The Daughters of Gentlemen by Linda Stratmann

Sandcourt, cheerily, ‘and I can tell you I saw no one about when I called apart from the maid and Mrs Venn. But it’s not a serious matter, is it? Perhaps it was meant to be an advertisement. There’s any number of little printing works after contracts to produce posters and pamphlets and looking for cheap ways to advertise.’
    ‘But the nature of the material … ‘ queried Frances, ‘and the location…?’
    ‘It has us all talking, though, and trying to find out who did it!’ he said with a chuckle. ‘It’ll be some young business type who’ll come up with a smile and then try to make his name out of it. I should like to meet him .’
    Lydia laughed. ‘I think Miss Doughty put them there on purpose to make a name for herself!’ she said. ‘Then she will blame it on some servant and be in all the newspapers again.’
    Selina allowed a slight frown to ripple across her flawless forehead. ‘Are you feeling well, my dear?’ asked Sandcourt.
    ‘If I may, I would like to rest now,’ she said softly.
    ‘But it’s almost dinner time! You must eat, you know.’
    She nodded. ‘I know. Have a little light supper sent up in about an hour and I will see what I can manage.’
    Sandcourt eased himself out of his chair and escorted his wife to the drawing room door. Frances took the cue to depart. ‘If you don’t mind my mentioning it,’ she said to Selina, ‘I understand that sipping a little aerated water may help the – er – discomfort.’ Selina gave a faint smile.
     

     
    That evening, Chas and Barstie returned, freshly suited and booted and almost rosy cheeked with confidence. They had been hard at work on Frances’ commission and were bursting with information, which they imparted over a simple supper of soup, bread, cheese, pickles and cold meat. ‘Mr Fiske professes to be an author, which is a highly unprofitable occupation except for those rare few who catch the public fancy such as Mr Dickens,’ said Chas. ‘His main assets are a string of grocery shops and a clever wife. He also had the great good fortune never to have invested in the Bayswater Bank.’
    Frances, whose recent success in exposing the activities of a scoundrel had precipitated the sudden and disastrous failure of the Bayswater Bank, felt a momentary twinge of guilt, but she quickly reminded herself that had she not revealed the crimes when she did the crash would still have come but much later, and would therefore have been far worse.
    ‘His associate Mr Arthur Miggs is employed by the Grant Publishing Company of Farringdon, but plans to start his own business. He is energetic, ambitious, and, by all accounts, honest to a fault.’
    ‘I became acquainted with Mr Sandcourt today,’ Frances observed. ‘He struck me as very pleasant.’
    ‘Or Sandrovitch, as he was once known,’ said Barstie. ‘He made his fortune in the fur trade. It is said he has warehouses and workshops all over London.’
    ‘I also met Mrs Sandcourt and her younger sister, Lydia,’ Frances added, ‘and I was struck by how unalike they are, both in appearance and character. I can guess that Mrs Sandcourt most closely resembles her father, but I have never seen Mrs Matthews. Is she alive?’
    ‘She is not,’ said Barstie. ‘I believe she was an invalid for some years and was taken to Italy in the hope that she would improve. She regained her strength and even became a mother again, but it was too much for her and she died soon afterwards.’
    ‘Does Miss Lydia have a sweetheart?’ asked Frances, thinking it very unlikely.
    ‘No, but she has set her cap at so many it is all but worn out,’ said Chas. ‘She is like a pickled lime – sharp, and not to everyone’s taste.’
    ‘Surely her father’s wealth will attract a suitor?’ said Frances.
    ‘Ah, well, as to wealth …’ Chas shook his head. ‘There are many kinds of wealth. There is property you may safely dispose of and property which you would rather not. Then there is wealth as land