Leo brought the brass knocker down onto its plate and only then considered that she, too, had been carted away in a police wagon. Perhaps Mr. Stewart would not wish to admit her. The door opened, and the maid, whom Leo had seen whenever she came to WEA meetings, gave her a questioning once-over. She waited for Leo to speak.
“I have a note for Mrs. Stewart?—”
“The lady of the house isn’t in,” the maid said sharply.
“Yes, I am aware. I was here last evening.”
She lifted her nose, as if scenting something. “I know. You were the other one they took away.”
Leo wasn’t sure what expression to form. Not a smile, for she wasn’t proud of having been arrested. Yet, she also wasn’t ashamed, so she would not look remorseful either.
“That’s correct. I have a note from a mutual friend who wanted to get word to Mrs. Stewart?—”
“As I said, she isn’t in,” she said, interrupting again, this time with a tone of finality.
“If I could leave the note for her?” Leo said, taking the small card from her pocket.
The maid flared her nostrils as if she were about to be handed a dead mouse.
“Betty, who is it?” Another voice sounded from behind the maid. One which Leo recognized.
Mrs. Emma Bates, Geraldine’s sister-in-law, appeared over the maid’s shoulder. Her forehead wrinkled with surprise. “Oh, Miss Spencer. Why, hello. I didn’t expect a call from you today. Do step aside, Betty. Miss Spencer is to be invited in.” Mrs. Bates shooed the stern maid out of her sentry post.
“Thank you,” Leo said as she entered the foyer.
The tasteful décor spoke of refined affluence and understated elegance. It was the kind of wealth where one felt welcomed rather than towered over. However, her attention tripped as she noticed a few changes to the foyer since the previous evening. A Wedgwood vase had been moved from a credenza to another table next to the stairs; an urn that was used to hold umbrellas and walking sticks was gone entirely; and the placement of two paintings on the walls had been swapped. Leo’s memory held a clear image of the arrangements as they’d been, and she puzzled over the changes as the maid assisted her with removing her capelet. Mrs. Bates then led her to a sitting room.
A small fire leapt in the grate, and a tea service was already laid out on a table. An embroidery hoop with a nearly completed floral design had been set down on the seat of a chair. Mrs. Bates picked it up and put it aside before retaking her seat, while calling for Betty to bring more tea. Leo lowered herself onto the adjacent sofa.
“I must say, I did not know what to expect after last night’s episode,” Mrs. Bates began. “Those awful police officers, taking you and Geraldine away as if you were both criminals. It was utterly demeaning.” She drew in a shaky breath as if to calm her temper. “I am happy to see you were released from custody. Pray, what did they ask of you?”
“Nothing, in the end. I believe Inspector Tomlin simply does not like me.” Leo didn’t want to go too in depth about her night spent at Scotland Yard, so she said, “I’ve heard that Mrs. Stewart has been taken to Holloway Prison. Has there been any word on how she is faring there?”
Mrs. Bates shook her head, her frustration evident in the hardening of her jaw. “No. And Porter is in such a state. The poor man doesn’t know which way is up. He at least had the cognizance to ask me to stay and mind the children.”
Leo considered the statement odd. The Stewarts were a wealthy family. Surely, they employed a nanny.
“That is kind of you,” she replied rather than ask such a prying question.
“Oh, I adore them. Zachary is the very image of his father, and little Jessamin reminds me so much of my late husband, Hubert, Geraldine’s brother,” she explained. “I do lament not having any children of my own.”
It was a rather intimate topic, and Leo wasn’t certain how to respond. She and Mrs. Bates were hardly acquainted. To comment on or ask the circumstances of her childlessness would be offensive. So, she said nothing. However, her lack of a response was apparently also gauche.
“I know what you must be thinking,” Mrs. Bates said with light laughter. “To be childless at my age. A sorry state, indeed.”
“Not at all,” Leo was quick to say. “And you are still quite young, Mrs. Bates.”
The woman was in her thirties, pretty, and quite refined. There was every reason to believe she could marry again and bear children, if that was what she desired.
“You are too kind, Miss Spencer. I admit to holding a flame of hope.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “After all, what are we without children?”
Leo stiffened, again feeling trapped by a statement and uncertain how to respond. Her reflexive reaction was to disagree with Mrs. Bates. It wasn’t a very feminist point of view. Women were not only here on this earth to bear children. She couldn’t help but think that Mrs. Stewart would speak up and say as much, rather than hold her tongue as Leo chose to do.
Thankfully, the maid arrived just then with a fresh pot of tea. Mrs. Bates poured for them and then settled back into her chair. “Now, Miss Spencer, what was it I heard you say about a note for Geraldine?”
Leo set down her cup and retrieved the note she’d returned to her pocket. “Yes. You see, I spoke to her while we were being transported to Scotland Yard. My friend, a matron at the Yard, wrote to her. Her intended was the young police constable?—"
A great stomping of feet and giggles converged on the sitting room suddenly, and two children burst in through the open door. A young girl of about five and a boy of seven or eight years of age. The boy held something aloft, out of the little girl’s reach.
