfectly respectable, I assure you.”

“I don’t like it, Mr. Hargreaves, I don’t.” She shook her head, her expression grim. “I know the difficulties you face in trying to control my daughter, and allowing her to associate with those people—your mother excluded, of course—will not help your cause.”

“My cause, Lady Bromley, is to see to it your daughter has the happiest of lives. If she requires the Women’s Liberal Federation, she shall have it.”

“She’s corrupting you,” she said. “I feared as much.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing more to be said on the subject,” Colin said.

They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to back down, but no one could best my husband when it came to matters of will. My mother, defeated, rose from her seat. “I shall leave you to your unruly wife, Mr. Hargreaves. Heaven help you both.”

I sighed and sank back deeper into my chair before the door had closed behind her. “She’s exhausting.”

“Always,” Colin said. “But in a most entertaining way.”

“You say that only because her energy is not focused on you,” I said, pleased to find that my mother’s interventions no longer sent me spiraling the way they used to. Instead of feeling vaguely ill and something like a disappointment as I used to following similar encounters, I was ready to return to the subject at hand without giving her any further thought. “We were discussing Mr. Dillman. If his friends and employees reveal no clues, where shall you turn next?”

“I’ll continue to sift through his business dealings. Dillman’s company did a great deal of work for the government, and I want to make sure he wasn’t killed as a result of it.”

“What sort of work?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“So it’s his work for the government that led you to be asked to investigate?”

“Yes,” he said.

I frowned. “What is he exporting to the rest of the empire that could land him in trouble? Was he engaging in some sort of official subterfuge?”

“Not. At. Liberty.” He stared at me, just long enough to let my insides turn to a pleasant, warm mush. Then he bent over and kissed me.

“I shan’t be distracted from my purpose,” I said, trying not to kiss him back. My effort was halfhearted at best.

“Oh, yes, you shall.” He narrowed his eyes and pulled a mockingly stern face. “Upstairs, wife.”

I laughed as in one swift movement he picked me up and carried me towards our bedroom. My body tingled with anticipation and I no longer made any attempt to resist his kisses. At this time in the afternoon, there could be no doubt the servants would be scandalized.

Some hours later, Meg, my maid, interrupted our extremely satisfying—and vigorous—interlude. Truly, marriage was full of the most delightful pleasures. Her knock was more tentative than usual, and she would not meet my eyes when we called for her to enter the room.

“There’s a lady here for Mr. Hargreaves,” she said, curtsying.

“No need to be so formal, Meg,” Colin said. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Davis sent me to fetch you. It’s a Miss Cordelia Dalton. She’s in mourning, sir, and really oughtn’t to be calling on anyone. It must be an emergency.”

“Thank you, Meg.” He adjusted his tie and slipped on his jacket as she skirted back into the corridor. Meg had been with me from before I’d made my debut, and I was confident no one else was capable of so well taming my hair. Our early days together had their share of rough patches—she had been decidedly xenophobic and it was only through careful and insistent indoctrination that I’d persuaded her to take a more open-minded view of all those things in the world that weren’t English. I’d got her to the point where she admitted to liking Paris. It was one of my finest accomplishments.

“Cordelia was to marry Mr. Dillman,” I said.

“I remember Ivy mentioning that,” he said. “Let’s not keep Miss Dalton waiting.”

We went downstairs and found our visitor huddled in shadows, a black-hemmed handkerchief clutched in her hand. Davis had closed the curtains in deference to the girl’s mourning. She started to rise when we entered the room, but Colin bade her to stay seated.

“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” I said.

“It’s beastly of me to come here, I know,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Mama will simply—oh, I can’t even fathom what she’ll do. But I had to see you. Ivy’s told me so much about you, Lady Emily, and everyone knows Mr. Hargreaves is the best at … well, I can’t say I’m precisely sure what it is he does, but I do know the queen quite depends upon him. And if he’s adequate for her…”

“In what manner can I assist you?” Colin asked, pulling a chair closer to her and sitting down.